As part of my referral to the medical team who are going to help me. I was sent a form.
It asks for details on my history, family dynamics, events that have happened, any history of mental health issues.
It laid it out in a specific format, but when I started writing the words just flowed out and didn’t stick to their rules.
But that’s me right there. I don’t really like the rules.
I’ve always made my own.
But I had covered all their points.
I wrote down how difficult getting out the house for school each morning was when I was a child.
About my cruel teacher who liked to humiliate me in front of the class.
I wrote about how as a 7 year old child I would force my fingers down my throat. I needed the evidence that I was sick, otherwise I risked not being sent home, not being believed.
I wrote about the disappointment on my parents face the day I got home early for secondary school. I shared my darkest secret. I’d been so scared, but they said I didn’t want to be ‘that girl’
I wrote about the hostility I felt towards me in a place that should have felt safe. Should have felt like home.
I wrote about the day I hadn’t followed my gut instinct. Even when I knew something was wrong I wasn’t able to stop it.
And the paranoia of not being able to keep my babies safe ever since.
Of being the one to break the new. Once that he was injured and life would never be the same again. And once to say he was gone and never coming back.
And how gut wrenchingly painful it is when someone prevents you from speaking your final words.
Each sentence I wrote formed the path to where I am now.
Like a road map to all my troubles now.
Each of these moment make me realise how important it is to choose your words and fight to be heard. And to choose the words you speak to others.
If I’d know before the impacts of those moments and those words could I have handled them differently?
Would I be in this place now?