Alex Skeel - Abused By My Girlfriend

Alex Skeel - Abused By My Girlfriend

This is the story of domestic abuse survivor Alex Skeel, whose torment at the hands of his partner was so severe it’s was almost fatal, having been given approximately 10 days left to live upon his rescued from his living hell.

Originally posted by the BBC in February, 2019, I felt it necessary to share this story for those that were unaware of it, for those that were unsure of the details but ultimately for those that may be able to relate to this brave young man’s story, and thus hopefully find the courage to seek the help necessary.

I stayed with my abusive girlfriend out of fear she would kill me

Alex's partner was the first woman jailed for coercive and controlling behaviour in the UK. Now he's trying to fight the stigma around male domestic abuse. 

Warning: some upsetting content

Alex Skeel, 22

I’ll never forget the moment that my girlfriend, Jordan, first poured scalding water over me. She’d backed me into the corner of a room in the home we shared in Bedfordshire, holding a boiling kettle. We’d been together for three years, and what had started with small things – her telling me not to wear the colour grey or that she didn’t like my hairstyle – had turned into a nine-month campaign of physical abuse. I was very scared of her.

I can still see that first tiny drop of water falling onto my skin. It all happened in slow motion. Afterwards, my skin was curdling. The pain was like nothing I’d ever experienced. I begged her to let me get in a bath filled with cold water – it was the only thing I could think of that would stop the burning. She allowed me to get in, and the relief was instant. You can't imagine how incredible it feels to sink your body into freezing water after that. It’s the nicest feeling in the world. Then she told me I had to get out – or she’d do it all over again.

If I started moaning, saying that it hurt, she’d say, "Get back in the bath, then." Then she’d do exactly the same thing and make me get out. It was all about the mind games with her. She wanted control over all aspects of my life. I remember lying in the bath with no clothes on. It looked like I was in an oven, cooking. My skin was peeling off. It was absolutely horrible.

The latest figures from the Crime Survey for England and Wales show that, in the year ending March 2018, an estimated two million adults aged 16-59 years had experienced domestic abuse in the last year – of that number, over one-third were estimated to be men.

It’s also estimated that one in five teenagers have been physically abused by their girlfriend or boyfriend. And it’s happening to men much more than most people are aware of. Police in England and Wales recorded almost 150,000 incidents of domestic abuse against men in 2017 – more than double the number reported in 2012. According to one charity, fewer than 1% of domestic abuse refuge beds in England are allocated to men, with none at all in London.

Alex (right) and girlfriend Jordan.

Jordan Worth and I were 16 when we met at college in 2012. She did really well at school and she got a place at the University of Hertfordshire to study fine art. She wanted to become a teacher. In those first months, everything was fine. We had a really nice time together and did normal things, like watch films and go for walks together. It was new for me to tell my friends I had a girlfriend. They’d say, "Oh, what did you do at the weekend?" and I’d be able to say that I’d been with her.

Then, a few months in, a couple of strange things happened. At the time, it just seemed like attention-seeking behaviour. My mum and dad had paid for us to go to London to watch The Lion King and, out of nowhere, Jordan just disappeared. We were all looking for her for quite a while, and then, much later, we found her in the reception area, laughing her head off. It was all a bit weird. In hindsight, I think it was her way of getting me to panic and worry about her, in order to get a hold of me.

But before long, Jordan had completely isolated me from my friends and family – she stopped me from seeing them and even took over my Facebook account – a classic tactic of domestic abuse. I had nobody to turn to.

Alex celebrates his 18th birthday with mum and twin brother Luke.

She started to deny me food, which meant I lost a lot of weight. I’d try and challenge her behaviour, but she’d turn it on me and find a way to make me the problem. I’d know it wasn’t my fault, but she’d keep convincing me. You end up thinking, ‘What am I doing wrong?’ Then you do something differently and they moan at you for being different. When she was telling me, "I don’t like the colour grey," or "I don’t like those shoes," I’d think, "Okay, I won’t wear them," because I wanted to impress her. But, in reality, she was moulding me into who she wanted me to be. It undermines your confidence. And you’re fighting a battle that you’ll never win. It’s so frustrating.

