shatteredspine
𝙎𝘾𝙍𝙀𝙒𝙀𝘿 𝕓𝕪 𝔽𝕒𝕚𝕝𝕖𝕕 𝔸𝕥𝕥𝕖𝕞𝕡𝕥
- Feb 9, 2024
- 26
Hey guys,
I never know how to start these. Most of us end up here when we're struggling, so it feels strange to start casually—but I genuinely hope you're okay. It's validating to know I'm not alone, but I hate that any of us are here. I wish I could take away your pain. Every single one of you.
While going through old files, I found an assignment from a peer support class I took five years ago called "My Story, My Voice." We had to write about a life-changing moment. It was supposed to be 2–5 minutes, but if you've seen my posts, you know I went over. Sharing it with people who understood what it's like to struggle with mental health was the first time I felt truly seen.
Peer support groups and therapy are honestly the only reason I've made it this far. If it weren't for my spinal cord injury and everything that came with it, I probably wouldn't be here now. Those groups were fun, validating, and actually taught me tools I still use today. Most were on Zoom—you don't even have to leave your house. If you haven't tried it, please do.
That said, my physical condition has declined. Pain management hasn't helped. My life is pain—that's why I'm here. I wish I'd tried therapy before my first attempt; things might've been different. But please know recovery is possible. Training your mind works if you commit to it. 10/10 recommend. Ignore the fact that I'm here now.
For a while, I had it together—making close to $100k, debt-free, living my dream. Then I re-injured myself. Now I can barely walk. I lost basic functions. It's humiliating and dehumanizing. I'm telling you this so you don't think I'm full of shit when I say that mental health recovery is possible — people is achievable. I'm not a hypocrite.
Anyway, before this turns into another novel—here's the short story that started it all.
It is a less-than-average work week. We are restructuring a marina to get ready to install the solar system onto it. We are using a barge to stack our scaffolding onto and moving from boat slip to boat slip. I'm not very tall, so I have to work on the ground, just passing beams up to everyone else all week. It is so monotonous. I just came out as transgender to everyone I know on my Facebook on Sunday, some of whom happen to be on my crew. They are making a big deal to my female roommate about how she can be comfortable rooming with me. I'm sitting in my car and they don't know my window is down. I just heard that they contacted HR about it. I feel so isolated. My roommate doesn't care—she's a great person. I don't understand why all of the guys are being this way.
My girlfriend and I have kind of been having some problems. I am staying in the hotel up north for the week. I'm trying to focus on the task at hand. Do not think about whether or not she'll be there when you're home, Casey. The days are just blending together at this point. I have the entire week in a fog.
Finally, it's Friday. I can leave. After we finish cleaning up and putting everything away, I jump in my car and leave. It's a long, scenic drive. I'm trying to be present. There are sounds of Sublime in the background, my favorite songs blasting. It is October, the air is crisp. The leaves are changing color—Mother Nature at her finest. My windows are cracked, the cold air hitting me in the face. Even with the music, it's the only way I can stay focused on the road ahead. I'm trying my best not to disassociate. Get out of this fog, man! I almost felt as if I were driving high.
What have I done? Why would I tell everyone at work? What are they thinking about me? Am I going to have to room alone and cost the company more money? What am I coming home to? I only came out to everyone in my small town that I had grown up with on Sunday. What were the people that teased me for being gay going to say now? What was happening with my favorite person? Is she leaving? Am I going to be alone forever now? Does the whole world think I am a freak? I rented from my Christian grandmother… does she know now!? I am taking the long way home, trying to take in all of the beauty my surroundings have to offer before I get home—before my questions start to be answered. Cue fog. This weekend is gone. I'll never know what the answers to those questions were.
I awake and everyone around me is in scrubs, gowns, face masks, and shields. What is going on? Where am I?! "Who are you people!?" "Why am I tied up?!" "Hello!" "WHY AREN'T YOU ANSWERING ME!?" Everyone around me is talking. I keep hearing medical lingo between conversations about how their day is going. Every once in a while, someone would look down at me and tell me everything is going to be fine and to relax, and then go back to their conversation. I do not understand why they aren't listening to me. Someone is holding my already restrained arms, but nobody is holding my legs. Why can't I move my legs!? Where are my legs!? Why aren't you listening to my responses? I am trying to move, trying to get their attention. "Calm down" is all they are saying to me. Cue fog.
