By Amélie Létourneau
It started at age 12
It’s my father’s fault
Who met a woman and a bottle
Every day, weekdays and Sundays
Distanced himself from me, my sister
Loss of contact, speech, love
One year spent with her
She left, the bottle stayed
Another woman arrived, the bottle stayed
The distance increased
I was at his place, it was night
He left for the grocery store, I wanted to stay, not go there
He threatened to throw me out
He did it. I had to leave
Phoned my mother, who came to get me
Stressed, scared, I walked, crying
I ran in the rain with my fear
Months passed
Before the telephone rang
He called to try and patch things up
But that’s not what happened
Oil on the fire
Judgments, meanness,
Two years passed, the bottle stayed
I lost my appetite, my good mood and a taste for life
I lost the will to do anything
I cried a lot, my head, my illness
Psychoses and incomprehension
Everything fell apart inside
All that isn’t easy at age 14
The hospital, in pediatrics
Alone, with rage and anger
I hated my father
I left and came back
For a year
Looking for… the right medication
But no one understood my situation
Unhappily
Loss of appetite, lack of sleep
And soon depression
Pediatric psychiatry in Québec
Is worrying, at age 15
Alone, lost in my own chagrin
Nowhere to turn to, no one to hold out a helping hand
Almost no visits, my family was too far away
But evaluations six times a day
A lack of everything, including love
I hardened my shell
To face myself
A month of a thousand days
Woken up each morning for a blood sample
Each morning, I had a little less
After a few weeks: a diagnosis
It was hard to accept
For me and my family
My mother cried a lot
My father, an ostrich, ignored me
Bipolarity and anorexia
Another medication
Which worked well for three years
At age 18 I relapsed
Off to the hospital, trying again to explain
In psychiatry, it’s complicated
My mother left for the night
I was scared, I was stressed
I didn’t understand why I had to stay
So long
Feeling bad inside
They found another medication
That’s doing well, up to now
That made it four years
I learned again how to smile
To love life too
It took a lot of therapy
Meetings, follow-ups
But… the loss of energy
The struggle continues to explain
Why I can’t work
It continues to enrage me
To judge me, criticize me, put me down
Every day I hear it
But wait just a moment
You’re young, you’re not hurt
My wounds are invisible, are inside
The scars, they’re permanent
I’m not ashamed
But I’m scared of pointed fingers
When the world tells me
That it’ll get better
I have a right to my place, I want to get involved
Outside the only way to succeed that is shown
People should outfit themselves
Instead of putting others down with their judgments
No one is beyond this
One day it could be your children too
Who find their fault
Will you know to hold out your hand
Rather than point your finger?
I have courage, and a message to carry
It will cost me dearly, but lend me your ears
Because I’m fed up with repeating
That everyone has a right to their place
Stop the prejudices
If you want to understand me
Speak to me in my face
And if you too are cracking up inside
Don’t flee, talk about it
There are resources, people present
To help you, listen to you
There’s no shame in falling down
Then wanting to get back up
As my mother says
It takes strength and courage
To accept help
Translated from: L’art des fous: Texts on mental health by Gaspé residents
Published by Éditions TNT, 2021
www.editionstnt.com
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