U OK?

Dear reader, this post describes my journey of self injury. It's not hugely graphic but I wanted to pre-warn you before you embark on this reading journey.

Dear Alexis,
I walked through the airport looking for a jumper to buy. It was raining at home; bucketing actually. I hadn’t packed any appropriate clothing. Singlet on; bag in hand; zoned out. On a mission before my flight; warmth.
“Woah! Your arm is awesome”.
"What?" I must have looked confused.
“Your arm,” this stranger repeated, “was it for art? My friend did a rose, it was for art.”
I looked at the man who was questioning me.
A stranger was asking me the most personal question he possibly could have.
“No," I replied.
I can’t even begin to describe how shy I felt. Everything within me froze. I began to stumble over my words.
“No it wasn't for art."
“Aw, it would have been so cool if it was!”
(...sorry to disappoint you, mate.)
I forced a smile and walked away.
All of a sudden finding a jumper became a matter of urgency; there was a new chill I needed to warm within me.


Laying on a table; hot stones on my back; silence.
A silence I had been seeking.
“What did you do there, fall in a bush?”
My heart broke. The gentle silence I had been searching for was no longer.
“I wish that was the story.”

Every year there is a day;  RUOK? Day. It falls on  Suicide Prevention Week. 
It should be noted that National  RUOK? Day this year fell on the same day as  International Chocolate Day. Coincidence? I think not.  
Suicide Prevention Week lasts for a week; Sunday, 9th - Sunday, 15th September.  RUOK? Day was Thursday, 13th September. 
I had every plan on posting this on  RUOK? Day. I had thought about it; I was ready. Every year I write a post. During running I think about blogs, I pen them together in my head, and then I sit down to write. The words didn’t transfer over so well this time and didn’t seem to flow quite as freely as they normally would. But I knew I wanted to write to you. 

This year on  RUOK? Day, I was wrecked. Tired to the bone; falling asleep during The Bachelor... Lexi, that’s a big bloody deal. I didn't post anything. I stayed quiet. Very, very quiet and thought of those who didn't have the strength to post something on social media. I was thinking of those who were at home, scrolling through their Facebook and instagram feeds hoping that someone would message them. That someone wouldn’t just post about being kind, but that they would actually put words into action. 

The idea behind  RUOK? Day is that you reach out to others; you approach them;  you put your fears aside and ask, ready to listen to their response.  RUOK? Day says, "those who are struggling need you to approach them. They don't always have the strength to approach you". 
I remember all the times I hoped, sometimes prayed, that someone would message me and ask if I was okay.  

Alexis, I don't know exactly where this letter will go. I don't know my goals behind it, but I want to talk very openly about mental illness and my struggle with it.  

When I was small, I was jumping on the couch. I fell and hit my head on a glass coffee table. I still have the scar on my forehead. 

When I was about 8 I was standing on the edge of my bath. I slipped, hitting my chin on the edge. You can see where they stitched me back together. 

At about 12, I fell/jumped off a gazebo roof onto a trampoline. Landing on my elbow, a bone became dislodged and moved. I still have the scar from where they had to open my arm up to pin the bones back together. 

When I was 26 I was sitting in a car. It was late. The bridge sparkled with lights, and the night sky was showing off. It was perfect to anyone else looking in. 
To me, the night was silent. It wasn't a nice silence though; the silence hurt my ears. I wanted so much for the silence to break. For my phone to yell at me that I had a message; for it to ring. 
Something. Anything. 
I opened the glove box; my hand rummaging around. I wasn't sure exactly what I was looking for, but I knew what I needed. It stopped and hovered over a light globe as thoughts ticked over in my mind. My fingers reached out and took hold of it. The light globes purpose was to one day sit in my car, shining a light, piercing the darkness. I had other plans for it. 
Opening the car door I placed the globe on the hard bitumen. I pressed my heel against it and it broke under the pressure of my weight. I picked up a piece of the glass and without much thought I slid the sharp edge along my arm. It didn't bleed, but the pain felt good.  

Alexis, I want you to know that when this first happened I had no reason for it, or none that I could see. I didn’t know what was going on internally, I just knew I had to get it out and I didn’t know what else to do with what I was feeling.  I didn't know what I was feeling. 

On this night, a journey had started. It would be a long one. A journey of wearing t-shirts that had long enough sleeves to cover my arms. A journey which took me to Officeworks on many occasions. A journey of bandages. A journey where I would look at the clock and count down the minutes until your bed time so I could sit on the lounge room floor with all of my tools in a line. It was a journey that introduced me to someone I didn’t recognise; someone I didn’t know. 