We had two kids together and I just kept hoping that something would change. The children were babies, but, of course, they must have seen what was happening and, while she didn’t hurt them directly, my fear was always that if I left, she’d turn her abuse on them. So I stayed.

Of course, there were some genuinely good times with Jordan - moments when I felt happy, when we laughed and had fun together. It wasn't a nightmare all the time. And I really wanted to try and make a go of the relationship. I loved her, after all.

It took 18 months for the mental abuse to turn physical. It began when she started sleeping with a glass bottle next to her. She was accusing me of doing things with other girls, talking to them or messaging, which was completely untrue. She kept saying that she’d had messages from people but, much later, I found out that she’d been making it up. Then she’d wait until I’d fallen asleep and smack me on the head with the bottle. She’d demand, "What are you thinking about?"

An x-ray of Alex's mouth showing his broken teeth.

After a while, it got to the point where it didn’t hurt anymore. I was so used to the pain, I didn’t even  feel it. So she’d ramp it up to the next level and find a worse way of hurting me. After the bottle, it was a hammer. After that, it was anything she could find to smack me with.

One time, it was a laptop charger. She wrapped the cord around her wrist but with a bit of slack, and swung the metal plug end at my head. Blood started gushing out. It was pouring onto the floor. I cried, "Please will you help me?" and watched Jordan as she walked up the stairs, laughing. She said, "Why don’t you just go and die? No one cares about you."

Eventually, Jordan started with knives. She’d slash at me. One time, she just missed a major artery in my wrist. After that, it was boiling water. I had third-degree burns. Whenever I got used to the pain, she’d go a level up. The level after boiling water would have been death.

Of course, I was scared of Jordan and what she would do. I felt that, if I’d said anything, she could have killed me. I’d go to hospital and say I’d tripped and hit my head or that very hot water from the shower burned me. A neighbour called the police a few times when they heard shouting, and I’d make excuses for Jordan and lie. It wasn’t nice, but I did it to save my life. I had black eyes and all sorts. She’d put her makeup on me, because she wanted to cover up what she’d done.

I could feel my body shutting down. I’d lost five stone in weight. Afterwards, doctors told me that I’d been 10 days from death because I’d been denied food for so long and my injuries were so bad. It all came to an end in 2018, when a police officer came round to the house to follow up their previous visit and questioned me. All the horrible truth came out. My injuries were so severe by that point, and I was so gaunt after all the weight loss. I’d denied everything up until that point. But I couldn’t go on any longer.

Police bodycam footage following a call made by a neighbour that shows Alex in a state of physical and mental distress.

If the police hadn’t intervened at that precise moment, I’d be in the ground. There’s no doubt about it. I was fortunate enough – I say fortunate – that I had so many injuries and the evidence was really strong, so it tied everything together, which helped put her away.

Jordan’s motivation, I think, was pure jealousy. I’d been very close to my family, and had brilliant friends, and she distanced me from all that. She took me away from everything I ever had. I remember once she said to me, "I want to ruin your life."

While one in six men will experience domestic abuse at some point in their lives, only one in 20 will ever seek any help. 

Jordan was never sorry. Even when the police came round to question her. She looks as guilty as anything in the police footage, but I think she cared more about being caught than what she’d done to me. She pleaded guilty in court, I believe, to get a lighter sentence.

Jordan being questioned by police.

I don’t know how Jordan justified this kind of behaviour to herself. I think people who commit domestic abuse do it because they get a kick out of it. It’s like a drug, an addiction. And the more they do it, the more they think they can get away with it – and it gets worse and worse and worse. It’s like they’re in heaven and you’re in hell. They’re getting what they really, really want. That complete control. And you’re getting everything you never wanted in your life and worse. Until they get found out. And then it’s a massive shock to them.

I’d heard of male domestic abuse before I met Jordan. I knew what she was doing. I knew it was really, really bad. But I didn’t know what to do. During it all, I wouldn’t have been able to name a charge she could be arrested for, because I didn’t have a clue, ever.

