ENTRAPPED FREEDOM
Always reaching out for freedom.
Always chained.
Trapped.
My hands are tied and as lost as my soul is.
Always reaching out for freedom.
Always chained.
Trapped.
My hands are tied and as lost as my soul is.
It seems like I’m always someone else – or pieces of other people put together. Somehow it’s always easier to be someone else.
I have wanted death I have cried for it I have sought the final oblivion of death for as long as I am able to remember. Yet, I am here, I am alive and I can not help but wonder why? Why did the rope not strangle me, or the pills stop my heart? Why when the trigger was pulled, the gun did not spark? Why, when my blood was flowing, did my pulse still beat? Why when the voices yelled death and murder was I not defeated?
When everything hurts. When everything is just to much. I hold my head and I hide. If I can not see the demons, maybe they can not see me?
Face off. The truth of the masks and the pain it hides.
It is not every day you meet a woman with no ears and half a nose. Lucy Henry is not an average patient in the Emergency Department [ED], with her prominent scars from self-inflicted burns. She is one of the forty thousand patients that present at the Royal Hobart Hospital emergency department each year. This 35-year-old blonde is confident and comfortable in herself, despite the life-altering events of the past 13 years. As she relaxes on her sofa, with devoted dalmatian Lottie nearby, she speaks frankly about her experiences as a self-confessed “frequent flyer” in the emergency department.
My little sister passed away in July 2012 after a 29 year battle with mental health issues. She was diagnosed with borderline personality disorder as a young woman and experienced multiple suicide attempts over the years. She developed problem drinking behaviours at age 26 and died age 40 from alcohol related liver failure. She was largely criticised and ostracised by the wider community for “failing” to make the necessary changes to fit in, and to care for herself.