Writing and music therapy showed me another way.

My journey with mental health and self-harm started when I was 9 years old and living in a children's home. I had so many emotions and self-harm felt like an outlet. I promised myself it would never happen again, but it did. And so a 10 year battle started. 

The question I've been asked the most in that time is ‘why’ and there is no one simple answer, but I've found some possible reasons. I had no control over my life and everyone was making decisions for me, and this was one thing I could control. I hated myself and my body. I was figuring out I was trans, and my body never felt like it was mine. It felt more like I was hurting someone else – I was punishing the body that caused me so much hurt and dysphoria. 

“I couldn’t bandage the emotional hurt, but I could nurse my self-harm. When things got overwhelming, I could only think of hurting myself.”

Maybe I also just wanted something visual; some representation of the pain inside me. I couldn’t bandage the emotional hurt, but I could nurse the self-harm. I spent years in and out of psychiatric units desperately searching for whatever cure and feeling so defeated when it didn't come. When things got overwhelming I could only think about hurting myself. 

My breakthrough came last year. One day something shifted and I decided to give recovery a last chance. I realised I hadn’t given the process the care and time it deserved. I thought all I had to do was stop hurting myself and then suddenly I'd be recovered. But that is not how it works. It takes waking up every day and facing the pain. It takes talking through the trauma and exploring emotions.

“I had to learn how to live without something that had been my go-to for so long – to sit with the pain instead of trying to erase it.”

I hate talking about how I'm feeling, but recovery couldn’t happen for me until I explored why I was sick in the first place. People talk about recovery like every day is sunshine and smiles, but it isn’t. It’s more work than I ever imagined. It was giving up the thing that gave me an outlet. It was learning how to live without something that had been my go-to for so long. It was learning how to sit with the pain instead of trying to erase it.

I had to learn new coping mechanisms and that wasn’t easy. I struggled to find the things that worked for me, and only one thing truly stuck–- writing. In writing stories and poems. I expressed my pain through words instead of self-harm. I even did something I've always dreamed of; published a book!

I also journal and even though I never share that writing and I rarely re-read it myself, it's a way of getting everything out of my head. Sometimes that's enough to ease some of the feelings. 

Therapy had never previously helped me, but then I discovered music therapy. I found a therapist who got me and who I trusted. If you're struggling with the idea of therapy, try different kinds and don't be afraid to try different therapists. Therapy might still not be a fit, but there are so many types and so many therapies it's so worth giving it all ago. 

One of the most difficult things was finding the people in my life who could support me. I had to cut ties with people who weren’t good for me to be around and that meant leaving a lot of friends and even family behind. I struggled with feeling selfish and like a bad person but I realised my mental well-being mattered and it was a step I had to take. My message to anyone who has to do that is you are not a bad person. You can care about someone and want the best for them and still have to phase them out of your life if they are impacting your recovery. 

I found medication that worked for me alongside these other elements in improving my quality of life. 

On the harder days, It can be about finding just one good thing no matter how small – how good your coffee was this morning or that one meme that made you laugh.

“I still have a long way to go, but it is easier. And I can promise you that there's a life beyond the pain.”

All of this isn't to say it's easy. I still have a long way to go, but it is easier. And I can promise you that there's a life beyond the pain. I know you’ve heard that a million times, and you may not believe it. I didn't. Take this message from me someone who dragged myself out of the dark and can finally see sufficient light in recovery. You haven’t met all the people who are going to love you and you haven’t experienced every beautiful part of life that you will. Remember you are worthy of a brilliant life, and that life is absolutely possible.