I never hurried to get out of this situation, as funny as that sounds. There was no way I was going to be able to get out of it. I literally had nothing. And, obviously, we had two children together. I just hoped it would stop. If I got hit one time less it was a great day. It was that simple.

My concern was with the kids, that they were alright. You can never tell someone to leave that kind of situation. That’s the worst thing. You need to just say, "Look, if you ever need to talk with me, I’m here."

Alex reunited with baby Iris after being discharged from hospital.

Jordan was sentenced to seven-and-a-half years in prison in April 2018. She admitted to controlling or coercive behaviour in an intimate relationship, wounding with intent and causing grievous bodily harm. When I heard the news, I didn’t even react. I don’t tend to get bothered by things now. If my football team wins, I used to go crazy, but now I’m more or less ‘job done’. I think that’s because of the trauma I went through. When the verdict came, I was like, "That’s justice then." Afterwards, I felt a lot of relief - a massive weight off my shoulders. As soon as I knew she was in that van on her way to prison, for the first time in five years, I could look over my shoulder and not have a single worry cross my mind.

The children don’t really know what’s going on. I’ve kept a lot of the information, the court documents etc, for them to read when they’re older. When they’re mature enough to understand it, I’ll explain it to them. As long as they say to me one day, "You’ve done a good job, Dad," that’s all I care about.

Jordan was the first woman in the UK to go to prison for coercive and controlling behaviour. It shows it’s being taken seriously. There’s a lot of stigma that prevents men from speaking out and often police don’t take violence against men seriously. Men are often left out of domestic abuse campaigns. It’s wrong. What has gender got to do with it?

I’m not stupid enough to think that everyone’s going to be like Jordan. But I’m not ready for another relationship right now. I just want to enjoy the things I used to enjoy as a child, because Jordan took everything away from me and destroyed it, like football trophies, tickets for football matches, possessions, all ruined. I’ve got to try to build that back up, which I have done, with the help of male domestic abuse charities. In the future, I’d like to open a refuge for men who’ve been abused.

I sometimes think the main reason I’m alive is to raise awareness. Why didn’t the knife go in the wrong place? Why wasn’t I hit in the wrong place? I never had a fractured skull and I was hit thousands of times. That just amazes me. Why not? There must be a reason for it. The reason is to help people. I only hope that things get better for other victims.

Abused By My Girlfriend is available to watch on BBC Three iPlayer.

Thank you for taking the time to read this truly harrowing story of abuse. 

In an update on Alex, he is now an ambassador for domestic violence charity, The ManKind Initiative. 

Mark 💪

Anonymous Abuse Story

Anonymous Abuse Story

I’ve had a stressful life even when I was barely past infancy, I realise looking back at my childhood and adolescence years. Starting at 5 I suffered from fits and scared the life out of both my mum and dad, they were unpredictable and unexplainable for a young child. Only when I was a young adult did I learn the reason behind them, the problem my body had with controlling temperature which fixed itself when I was in high school.

This physical problem however was replaced by a psychological horror, and I knew if it wasn’t for the love of my family and those close to me, I wouldn’t be able to write this.

Despite the medical problem being unpredictable, it was less dangerous in the long term than what I now know was abuse. Since my mum and dad split up when I was about 4, I have had two stepdads. The first one, I loved but he was not a good person, as I realised. What father refuses to see his own kid after all? By the time my second stepdad, the ‘monster’ as my girlfriend calls him, entered the picture, I knew the first wasn’t good, and so it made me wary of, even dislike my mum’s new boyfriend.

If I had stayed with this disdain for my stepdad, maybe the whole situation would have been less painful, it was because I eventually came around to see him as a father figure that everything hurt so much more in the aftermath. The first couple years, I was having difficulty adjusting to this second stepfather, when I was 13, I hated how strict he could be and how he ‘invaded’ my family. It was when I started to warm up to him that things started going sour, as I look back to when I was 14-16.

He would run hot and cold on me, even when I began to see him as a father figure, he would give me the cold shoulder on occasion. Maybe this was to make me more desperate for his attention, for me to love him and beg for him to show the same. Sometimes he would be very affectionate to me, other times we would fall out over the stupidest shit. And I would always feel like I was breaking in half especially when he expressed anger towards me. I loved him but was scared of him at the same time. I loved him as much as I did my biological dad but I was scared he hated me or didn’t truly like me.

