Trauma Doesn't Make You Stronger

  Why else would they say those kinds of things? It's all just envy, don't worry about it! You're way ahead of them, that's why they comment on your body like that. Just don't pay them any mind, they don't deserve your attention anyway. People always try to find a justification for sexual harassment. They find ways to play it off as something that doesn't really matter as much as you feel it violating your entire being. That it's just them joking around, they don't actually feel that way about you. Especially if they're of the same gender as you are, because that would be gay! And gay people don't exist here! Now, thinking back on those moments, I can say with certainty that at least one of my Friends was a closeted queer girl. She was being so obnoxious about it, it kept going on for years. I mean come on, there is no reason for another girl to be staring at your boobs enough to be able to determine their cup size – unless the gayness is in

 When I go back to those years, those days, those moments, a paralyzing sensation of dread sets over me. It makes me feel violated all over again, and in a lot of ways, I think I am just now truly experiencing the horrible emotions those events caused within me, because I just wasn't aware of any of it. I just didn't know what it even was that I was facing, and why years and years after, I felt uncomfortable and scared around other girls.  As a Kid, social cues were never my strongest asset. I remember my mom telling me that the only reason why I wasn't allowed to go to elementary a year earlier was my complete lack of social skills. I had the intellect, curiosity, and motivation to learn, and those factors would have granted me a position of advantage – if only my intellect had extended over to understanding social norms and how to interact with other kids. But it didn't, and there is a reason for it. A reason I would have to pay a price too huge for me to ever afford

 Gym dressing rooms. They were probably the single place in the entire school building that I was the most scared of. I remember entering the hallway on the basement floor that led to the dressing rooms, and the soul-crushing dread and fear that settled deep into my being. It wasn't just in my gut, it was everywhere; in my head, in my heart, arms, legs. Every inch of my body was screaming at me to not go there, but I knew I had no other choice.  Because no matter what I did – went to PE class or skipped it – I would be punished for it. The punishment was always a bit different, but one thing I did know: I would much rather take the gym dressing rooms than the wrath of that monster of a PE teacher I had back in elementary. But it was all the same; it was agonizing whatever I did. And every time I had to go to those rooms deep in the basement, I knew what I had for coming. It is definitely fascinating how little a child's brain is able to comprehend of the traumatic things the c

 Dissociation has taken a lot of things away from me. I have massive gaps in my memory, both long-term and short-term, seemingly for no reason. But it has also shielded me from a lot of things; things that were too hard for my child brain to comprehend. It's fascinating how you can go for years without knowing a single thing about it, and then one day, the memory is right there, crystal clear in your mind, as if it was planted there. You question it – how is this even possible? – and think you must have just made it up and it was probably nothing. But the memory persists, it will not leave you alone, and every time it comes back to you, there is a pit in your stomach, and you feel it in your bones. It has to be real. For the longest time, I didn't even know what it was. For years, I didn't understand why I felt so uncomfortable in the showering areas and the saunas of public swimming pool halls. I couldn't wrap my head around how it was possible that I was scared of so

 The days go by, one after the other, and you can't recognize the passage of time anymore. Until one morning, after breakfast, your nurse steps into your room.  "The doctor wants to see you today after lunch. He's assessing your current status and whether you can be discharged soon." You have already gotten used to the routines: waking up at 7.30, eating breakfast at 7.45, the smokes in between meals, leaving out for one walk per day, and going to bed before the sun sets. And then, it all suddenly changes.  I've always felt a sense of melancholy on the last day at the ward. It's a strange feeling, because yes, I do want to go home, and I am happy I am finally given the chance to leave. But in some ways, I latch onto the environment, the people, both nurses and other patients. I merge in with them, we become one inside my head. It's a community I feel I belong in, and everyone knows how little I have experiences of belonging anywhere. So I guess I want to h

Fear. Fear is the first thing I remember feeling when going to the ward. It's a persisting kind, it always greets me with open arms when I check in, no matter how many times I've been there in the past, no matter how trustworthy the nurses and doctors are. I think a lot of it has to do with just how unnatural of an environment the hospital is: time has stopped, seasonal changes don't exist, days blend into each other, Yule, Easter, Juhannus are all the same.  And they bring you to your room, have you empty out your bags, take your cigarette lighter away from you, as well as keys, ID cards, wallets, any sharp objects. If you arrive as a voluntary patient, they grant you more freedom, and you get to keep your phone, electronics, and chargers. But if you start resisting the treatment, breaking the rules, behaving in suicidal ways, they'll take that freedom away from you. As long as you behave, it'll all be a lot easier for you.  The rooms are so well soundproof that I

 Being admitted to a psychiatric facility once is enough of a troubling and traumatic experience. Especially if your stay gets prolonged, ranging from several months to over a year, the ward will most likely become a place you never want to find yourself in ever again. And for those who get the proper help they need on their first and longer ward period, there might not ever be a reason to go back – and that is always the end goal.  But for those of us who might not stay at the ward for months but only weeks, it's more common to end up in the same situation again. The kind of mental illnesses that you have obviously contribute to this as well, and for someone with a mood disorder like depression or bipolar it's more likely they won't spend extended periods of time at the facility but instead are more likely to come back at another time.  And I am definitely one of those people. My main diagnosis is BPD, borderline personality disorder, but I am also diagnosed with MDD, majo