Once again, I am coming out of a fog. I'm in a small glass room. There's a nurse standing at an equipment cart in front of me. She's facing away from me. I am trying to yell for her, but once again, they're not listening to me. I don't understand. Where is my family? Mom? The nurse turns around, walks over, and looks at all the machines I am starting to realize I am attached to. Have I been frigging kidnapped!? "Hello! NURSE! WHERE AM I!?" She still is not acknowledging me. She's walking around me like I am not even here!
I begin to scan the room for the first time. Separated by only glass walls, I see rows of these tiny glass rooms. Each one has a desk at the end of the bed and a nurse sitting right in front of them. All of these people seem to be in the same state that I am. "Where the heck am I!?" I cannot understand why nobody will tell me anything. Am I the main character of a new Stephen King movie!? Have these people given me an epidural or something? What are those things on my legs? I can't see my tattoos… are those even my legs!? Okay, now I'm freaking out. I start trying to escape from my handcuffs, and finally I get the nurse's attention. She walks over to me and injects something into one of the million tubes hanging from my body. Cue fog.
Once again, I start to feel like I am waking up. My mom and my girlfriend are standing on either side of me. "Is this real!?" Here come the waterworks. "Mom, where am I!? Please take me home! Who are these people!? What happened!?" My mom's just telling me to calm down. She does not seem to be understanding what I am saying. Why are you just holding me down? Why won't anyone answer me?
A nurse comes to my bedside and starts to pull what looks at first like a ball gag, but soon follows a very long tube. So this is why nobody can hear me. My mom and my girlfriend on each side are just telling me to breathe. "What the hell is happening to me!?" It feels like a 300-lb man is sitting on my chest. I'm trying so hard to breathe but I can't catch my breath. It's terrifying. I don't understand. I still can't move or feel my legs. My mom has been rubbing them this entire time and I haven't felt it once. Nothing is making sense. The nurse tells my mom and girlfriend that I can't do it and approaches with another needle. "MOM! ASHLEY! HELP ME!" They can't hear me. They're just crying. What is happening here!? The nurse is still talking to my family like I am not even here. "We have to prepare…" Cue fog.
I am hearing familiar voices. I hear crying. I hear my deadname. I hear prayers. These people are chanting prayers! My surroundings are familiar but everything around me seems to look a little bit different. Am I dreaming? These are the voices of people I know, but their faces are not matching. Who are they? What are they? What is happening to me? Am I hallucinating!? I am surrounded by "witch doctors" chanting weird prayers that sound nothing like what I've heard in church. It sounds like my mom's best friends, but they have different faces. This is a nightmare.
This is just a routine now. I can't understand what is happening to me still. Why the hell isn't anyone helping me get away from these people? I've awoken several times now and this keeps happening. The same fat man on my chest. A cycle of nurses taking stuff out and putting stuff in. They just took the tube out again. I'm surrounded by all of my family now. Why is everyone crying? Finally, they've given me a whiteboard and pen to write. I write, "I am kidnapped, this isn't a real hospital," and everyone laughs for a second. Are they in on this!? I throw my whiteboard and now I am crying. The nurse tells everyone I have to calm down or they have to leave. I'm trying to talk but nothing is coming out, so my mom passes me the whiteboard again. I write, "Why am I here?" and everyone starts to sob. My grandmother gets up and leaves the room.
My mom looks at me. "You don't remember anything?" NO! She starts to explain to me that I had taken all of my anxiety medications, driven out to the country, and attempted to asphyxiate myself in the back of my car. My grandmother and my girlfriend had found my location from my phone's GPS and tracked me about 20 minutes away, down a winding road in the country. "Why can't I remember all of this? This still makes no sense."