Maybe he played me like a fiddle, but when I was 15 the ‘mean’ behaviour lessened but the strange behaviour started. We watched shows together, we would lie in his and Mum’s bed when she was at work, as she worked nights twice a week, and sometimes three times a week. I would look forward to those nights, where he wouldn’t express any hostility towards me but his affection started getting strange. Touching my waist, my hips, sometimes my chest. I felt some confusion but didn’t think much too wrong with it, as I was young and barely in tune with my own sexuality. I had a few crushes in high school and one at the time this started, a similar dynamic of running hot and cold but in a way related to friendship and dumb teenage infatuation. Pretend to be my friend one day, outright deny it the next.

I always did dumb stuff to ‘keep’ people as a teenager and maybe it was because of the bastard that called himself my stepdad. I would put up with toxic friends, blindly follow others, just to keep them with me as friends. Even as a legal adult after everything stopped, my first sexual relationship was a mess, sleeping without love because I wanted them to stay by my side and care for me. It just hurt me over and over but I was too obsessed with ‘keeping’ people to think about my own self-respect.

Everything as a 15-year-old was confusing, especially with the strange relationships with my stepdad and friend going on simultaneously. I should have known it was fucked up, I should have known he was sick, that’s what I think looking back but I know I shouldn’t have blamed myself. I let him do these strange things because I was scared to stop him, what if he got angry at me? What if he stopped loving me? Even though it confused me, I slowly realised things were weird, he never acted like this when Mum was there, should he touch me there? I didn’t even know where my vagina was located at the time, whenever I tried to understand myself better, I would find the urethra instead and wonder what the big deal with ‘masturbation’ was when I felt absolutely nothing. Any dream I had about another teenager was either innocent or anatomically impossible, created from the little I truly understood about my body and sex. Just the word sex disgusted me, to the point I would use the word ‘gender’ even when it wasn’t used in a ‘sexy’ context but rather male and female.

It continued when I was 16, when my life ‘went to hell’ as I would describe it. I developed an anxiety disorder, stopped seeing my dad and started taking medication for stomach problems all within a few months of each other. The medication didn’t work properly, it made my anxiety worse and I failed my first year of college. I ended up straight up falling out with my dad and latched onto my stepdad as my only father figure. The stress was at an all-time high, I was missing my dad and I was more desperate for my stepdad to love me more than ever, I would be terrified with falling outs that I would lose my only father figure and although I started to understand what he was doing to me was wrong, I let it happen all because I wanted to ‘keep’ him, I didn’t want to be abandoned again.

Whether it stopped when I was 17 or 18, I can’t quite tell, I just remember it was around the time I fell for a girl for the first time and came out to him and my Mum as bi. It was an innocent attraction, I didn’t want anything sexual, I just wanted to hug her and hear her laugh. Part of me just thought, ‘thank god, I can still feel normal attraction’.

The psychological effects didn’t start until university, when we were still in contact and he would seem to never leave me alone. Almost every night I would be messaging a friend on Messenger and silently beg that he wouldn’t try to start a conversation just to guilt trip me if it didn’t go his way, the way he made me so desperate for him to treat me ‘positively’ as a young teenager. He broke up with my mum either before I went to university or during this first year, I can’t quite recall. But he would send messages I didn’t realise were dodgy and not appropriate to send your daughter, biologically related or otherwise. I thought it was a little weird when I cut myself down there and he offered to kiss it better, but I just read it as him being silly. Only when Mum and one of my sisters went through those messages to send as evidence for the police investigation, did I realise by their reactions how wrong those messages were.

That first sexual relationship I had in university, I started having the occasional intrusive thought about the abuse after that was initiated, I’d think about my ‘partner’ just to remember that situation and feel nausea. Even with my first and current real romantic relationship I would try to initiate sex just to get those thoughts off my mind, those horrible images that haunted me and made me feel so disgusting.

