An emotional hand grenade with the pin pulled out

I’ve had to deal with the aftermath of three major emotional explosions in my life. All three involved a period of deep mourning for the loss of who I perceived I was and eventual reconciliation with myself. It turns out the explosions took away a perception I had of myself that wasn’t really part of me; like a sculptor who creates by chipping the marble away.

The first explosion occurred when I was 16 and in the final year of secondary school. I had been going to speech therapy throughout my childhood in the hope I would get rid of my stammer. I had unwavering faith in this. I had to get rid of my stammer so I could cope with being an adult, or so I thought. I constantly asked myself, "How could anyone function as a grown up with a severe stammer?" Also, I heard that it was easier for a child to get rid of their stammer and much harder for an adult. Therefore, I had to catch the last boat to Fluent-ville and I was already running late.

I attended speech therapy as usual one day when my speech therapist handed me an emotional hand grenade with the pin pulled out. She told me "I am going to pass you on to a therapist who deals with adults who stammer".

I thought, "Sorry, what did you just say?" I said, "Sssssssssssssss..." and stammered, both verbally and emotionally.

And that's when the hand grenade went off. I was dragged into adulthood before my time and in the process lost hope and lost my perceived fluent future. I simply wasn't ready to be called an adult nor was I ready for the realization that I would have to live the rest of my life with a stammer. I felt I had failed myself in the worst possible way. I had failed to give myself the means to be myself.

I saw myself as horribly disfigured from that explosion and the ringing in my ears deafened me to my voice for years. It took 12 years of emotional turmoil to come to terms with being an “adult who stammers”.

The second hand grenade I had to deal with was my depression and nervous breakdown. The explosion blow away my flesh so I was just a skeleton; it drove away everything except my bare bones. I had to layer each muscle back onto my skeleton and repair each nerve fibre and tendon. I had to rebuild my emotional wellbeing one cell at a time. It took two years.

The third hand grenade that was handed to me was Parkinson’s disease, “You might have Parkinson’s disease”, my disease said and dangled the pin from the hand grenade in front of me. The wait was agonising to find out whether the hand grenade would explode or not. It eventually did and separated my mind from my body and catapulted me into the clutches of a prognosis which tries to dictate to me, “you will be severely disabled”. I’ve been trying to glue my mind and my body back together ever since.

Ultimately, the three explosions have enabled me to know how determined and resilient I can be in my life. The aftermath has helped me to refine how I see myself and become a lot more realistic about who I am. I’ve learnt to be alongside the problems I have. Each explosion taught me something new and gave me the opportunity to learn and challenge my perception of who I am. I’ve slowly emerged from the marble…

Trusting myself

I have lived under the burden of self-doubt all my life. It’s as if I have worn multiple layers of clothes and it has made me feel stiflingly hot and deeply uncomfortable. Try to imagine not hearing your own voice and not identifying with your voice; try to imagine feeling you are not in control of your mind and feeling you are in a constant battle with yourself; imagine not connecting with your body and not feeling in control of it. These are the layers of stammering, depression and Parkinson’s self-doubt I have been consumed by. I reacted to self-doubt by trying to control everything and when I couldn’t control everything in the world I would add more layers of self-doubt clothing.

I have emerged from those layers during the past year: ironically since my diagnosis of Parkinson’s. I have recognised that those self-doubting layers of stammering, depression and Parkinson’s are just a part of my thrownness (or the state in which I exist). I focused on those things to the exclusion of almost everything else. I didn’t notice the person beneath those layers. I neglected myself in the all out warfare of proving myself and filling in the void of self-doubt.

I have emerged battered and bruised and severely dehydrated. I am only now learning to drink the cool, refreshing water of trust. Trusting my breath and my voice; trusting the stability of my emotions and my mind; trusting my mind to connect to my body; trusting the future and my ability to still do things; trusting the value of myself and my ability to be me.

Shrunk in the wash

I suffered a nervous breakdown when I was 21 (see my post: "Breakdown" http://dialoguewithdisability.blogspot.co.uk/2013/08/breaking-down.html). 

In hindsight, that point in my life felt like I was wearing a prison uniform underneath my real clothes. Even when I had a shower or changed clothes I would still be wearing the uniform; I thought I could never take it off.

However, hard work, persistence and CBT counselling have allowed me to exchange that depression uniform for something resembling my real self.

When I look back to that time it is very tempting to inhabit that uniform again, to feel the depression, pain and distress. But it is important to remember that during the intervening years I have washed the uniform many times and during the washing the uniform has shrunk as I have grown. The uniform is tiny now; I can hold it up and realise it doesn't fit any more. My breakdown is part of my past for sure but the emotions I felt at the time no longer apply to me. I have learnt to cope. I can try to fit in those tiny clothes or I can choose to inhabit the person I am now.