"When they pulled you out of your car and put you into Grandma's, once they started driving, you jumped out and ran into the forest." This kind of sounds familiar to me, but I still don't understand why I am here, like this. "Your grandmother and Ashley followed you into the forest. First responders arrived at the same time. The paramedics, the police, firefighters—they were all trying to coax you down. The firefighters were coming in with their ladder and you started getting really upset and screaming and yelling." This is sounding a lot more familiar. I remember yelling to go away. I remember yelling to leave me alone. I remember jumping on the branch, and I remember that sound, seeing the branch below my feet break from the tree. "Fuck" was my very last thought. This kind of makes sense now… DID I BREAK MY FUCKING BACK!? A nurse instantly raises her head and yells, "NO!"
I eventually got off of the ventilator and got out of the ICU. I was on the neurosurgery ward when I realized the full extent of my injury. They brought in this great big wheelchair with head supports. Everyone thought I would be so excited to get out of my bed, but all I wanted to know was: "Is this forever?" The doctor and nurses looked at me nervously, with no answer for me. I was petrified.
After a few weeks, I finally got to go to physiotherapy. I had been really working out and trying to get bigger. Being in construction, I was really trying to get bigger to keep up with the other guys. Upon going into physio, it was going to be the first time I got to see myself; I had to watch what I was doing in a big mirror to help me see what muscles I was moving. Before they put it in front of me, they gave me a heads-up that I looked a lot different—I lost all of my muscle mass while I was in the coma. The person who was staring back at me was not myself. They were skin and bones. I was at 86 lbs.
The physiotherapy inpatient program I was going into had sent representatives to the hospital to assess me for the program. I was told my legs, in regards to feeling and movement, were given a 0 and 1 out of 10. I was told I'd be living at this place for 8–12 months to get back on my feet. This did not appeal to me.
I was in the wheelchair for a couple of months. I was doing physiotherapy. I eventually got a little bit of movement and feeling back in my toes and I ran with it. I eventually got to the point I was walking with devices. I was extremely driven—if I was told to do 5 reps, I would do 25. I pushed myself as far as I could go. I wanted the hell out of this chair and the last thing I wanted was to be walking with a walker at 25 years old. When it came time to be transferred over to the physio home, two weeks later, upon being wheeled into my room… I walked over to my bed while my nurses were in the hall. I spent three weeks at Lyndhurst. I left using the assistance of only a cane.
Within six months of my accident, I was so motivated and so over being stared at in public that I pushed myself to lengths nobody expected. I was running on my treadmill every day. I really just wanted to get back to life as usual. I got myself into therapy and was doing DBT in Northumberland, but eventually, I just wanted to go back to work. I was kind of irresponsible, but I just wanted to feel like a man again. I've always centered my life around work—I was raised that that was the main priority. I definitely regret walking away from all my therapy programs, but I had to move hours away to find someone that would have me. I had to abandon my therapy programs, but I had my sights set.
Years have passed. This all happened in 2016. Unfortunately, that experience had not been enough to keep me focused on my mental health. I prioritized work over my mental health, which ultimately turned out to be a mistake. I was experiencing lots of pain. I had two twelve-inch rods in my spine. I couldn't maintain a job. I had moved hours away for a job doing siding and roofing, ultimately hurting my back even more. I wound up in an abusive relationship that led me to the use of fentanyl and OxyContin and eventually, being arrested after another episode of stress-induced psychosis. It was embarrassing, but it led me to all of these therapy classes and medication, and I feel like a completely new person. The people around me can sense it. Everyone can see the changes that I have made in regards to my mental health, and there is finally a light at the end of the tunnel. I accept that I have a lot of work left to do on myself, but for the first time I feel like I am actually capable of it and worthy of a long, happy life. I, for the first time, have real plans for the future—I have goals and dreams. My journey to mental wellness has given me the opportunity to meet new people that have a positive impact on my life and only motivate me to continue doing better. For the first time in my life, I see myself living a long, happy life worth living.
Now, I am starting to finally have a story worth telling. I am taking what started as a horror story and turning it into a story of hope and happiness. I accept that I will have hardships and that life is not going to be easy, but I now understand that nothing worth having comes easily. In order to find happiness, you have to work for it. And for the first time, I'm willing and excited for the ups and downs and my newfound ability to get through all of them with my new sense of self.
I want to hear your stories. Write me a novel in return — I love to read. Tell me about a moment that impacted you most. I wrote mine because of its physical impact, but honestly, I wish I'd written about what led me there.