It was only after he hit my Mum and when my nanna passed away from terminal illness, did I finally mention the abuse to someone else. I was still unsure what had really happened, if it was abuse if I let it happen and didn’t try to stop it. It was to my counsellor when I was attending for grief and anxiety that I finally explained the situation, where she told me it was wrong and I should get the police involved. She contacted them and shortly after I told my girlfriend, the investigation started. I was so scared but it felt a little comforting that the police officers, and people I didn’t truly know, that they believed me and reassured me it wasn’t my fault.

It was when they decided to get in contact with my Mum without explaining the situation, that I finally told her about what happened. I was so terrified that night but my girlfriend supported me and I remember that day fondly despite the fear for two reasons. I finally got it off my chest and told my Mum, and that was the day my girlfriend told me she loved me.

My mental health spiraled as a result of the case being opened, and I failed my second year of university because I was too stressed to take the exams. I still vividly remember the breakdown when I visited my girlfriend’s mum and stayed over, I was up past 2 crying and grieving the past. That man was a dad to me, how could he do such a horrible thing? I mourned the stepdad I thought I knew, just for him to manipulate me like that. Sometimes I still dream of him trying to sneak back into my life, or occasionally alternative scenarios where I never was subjected to anything more than familial love.

Things are starting to look up though as I repeat my second year, my dad got back in touch and Mum explained everything to him. I’m finally able to have a somewhat functioning normal father-daughter relationship again. I’ve sought help for myself and finished a short PTSD coping course and am currently waiting for therapy. It’s still difficult, I still get flashbacks and feel disgusted with myself, I still sometimes get completely repulsed from sex because of what happened but I’m able to realise now that trying to get my mind off sexual abuse with more sex is not the best idea.

I have a loving family and the best girlfriend ever, all who are amazing people and helping me cope even when I want to cry and never feel again. Sometimes I would be willing to suffer amnesia if I never had to suffer with these memories, these feelings of disgust, ever again. But despite all the pain, I know I’ll eventually get better and I can’t allow that bastard to control my life. I haven’t seen him or heard from him since I cut him off because I couldn’t accept the way he treated my mum, and I knew I wouldn’t get better if I didn’t tell someone about what he did.

The whole thing is still scary, I still worry I’m going to run into him in my hometown and so going back home fills me with dread. But what makes all the pain feel worth it is that I know he’d never be able to hurt my little sister like he hurt me. I feel bad that she’s now without a dad but I haven’t truly seen her so happy since she and him lost contact with each other. She doesn’t know what happened of course, she’s only young, but she knows he did something wrong. With my little sister on my mind and my girlfriend by my side, I know I’ll be able to make it through this even though the scars may never fade.

Written by: Anonymous.

The survivor of this asked to remain anonymous for their own personal reasons and I think that should always be respected. 

I have the upmost respect and admiration for ‘you’ sharing your past trauma in a hope to help others. I truly believe many will be able to relate with your story, your emotions and your feelings and I hope they find courage in reading it.

Wishing you the best of luck in your 2^nd year at university and the remainder of your journey in battling your past. I am so thankful you have such a supportive family and partner backing you, and I assure you, WE, the fellow survivors are behind you as well!

#chasingstarlightwarrior

Thank you,

Mark 💪

Elicia Louise's Story

ELICIA LOUISE'S STORY

When I was raped, I didn’t even know that it was rape. Well, not really. I wanted to call it something different that made me feel better, I wanted to call it something that made it alright so I did… I called it a mistake.

The person who raped me was not a stranger, it wasn’t someone that had never touched me before, it was someone that I believed I loved so an apology was almost enough to make it go away. I had never been weak-willed, I had never been soft and I had known that I said no more than once, that I hadn’t whispered it under my breath but my rapist was the one in tears when I told him that. He cried and he cried and he cried and he told me that he would leave me alone forever and never come back and in all the confusion somehow being raped was my own fault and I was the one that was begging him to stay. He knew how to get into my head and he knew how to make me change my mind. He knew how to make me betray myself although for the rest of my life I would always know; I said no.

