Stephanie Edmondson

Psa: real talk

Okay, so… this is a bit fucking uncomfortable to write. I’m fundraising for the Black Dog Institute, and I figured if I’m going to ask people to throw some money at mental health, I should probably be honest about why the fuck I care about it so much. I’ve had a pretty colourful relationship with my mental health. I’ve experienced the peaks, the fucking brutal troughs, and all the chaotic bullshit in between. I’ve lived through trauma my entire life. Multiple S/A’s, Domestic Violence, Eating Disorders, Anxiety, Addiction, Self-destruction, Suicidal ideation, Suicide attempts. And eventually, I was diagnosed with Complex PTSD (CPTSD). Turns out my brain wasn’t just being an overdramatic little asshole for fun. There was actually a reason for the chaos. Unfortunately, getting a diagnosis doesn’t come with a magical “factory reset” button. Would have been handy though. Trauma doesn’t just disappear because you’ve finally got a name for it. It can fuck with the way you think, love, trust, react, sleep, function and generally exist in the world. And when you’ve experienced trauma repeatedly, sometimes it feels like your brain has forgotten where the emergency exit is. I’ve experienced multiple sexual assaults throughout my life. I’ve experienced severe domestic violence recently, and the impact of that has been fucking enormous. The scary thing about trauma is that even when you’re physically safe, your brain doesn’t necessarily get the memo. You can be completely out of the situation and still feel like you’re trapped in it. You can be surrounded by people and feel completely alone. You can be laughing, working, having a drink, carrying on like normal — while internally your brain is running a full-scale fucking disaster conference. I’ve also struggled with addiction. At different points in my past, substances; primarily alcohol and unhealthy behaviours became ways of coping with shit I didn’t know how to process. Sometimes I wanted to numb myself. Sometimes I wanted to escape myself. Sometimes I just wanted my brain to shut the fuck up for five minutes. I’ve experienced suicidal ideation . I’ve attempted suicide. I’ve known what it feels like to reach a point where continuing feels completely impossible. That’s not an easy thing to admit publicly. But I’m fucking over pretending mental illness is something we should only talk about once we’ve made ourselves presentable. Because sometimes mental illness isn’t pretty. Sometimes recovery isn’t pretty either. Sometimes recovery looks like therapy, medication, asking for help and making healthy choices. Sometimes it looks like crying on the floor. Sometimes your body just completely shuts down and forces you to FREEZE. Forces you to sleep. Sometimes it looks like getting through the day purely out of spite. And honestly, spite has probably done some heavy lifting. I’m not fundraising because I’ve got my shit together. I’m fundraising because I know what it feels like to desperately need help. I know what it’s like to hide how bad things really are. I know what it’s like to become ridiculously good at saying “I’m fine” when you are, in fact, very much not fucking fine. I know what it’s like to lose yourself trying to survive. And I know how important mental health support, research, early intervention and suicide prevention are. Share