Share whatever you're comfortable with. And if you're not ready to share here, that's okay too — it's still incredibly therapeutic to get it all out. Write it in your journal, save it somewhere safe, or share it with someone you trust.
I never know how to start these. Most of us end up here when we're struggling, so it feels strange to start casually—but I genuinely hope you're okay. It's validating to know I'm not alone, but I hate that any of us are here. I wish I could take away your pain. Every single one of you.
While going through old files, I found an assignment from a peer support class I took five years ago called "My Story, My Voice." We had to write about a life-changing moment. It was supposed to be 2–5 minutes, but if you've seen my posts, you know I went over. Sharing it with people who understood what it's like to struggle with mental health was the first time I felt truly seen.
Peer support groups and therapy are honestly the only reason I've made it this far. If it weren't for my spinal cord injury and everything that came with it, I probably wouldn't be here now. Those groups were fun, validating, and actually taught me tools I still use today. Most were on Zoom—you don't even have to leave your house. If you haven't tried it, please do.
That said, my physical condition has declined. Pain management hasn't helped. My life is pain—that's why I'm here. I wish I'd tried therapy before my first attempt; things might've been different. But please know recovery is possible. Training your mind works if you commit to it. 10/10 recommend. Ignore the fact that I'm here now.
For a while, I had it together—making close to $100k, debt-free, living my dream. Then I re-injured myself. Now I can barely walk. I lost basic functions. It's humiliating and dehumanizing. I'm telling you this so you don't think I'm full of shit when I say that mental health recovery is possible — people is achievable. I'm not a hypocrite.
Anyway, before this turns into another novel—here's the short story that started it all.
It is a less-than-average work week. We are restructuring a marina to get ready to install the solar system onto it. We are using a barge to stack our scaffolding onto and moving from boat slip to boat slip. I'm not very tall, so I have to work on the ground, just passing beams up to everyone else all week. It is so monotonous. I just came out as transgender to everyone I know on my Facebook on Sunday, some of whom happen to be on my crew. They are making a big deal to my female roommate about how she can be comfortable rooming with me. I'm sitting in my car and they don't know my window is down. I just heard that they contacted HR about it. I feel so isolated. My roommate doesn't care—she's a great person. I don't understand why all of the guys are being this way.
My girlfriend and I have kind of been having some problems. I am staying in the hotel up north for the week. I'm trying to focus on the task at hand. Do not think about whether or not she'll be there when you're home, Casey. The days are just blending together at this point. I have the entire week in a fog.
Finally, it's Friday. I can leave. After we finish cleaning up and putting everything away, I jump in my car and leave. It's a long, scenic drive. I'm trying to be present. There are sounds of Sublime in the background, my favorite songs blasting. It is October, the air is crisp. The leaves are changing color—Mother Nature at her finest. My windows are cracked, the cold air hitting me in the face. Even with the music, it's the only way I can stay focused on the road ahead. I'm trying my best not to disassociate. Get out of this fog, man! I almost felt as if I were driving high.
What have I done? Why would I tell everyone at work? What are they thinking about me? Am I going to have to room alone and cost the company more money? What am I coming home to? I only came out to everyone in my small town that I had grown up with on Sunday. What were the people that teased me for being gay going to say now? What was happening with my favorite person? Is she leaving? Am I going to be alone forever now? Does the whole world think I am a freak? I rented from my Christian grandmother… does she know now!? I am taking the long way home, trying to take in all of the beauty my surroundings have to offer before I get home—before my questions start to be answered. Cue fog. This weekend is gone. I'll never know what the answers to those questions were.
I awake and everyone around me is in scrubs, gowns, face masks, and shields. What is going on? Where am I?! "Who are you people!?" "Why am I tied up?!" "Hello!" "WHY AREN'T YOU ANSWERING ME!?" Everyone around me is talking. I keep hearing medical lingo between conversations about how their day is going. Every once in a while, someone would look down at me and tell me everything is going to be fine and to relax, and then go back to their conversation. I do not understand why they aren't listening to me. Someone is holding my already restrained arms, but nobody is holding my legs. Why can't I move my legs!? Where are my legs!? Why aren't you listening to my responses? I am trying to move, trying to get their attention. "Calm down" is all they are saying to me. Cue fog.