My rapist lived in my house, he spoke to my parents, he told me that he didn’t like my friends. My rapist shared my bed and when he touched me, I hated every second of it but I never said no again. I went to work on autopilot, I watched my parents love him and joke with him in ways they never joked with me, I put everything I had into a crumbling relationship where everything was always my fault. And most of all, I forgot. I forgot what he had done because it was easier, because… maybe it was all in my head. Maybe it was my own fault that it had happened to begin with. I felt empty inside but I knew that as long as my rapist lived under my roof, at least he wasn’t living under someone else’s. At least it was only me.

Then, one day, it was over. He was gone. That was the happiest and saddest time of my life, I was finally free but there was no me left that had been there before. I wasn’t the same person. I started to tell my story, I told it to my closest friends, I told it to people that I had only spoken to online, I told it over and over but it didn’t feel like it was my life, it felt like an empty shallow story that happened to someone else. I drank too much on holiday and leaked my story to my grandma, I made my grandad fly off the handle with rage… I posted about it on Instagram in a post that was swiftly deleted afterwards when my rapist rang me up in the middle of the night and said: “I saw your post, I’m so so so sorry that happened to you,” as if it hadn’t been him at all. I hung up the phone and started to cry and deleted the picture and told myself that was the last time I would tell that story at all.

The most common questions I was asked: “Are you sure?” “Did he hear you?” “Does he actually know what he did?”

There were so many questions that I was asked that made me doubt myself, that made me believe that burying it deeper and deeper was the answer. But, the memory is ingrained inside of my brain. I was there. Nobody else was. I know what I said and I remember every moment of silence afterwards, I remember using the words, “You raped me,” before the months of forgetting began.

It has been five years and I am still angry. It has been five years and I still haven’t forgotten and I have to rack my brain for all the reasons why I have to remember that I am a different person now and I cannot let all the hate that I have inside me affect me forever. It has been five years and it seems like every one of them brings me a reminder that I allowed him to get away with it and because of me… I wasn’t the last person who had to.

You see, being raped, being manipulated, those things I was able to get over. I grew and I changed and I built walls that meant that I could cope, I thought I could move forwards and forgive. I never minded being the only casualty of a crime that was never repeated — as wrong as it sounds, for some reason, I still felt like maybe I was just the unlucky one, maybe I was the one that got the bad and someone else would get the good. Maybe people did change.

But, he didn’t.

And now I wait for the next private message, the next phone call, the next message asking me about this person and then worst of all… messages saying that they did the same to them.

The worst part about being sexually assaulted wasn’t what happened to me at all, it was knowing that the same person is out there doing the same thing to other people, it’s waiting just in case it does. It’s filing a police report 4 years too late and begging someone to believe you because you think it might be what saves the next girl from going through all the pain and suffering that you’ve experienced and seen. It’s knowing that there’s nothing you can do anymore, being helpless in a sea of anxiety over things that are totally out of your control.

I’m okay, I have been for a long time, but what keeps me awake at night is worrying that someone out there ISN’T.

IT GETS BETTER
There are so many things that I want to say about my life and the way that I was affected by trauma. There are also so many things that I want to say to others that are out there and trapped or afraid of leaving a situation that’s toxic to them. I want you to know;
IT GETS BETTER.

(Before)

I think that the thing about recovery is that sometimes you don’t recognise how bad things were before until you look back. I looked back on a picture of myself seven years ago during the unhappiest period of my life and it actually shocked me how much emptiness I can see in my own eyes. I can feel my own unhappiness and I can see how much my life has changed, how much more of a positive mindset I have in present day.

It doesn’t happen overnight. It didn’t happen overnight for me at all but the moment that toxic person was out of my life I was so relieved that it was finally done with. My life could finally move on.

It was over the past seven years since that I realised that while things get better, the past never changes. Bury it as much as you like – it is still there. I have never not managed to carry on with my life, I have never stopped picking up the broken pieces of who I was before but the fantastic part of healing is becoming someone new who is stronger and braver.

(After)

I don’t think of myself as brave because I never once felt like I was doing something hard. I just made the decisions I had to in order to move forwards with my life, I couldn’t stay in a bad place forever. Nobody should have to stay in that dark place. It’s not where we belong.

