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Filing Complaints
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Jackie: This prompt feels even more underwhelming than yesterdays. I’m struggling for inspiration and definitely generating ideas of how I might go about using this prompt. So, this is literally going to be a stream of conscious response, something I will use to continue and try to process all of the trauma work I’ve been doing. I apologize if it feels scattered and completely understand if your response is simply…thanks for sharing!

It was the filing of complaint after complaint with those society has deemed the solvers of all things mentally, physically and emotionally related that landed me there. It was the frustration of having to answer each medical professional’s questions, all of which triggered within me that they too were only going off of what they learned in whichever type of professional school they had attended:

“When did it start?”
“When do you notice it most?”
“Have you tried (blank)?”
“Could this just be all in your head?”

Their answers, regardless of mine, always resulted with a prescription for a new medication or a referral to someone else.

I remember coming to a point where I felt as if I were screaming for help, begging for someone to see me, not just my disease or my deteriorating mental state. For the life of me I couldn’t understand how I could be standing at the precipice of what would be a total and complete mental breakdown, and those who chose professions to help people like me, could without compassion say:

“You’re a complicated case”
“This doesn’t fit with (blank)”
“I think you need to see (blank) specialist”

Ultimately, sending me off to be someone else’s problem.

I remember my psychiatrist saying, “You have to fight. You are at war, and you have to fight.” And I will never forget my response, my belief at the time. Why fight and end up dying anyway? It’s just easier to go to the front lines and get it over with. That was where I was. All of the filing of complaints rendered me completely desperate, confused, afraid, alone and most importantly, they made me a burden.

Desperate for help, my body shut down, and I slowly was willing myself to die. My complaints weren’t heard and my body was done. I was ready to leave this world for one where the possibility of not having to file such complaints would encourage me to want to live.

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