Once again, I am coming out of a fog. I'm in a small glass room. There's a nurse standing at an equipment cart in front of me. She's facing away from me. I am trying to yell for her, but once again, they're not listening to me. I don't understand. Where is my family? Mom? The nurse turns around, walks over, and looks at all the machines I am starting to realize I am attached to. Have I been frigging kidnapped!? "Hello! NURSE! WHERE AM I!?" She still is not acknowledging me. She's walking around me like I am not even here!
I begin to scan the room for the first time. Separated by only glass walls, I see rows of these tiny glass rooms. Each one has a desk at the end of the bed and a nurse sitting right in front of them. All of these people seem to be in the same state that I am. "Where the heck am I!?" I cannot understand why nobody will tell me anything. Am I the main character of a new Stephen King movie!? Have these people given me an epidural or something? What are those things on my legs? I can't see my tattoos… are those even my legs!? Okay, now I'm freaking out. I start trying to escape from my handcuffs, and finally I get the nurse's attention. She walks over to me and injects something into one of the million tubes hanging from my body. Cue fog.
Once again, I start to feel like I am waking up. My mom and my girlfriend are standing on either side of me. "Is this real!?" Here come the waterworks. "Mom, where am I!? Please take me home! Who are these people!? What happened!?" My mom's just telling me to calm down. She does not seem to be understanding what I am saying. Why are you just holding me down? Why won't anyone answer me?
A nurse comes to my bedside and starts to pull what looks at first like a ball gag, but soon follows a very long tube. So this is why nobody can hear me. My mom and my girlfriend on each side are just telling me to breathe. "What the hell is happening to me!?" It feels like a 300-lb man is sitting on my chest. I'm trying so hard to breathe but I can't catch my breath. It's terrifying. I don't understand. I still can't move or feel my legs. My mom has been rubbing them this entire time and I haven't felt it once. Nothing is making sense. The nurse tells my mom and girlfriend that I can't do it and approaches with another needle. "MOM! ASHLEY! HELP ME!" They can't hear me. They're just crying. What is happening here!? The nurse is still talking to my family like I am not even here. "We have to prepare…" Cue fog.
I am hearing familiar voices. I hear crying. I hear my deadname. I hear prayers. These people are chanting prayers! My surroundings are familiar but everything around me seems to look a little bit different. Am I dreaming? These are the voices of people I know, but their faces are not matching. Who are they? What are they? What is happening to me? Am I hallucinating!? I am surrounded by "witch doctors" chanting weird prayers that sound nothing like what I've heard in church. It sounds like my mom's best friends, but they have different faces. This is a nightmare.
This is just a routine now. I can't understand what is happening to me still. Why the hell isn't anyone helping me get away from these people? I've awoken several times now and this keeps happening. The same fat man on my chest. A cycle of nurses taking stuff out and putting stuff in. They just took the tube out again. I'm surrounded by all of my family now. Why is everyone crying? Finally, they've given me a whiteboard and pen to write. I write, "I am kidnapped, this isn't a real hospital," and everyone laughs for a second. Are they in on this!? I throw my whiteboard and now I am crying. The nurse tells everyone I have to calm down or they have to leave. I'm trying to talk but nothing is coming out, so my mom passes me the whiteboard again. I write, "Why am I here?" and everyone starts to sob. My grandmother gets up and leaves the room.
My mom looks at me. "You don't remember anything?" NO! She starts to explain to me that I had taken all of my anxiety medications, driven out to the country, and attempted to asphyxiate myself in the back of my car. My grandmother and my girlfriend had found my location from my phone's GPS and tracked me about 20 minutes away, down a winding road in the country. "Why can't I remember all of this? This still makes no sense."
"When they pulled you out of your car and put you into Grandma's, once they started driving, you jumped out and ran into the forest." This kind of sounds familiar to me, but I still don't understand why I am here, like this. "Your grandmother and Ashley followed you into the forest. First responders arrived at the same time. The paramedics, the police, firefighters—they were all trying to coax you down. The firefighters were coming in with their ladder and you started getting really upset and screaming and yelling." This is sounding a lot more familiar. I remember yelling to go away. I remember yelling to leave me alone. I remember jumping on the branch, and I remember that sound, seeing the branch below my feet break from the tree. "Fuck" was my very last thought. This kind of makes sense now… DID I BREAK MY FUCKING BACK!? A nurse instantly raises her head and yells, "NO!"