But I think it is true that the bravest thing you can do is realise what happened, accept it and make a conscious effort to make peace with not only the situation but the past as a whole. Peace doesn’t come easily.

There were times over the past seven years where I felt broken beyond disrepair, where I used coping mechanisms that were not healthy at all. I hurt other people that ended up wrapped up in my rage over what had happened to me even though it was neither of our faults. Time and time again I made the same choices knowing the result and time and time again I was left alone but not disappointed. It is so easy to find ways to punish yourself for things you had no control over, as easy as it is for other people who were not there to ask you why you did not simply do something about what happened or leave. Unfortunately, the truth is, I cannot truly answer why it was so hard to leave and neither can I answer as to why, still now, sometimes, I feel like I still need to be punished for something that was out of my control.

Day by day, year by year, things got easier. I began to recognise the negative things I was doing and the reasons why. I was able to realise that what had happened to me had resulted in me being the toxic person in some of my relationships. All the anger that was inside of me, all that punishing myself… It was all just punishing the people that I cared about.

Now, I can finally say that I am happy. I have become a person that is no longer afraid of those dark places or trying to bury the past. I have accepted what has happened and I’m ready to talk about that experience as well as the process of getting to this point.

I want others to know… IT GETS BETTER!

Thank you, Elicia Louise for sharing this truly traumatic story of yours, albeit it with, I am so happy to say an inspiring and motivating outcome in terms of your fight, courage and strength to battle back.
I truly believe this will hit home for so many people, with a hope that it will encourage them to stand up and fight back and ultimately have it become a part of their own survival journey.

I have the upmost respect for you in sharing your story in hope of helping others and wish you the best of luck and happiness in all that you do. 

You are truly an inspiration to many. 

#chasingstarlightwarrior

To follow Elicia Louise's continued journey please check out her blog at:

https://elicialouise.com/

Thank you again, 

Mark 💪

Stuart's Story

STUART’S STORY

Recently this affliction I’m living with has reared its ugly head. Knocked me for six and scared the hell out of me. I just need to write this to vent some frustration. I’ve not been myself for the last 8 weeks so if I’ve upset anyone I didn’t mean to.

Why do I let hypothetical thoughts in my own mind manifest into nonsensical issues that ignite the feelings I don’t want to have. I just want to stay in my bed and sleep 24/7 as I can’t be arsed facing the day, never mind people.
I’m a prisoner in my own made up world.

People think depression is sadness.
People think depression is crying.
People think depression is dressing in black.
For me, depression is an enigma. It’s a constant feeling of being numb.
Being numb to emotions. Being numb to life.
You wake up in the morning just to go back to bed again. Days aren’t really days; they are just annoying obstacles that need to be faced. And how do you face them?
Through medication, through drinking, through smoking, through drugs and through cutting. When you’re depressed you grasp onto anything that can get you through the day.
That is what depression is for me, not sadness or tears, as you’re not feeling sad or upset, it’s the overwhelming sense of numbness and the desire for anything that can help you make it from one day to the next.

The anxiety makes me feel like a burden on everyone. In a way, imposing, monopolising people’s time. It’s horrid, and if you let it, it consumes you.
I am battling constantly with my own mind.

I try to set myself goals and targets, to have a purpose or something to aim for.
Eating regularly, not just eating, but eating food I want to eat. Sleeping for 8 hours. Having a shower/bath. Things most people take for granted; these things are difficult to do when you’re struggling to even contemplate getting out of bed.

I am now awaiting an appointment with my psychiatrist for my depression as I am told it has now manifested to psychosis and bipolar or schizophrenia.

Never look down on anyone unless you’re helping them up! You don’t know what battle they are fighting.

Tomorrow is the first day of the rest of your life.

Live forever,

Stuart Sanderson x

Thank you, Stuart, for sharing your on-going struggle with mental health and helping to further raise awareness to this ever growing illness.
Your rawness and realness I am sure will relate with so many others who will understand your struggles and hopefully open the eyes and give more insight to those who don't. 

You’re an inspiration to many.

You’re a survivor and warrior!

#chasingstarlightwarrior

Mark 💪