Mum, moody, messy, manic. Retired musician and aspiring writer.
From dark, sordid, private journaling, this website became my greatest recovery asset for major depression and anxiety, and the eating disorder and self harm behaviours I used to mask them.
I imploded like a smashed egg, and from within I've found a fledgling bird, ready to spread its wings and fly.
I hope within these pages, you find a moment of connection, truth, revelation and understanding. This is my story. Perhaps it's yours too.
I have wanted death I have cried for it I have sought the final oblivion of death for as long as I am able to remember. Yet, I am here, I am alive and I can not help but wonder why? Why did the rope not strangle me, or the pills stop my heart? Why when the trigger was pulled, the gun did not spark? Why, when my blood was flowing, did my pulse still beat? Why when the voices yelled death and murder was I not defeated?
It is not every day you meet a woman with no ears and half a nose. Lucy Henry is not an average patient in the Emergency Department [ED], with her prominent scars from self-inflicted burns. She is one of the forty thousand patients that present at the Royal Hobart Hospital emergency department each year. This 35-year-old blonde is confident and comfortable in herself, despite the life-altering events of the past 13 years. As she relaxes on her sofa, with devoted dalmatian Lottie nearby, she speaks frankly about her experiences as a self-confessed "frequent flyer" in the emergency department.