I eventually got off of the ventilator and got out of the ICU. I was on the neurosurgery ward when I realized the full extent of my injury. They brought in this great big wheelchair with head supports. Everyone thought I would be so excited to get out of my bed, but all I wanted to know was: "Is this forever?" The doctor and nurses looked at me nervously, with no answer for me. I was petrified.
After a few weeks, I finally got to go to physiotherapy. I had been really working out and trying to get bigger. Being in construction, I was really trying to get bigger to keep up with the other guys. Upon going into physio, it was going to be the first time I got to see myself; I had to watch what I was doing in a big mirror to help me see what muscles I was moving. Before they put it in front of me, they gave me a heads-up that I looked a lot different—I lost all of my muscle mass while I was in the coma. The person who was staring back at me was not myself. They were skin and bones. I was at 86 lbs.
The physiotherapy inpatient program I was going into had sent representatives to the hospital to assess me for the program. I was told my legs, in regards to feeling and movement, were given a 0 and 1 out of 10. I was told I'd be living at this place for 8–12 months to get back on my feet. This did not appeal to me.
I was in the wheelchair for a couple of months. I was doing physiotherapy. I eventually got a little bit of movement and feeling back in my toes and I ran with it. I eventually got to the point I was walking with devices. I was extremely driven—if I was told to do 5 reps, I would do 25. I pushed myself as far as I could go. I wanted the hell out of this chair and the last thing I wanted was to be walking with a walker at 25 years old. When it came time to be transferred over to the physio home, two weeks later, upon being wheeled into my room… I walked over to my bed while my nurses were in the hall. I spent three weeks at Lyndhurst. I left using the assistance of only a cane.
Within six months of my accident, I was so motivated and so over being stared at in public that I pushed myself to lengths nobody expected. I was running on my treadmill every day. I really just wanted to get back to life as usual. I got myself into therapy and was doing DBT in Northumberland, but eventually, I just wanted to go back to work. I was kind of irresponsible, but I just wanted to feel like a man again. I've always centered my life around work—I was raised that that was the main priority. I definitely regret walking away from all my therapy programs, but I had to move hours away to find someone that would have me. I had to abandon my therapy programs, but I had my sights set.
Years have passed. This all happened in 2016. Unfortunately, that experience had not been enough to keep me focused on my mental health. I prioritized work over my mental health, which ultimately turned out to be a mistake. I was experiencing lots of pain. I had two twelve-inch rods in my spine. I couldn't maintain a job. I had moved hours away for a job doing siding and roofing, ultimately hurting my back even more. I wound up in an abusive relationship that led me to the use of fentanyl and OxyContin and eventually, being arrested after another episode of stress-induced psychosis. It was embarrassing, but it led me to all of these therapy classes and medication, and I feel like a completely new person. The people around me can sense it. Everyone can see the changes that I have made in regards to my mental health, and there is finally a light at the end of the tunnel. I accept that I have a lot of work left to do on myself, but for the first time I feel like I am actually capable of it and worthy of a long, happy life. I, for the first time, have real plans for the future—I have goals and dreams. My journey to mental wellness has given me the opportunity to meet new people that have a positive impact on my life and only motivate me to continue doing better. For the first time in my life, I see myself living a long, happy life worth living.
Now, I am starting to finally have a story worth telling. I am taking what started as a horror story and turning it into a story of hope and happiness. I accept that I will have hardships and that life is not going to be easy, but I now understand that nothing worth having comes easily. In order to find happiness, you have to work for it. And for the first time, I'm willing and excited for the ups and downs and my newfound ability to get through all of them with my new sense of self.
I want to hear your stories. Write me a novel in return — I love to read. Tell me about a moment that impacted you most. I wrote mine because of its physical impact, but honestly, I wish I'd written about what led me there.
Share whatever you're comfortable with. And if you're not ready to share here, that's okay too — it's still incredibly therapeutic to get it all out. Write it in your journal, save it somewhere safe, or share it with someone you trust.
