Smoke

Smoke

By Shine Ambassador Daniela Ferro

Smoke? Am I smelling smoke? Is the car on fire? What is this white powder all around us? What happened? My husband Izaak and I locked eyes. We nodded at each other and turned around to the back seats. Kieran was screaming his lungs out. I felt a big relief brushing over me, but my heart also shattered. I had never heard him scream like that. He was conscious. That’s all that mattered right now. I pushed the airbag out of the way and pushed and hit the car door until it finally opened. I noticed blood running down my right hand. It didn’t matter. I held on to the car to not faint as I opened the door behind which my 5 years old son was screaming and panicking. I remember leaning over him, touching him, trying to reassure him but also realizing that there was no way I could get him out of his car seat because of my bleeding hand.

But then there was help. Out of nowhere appeared a friendly, calm face and helped Kieran and me to lay down onto the green. Izaak was there a few seconds later as well…

This happened a few months ago. We have been learning since that survival starts after surviving and that it’s a battle to go back to ‘living’.

As I type this, the physical injuries are mostly recovered. We got so ‘lucky’.

Sometimes I wish though, that there would be a visible sign of the beating that our minds still carry from this day and for the foreseeable future. I wish I could hold a sign above my head, that says: “I am hurting. I am vulnerable. Be kind.”

I learned a long time ago, that its equally good and bad that my lived experience with mental illness doesn’t show as such on day-to-day basis. It only shows at times where my well managed and robust mental health is being battered and bruised.

I was 18 when I experienced an episode of schizophrenic psychosis. Medication, education, support and acceptance let me grow up to be an intelligent, successful, happy and ‘living life to the fullest’ woman. The last seven years I have been living with a diagnosis of generalized anxiety disorder with hypomanic episodes with the last of such episodes happening around the time I was diagnosed.

In a weird way the aftermath of the crash seems like something I have been “trained” for my whole life. I had my mental health toolbox at the ready, I knew what to look out for and how to avoid spiraling out of control. It helped me to help Izaak and Kieran.

Don’t get me wrong, the hypomania was sitting on my shoulder for the first few weeks. But I was aware of her and so was my husband. I consciously channeled this excessive energy into the admin war that had to be looked after. Not for the faint hearted, especially because my brain was in emergency mode. It meant that I had to write down everything. Not much stuck during those days.

I paced myself through the endless emails and phone calls. Ensuring to have enough quiet rest phases and to have enough capacity to look after our little family.

We worked our way through the initial blur following the crash. Day by day, sometimes minute by minute.

All three of us were bleeding thick black trauma out of every single one of our pores. There were days, hours, moments where Izaak was the one looking after us, sometimes it was me and sometimes it was our wise and kindhearted 5 years old son that sparked the most important things we needed right now: Hope and safety.

Our family pharmacist said: “Glad you are still with us.”

There are so many acts of kindness that have happened. My heart is overflowing with love and feelings of gratitude. This is what I want to carry forward.

Izaak and I made a pact, to take this experience and make the best we can out of it and to talk about the immense mental health impact it had and has.

We are still on sick leave, attending physiotherapy and counselling. We are being helped by psychologists and psychiatrists, and our son is going to a play therapist once a week.

We will only be able to go back to “living” (rather than surviving) if all three of us heal as much as we can and wash off all the thick black trauma of that day.

We didn’t decide to be crashed into, but we are deciding every day to not let the darkness take over. We are fighting for every little ray of sunshine.

This world mental health day, I am asking you to give your loved ones a hug and to be kind to the people around you. Not all gaping wounds are visible.