Alexis, let me talk through self injury with you. Self injury happens when you feel you have no other choice but to externalise your internal pain.  
You go through a life time of external pain; broken arms, cut open foreheads, bumps, bruises, falls. You know how they heal; you know the process; you know how to deal with external pain. 
But one day something happens internally; it’s as though it's been happening for months, maybe years; and there is a pain inside of you that you don’t know how to deal with. 
Everyone deals with it differently; this internal pain. For me I dealt with it with blades and bandaids and Bettadine. 
Along the way you make choices which hurt you and often others hurt you. Others that you trusted and loved and who you thought loved and trusted you. You realise these people hold so much power in your life and become increasingly sad about the pain and hurt they left you with to mend. So you externalise it. You cause the pain; you cause a pain and a hurting in your own life by your own doing; that you chose, not at the mercy of others, but by your own will. Your own power. 
And Lexi, I convinced myself it had to happen. I felt that in order to heal, I needed to remove all the internal hurt and place it somewhere which I could see.  
After externalising, you watch it heal. And over and over again you see scars form and you know that you are going to be okay. The open wounds close over and scars appear where the cuts once were.  

It wasn't a cry for help, I wasn't seeking attention from anyone. I was surviving. It wasn’t a healthy way to do so, but I’m so glad I survived.  
Mental illness convinces you that any coping mechanism is better than the alternative. "At least I'm coping," becomes an all too familiar chant.  
My journey of mental illness took me on a journey where I fantasised about self injury; and I followed through with it. 

What, or more so, WHO was this person? I didn't know myself. And it turns out Self Injury has a best friend. Her name is Suicide; they came as a pair. Inseparable. Bitches. 
You didn't matter.
​My family didn't matter. 
And because of this, a once strong, capable, and fierce individual stood at the mercy of mental illness and became someone I wouldn’t recognise on the street. And with it, Mental Illness (yes, I’m referring to her as a person right now) brought with her two companions I never imagined I would meet. Not in a million years. 
So, “at least I’m surviving” was all I had. 
It was all I had to hold onto. 

Mental illness is like any other illness. There is no timeline to when it will stop. It doesn't favour anyone. Infact, everyone is at its mercy. It's sneaky. It will leave for a while and return without warning. It doesn't care where you are, who you're with, what you're doing. It doesn't sleep; it will lay next to you in silence and darkness. It won't say anything to you but it will keep you awake. When you do finally doze off, only if it offers you that grace, it invades your dreams. Mental illness will violently wake you up without warning. 
​It doesn't leave when the sun is shining; it comes and goes as it pleases. 
​When you’re at work, it goes with you; working alongside you. 
Coffee with friends? Look next to you, Mental Illness will be there.  
​It will stand with you when you're sweeping a floor at work and leave you walking into your manager's office; crying without a reason (rewind to a couple of weeks ago). 
It will immobilise you when you've made plans.  
You will look up and there it is; standing before you; demanding acknowledgement.  
You can’t run from it. 
You can’t hide from it. 
Where you are, it will be there too. 

Funnily enough, mental illness may be the only illness which isolates you. 
Any other illness demands support. People gather and stand together. Mental illness on the other hand causes the one struggling to hide. Mental illness sees people scatter. 
We don't post about it on social media; if we do we're said to be 'attention seeking'.  
We don't advertise the medication we need to make us better.  
​We don't talk treatment plans.  
Even though it's just as important to talk about. 
Just as common as any other illness.  
The one impacted removes themselves from others; convinced society deserves better. 
​We don't talk about it because people like 'pretty'.  
We only show our highlights on social media; the very best of ourselves.  
Social media trickles into real life and we put on a mask there too. Convincing everyone that we are fine.  
We don’t talk about it whilst in the midst of it, but only when we’re safely on the other side.  
Would people stand with us if we revealed the ugliest? The worst? 
They say they will, but to what cost? And for what amount of time? Mental illness isn't something you "get over", nor should it be treated as such.  
Society is becoming more accepting, but it still has a long way to go.  
It's accepting until it believes that the individual impacted should be able to move on and move forward. The one impacted is faced with the task of looking at sadness, depression, suicidal thoughts and tendencies all by themselves; on their own.
Isolation is killer.  

Depression mutes our voices. 

