Trauma Doesn't Make You Stronger

 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