There’s a serious disconnect between people’s actions and what they say in public. How can anyone take their words seriously when the actions don’t reflect the spoken cause? You can’t end the stigma about mental illness if you’re not willing to turn words into action, not just pass the buck onto someone else’s shoulders.
One of the truest measurements of a great society doesn’t come from how well we revere the strongest of us, but how well the strong protect those who can’t protect themselves. Every failure to do so only serves to diminish the luster of the great society. I’m not writing this with expectations of a response, or even with much hope that anyone will care. I’m only writing this so that if the worst befalls my family, I can die knowing that someone was made aware that such a failure occurred.
There’s a light that shines at some point in most people’s lives that lets them know, this is who I’m meant to be and this is what I’m meant to do. That light never shines for anyone who began being abused as a child; whether in their own home or outside of it. When it’s in the home, the outside world becomes the place of protection. When it comes from outside, hiding in the one place where the abused person feels safe – home – it would seem that the abused one might find the succor they need. A life filled with one side being too affected by the past to be an effective teacher, and the other side being pessimistic and cynical, does not breed strength into the one who sees abuse more than love from outside the home. The abused one only feels pain. No hope. No trust. No faith. Stress and anxiety live in this condition and rules every decision made.
Agony is the truth of my life, not an embellishment. Most lives in my soul but the acid in my spine, from even the simplest of chores, is as fresh salt on open wounds and feels like my spine is splitting in twain. The emotional damage I’ve suffered since I was nine has remained an open wound through all measures that have been tried to close it. Anxiety around others stays firm. Trust in others remains weak. Stress of any sort is like a vice squeezing every nerve.
My existence is pain all day, every day,
And hope is a bastion far from the hand.
I’m aware of every cruelty, intended or not,
Offered on the altar of my shattered mind.
By D.A. Smith
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