People say, “they should have reached out. They knew I was there."
But this is the thing. Mental illness is so bloody fierce and unrelenting in it's approach that the one struggling literally cannot reach out! Even in moments of complete isolation and loneliness; even when they most want to.

Lexi, I hope by the time you read this; by the time you understand this, that it's even more accepted. More treatable.  

RUOK? Day allows for our lives to be acceptably messy; whenever and however. It allows for our lives to be less than perfect and forces others to rise up and care. 

​Alexis, mental illness is treatable. It's manageable. Just like any other illness. Just like any other illness it needs grace and someone to say, "I see that you're in a tough battle and this path isn't clear, but you aren't walking alone."

I don't know the answer Alexis. Everyone is different. But I look back now and I realise that we need two things:
1. Hope; and
​2. Support.

Pain is real, but so is hope.  
For me it was the hope that one day I wouldn't want to hurt myself anymore.  
The hope that one day I would be a good mum to you.  
The hope that one day I wouldn't apologise for the person I was.  
The hope that one day I would recognise myself again, and that I would like the person I recognised.  

And Alexis, talk and talk and talk and talk and when you're all talked out talk some more, or cry. And just when you've thought you've said everything, say more. Ask people to listen for longer. If you need silence ask if they will sit with you in your silence. Take support when you need it, offer support when others need it. 

Lexi, when I was hurting myself, my wounds healed and I would forget about the scars which replaced them. After the healing happened, others would see them, but I wouldn't.
Just as my wounds were healing externally, I was healing internally. 

These scars, my scars, are not a defining factor of who I was nor who I am. 
I shouldn't be angry or surprised at those who questioned me. I would notice them too.
Eventually I forgot about every scar. Eventually the desire to injure myself faded.
When I was stopped in the airport I forgot about their existence. Just as I was, they were. I co-existed with them, and them with me.  

Alexis, I'm nearly done. I promise.  

Mental illness does not define who we are.  

If someone is sick with cancer we do not define the individual by their cancer, just as we shouldn't with mental illness.  
Having a cold isn’t a defining factor of a person.  
I covered my scars with a tattoo. I didn't cover them because I was ashamed of them; I'm not. I've worked very hard at not being ashamed of who I am and the journey of how I got here. While they didn't define me, the reason I decided to cover them was because they were the first thing others saw about me. They missed my smile and my eyes. They missed my personality and became distracted by the scars I had learnt to exist with. Others saw the scars as a weakness; I didn't.

I know that those scars made me stronger. 

The pain that I had worked through was now on show to everyone else and I decided that it was my right to share my journey with who I wanted, when I wanted.  
​
When I looked in the mirror at the end of my appointment, I cried. I had spent hours crying and cutting and in pain. All of a sudden the story was mine to hold gently and not everyone else's to see. 

I remember running the Cadbury Half Marathon. I remember running past that first camera and starting to cry. It was the first time I would run without my scars on display.
Lexi, my scars still exist. 

Scars don't declare weakness over us. Instead, they scream 'strength'.  

When I see a scar on someone, I see someone who has overcome injury, hurt and pain. I see that someone has pushed on and pushed forward.  

Scars; they will always be there. Always. Whether obvious, like when I fell off the bath tub or the ones which are hidden on our hearts and in our minds. They will fade with time. They will start to disappear, but their existence is still there. The injury still happened.

Scars show every single fucking time we have overcome.

Alexis, if someone ever confides in you about their mental illness please, please, please, have enough grace and patience and love to know that it does not define them. Mental illness is not defining.  
It does not define you.  
It does not define others.  

We aren't weaker from our scars. Struggling with our mental illness does not make us weak. Injury does not make us weak.  
It builds us. Strengthens us.  

Lexi, its okay to not be okay. Its okay for others to not be okay.  
It is NEVER okay to not be okay on your own. 
Don't do this journey alone and don't allow others to.  
Ask if they're okay and mean it.  

You see, maybe at the end of it all, mental health is like the light globe I dragged along my arm.  

​Maybe mental health and all that it encompasses, is purposed to exist in our lives, shining a light, piercing the darkness. However, it’s in working it out whereby we break under pressure; where we become wounded; where scars form and we realise we are more than what our mental illness dictates us to be.

R U OK? Day - www.ruok.org.au
National Suicide Prevention - wspd.org.au
Beyond Blue - www.beyondblue.org.au
Life Line - www.lifeline.org.au