Voices have been part of my life for as long as I can remember. For a long time, I didn’t talk about it. I thought it was just something I had to live with and manage on my own. 

I first remember seeing and hearing things when I was around eight years old but my family recalls earlier instances me mentioning a little goblin. At the time, I thought this was normal. At first, it wasn’t frightening. As I got older, especially around puberty, the experiences became more distressing. 

My childhood was extremely traumatic. I was abused over a long period of time by someone who was supposed to be caring for me. I was told everything was my fault and that emotions were not allowed, so I learned very early on to stay quiet. 

Loss, blame and silence 

This silence continued after my mum died by suicide. For years, I couldn’t understand why she had left me alone, until I later understood she was struggling with her own mental health. 

I was never allowed to speak to a mental health professional. When I was around 17, I saw a psychiatrist for the first time. He told me everything was caused by grief and that my brain had ‘snapped’. Once again, I was left feeling that this was my fault. 

By then, the voices had multiplied. I began seeing large, dark figures in my peripheral vision and believed I had a gift – that I could see spirits, including my mum. Medication wasn’t an option as I didn’t want to lose what felt like my only way of being close to her. 

Hospital, diagnoses and being misunderstood 

After the birth of my eldest son, my voices became even more intrusive, often encouraging me to harm myself and convincing me that doing so would allow me to see my mum again. 

Between my first and second son, I lost another baby. That triggered extreme hypervigilance making me constantly check on him and hearing a baby crying even when he was asleep. One night, I believed another baby was in danger and was later found in a field near my house, digging with my fingernails to reach a baby I believed was trapped underground. 

I entered a cycle of repeated hospital admissions and psychiatric care. I was diagnosed with depression, body dysmorphia, Obsessive Compulsive Disorder (OCD), bipolar and psychosis and eventually personality disorder. I was prescribed antipsychotic medication that was increased repeatedly, with little emotional support alongside it. 

I had learned not to show emotion or be a burden. When I once saw a professional become upset, I stopped sharing altogether. 

I was told I didn’t need help because I had a family. Another professional said I must be fine because I wore make-up. That was my mask. Eventually, I was discharged from psychiatry and told there was nothing more that could be done. I felt like I couldn’t be helped. 

Outreach support through Hearing Voices 

I gave birth to my daughter. My children became everything to me. Protecting them was my reason for keeping going. 

When the one stable person in my life, who was in the armed forces, began to struggle, I realised I couldn’t manage alone. I reached out for help and was referred by Families Outside to the Hearing Voices service in Fife run by Change Mental Health. 

I was hesitant. My past experiences with support had been damaging. Leaving the house and leaving my children felt overwhelming. But I agreed to meet Lynne, an Outreach Worker for Hearing Voices, at a local café. Slowly, trust began to build. 

For the first time, I felt seen.

Lynne didn’t focus on my diagnosis. She looked at what was happening around me. At the time, I was living in a privately rented home with severe damp and mould. My voices repeatedly told me my children were going to die because of it. 

Lynne acted quickly. She contacted the council, arranged inspections, supported me with housing forms and linked me with a housing organisation to help me leave the property safely. 

When eviction day came and I was told there was nowhere for us to go, she came to support me in person. That mattered more than I can describe. 

I now have a safe, secure council tenancy. 

I was also supported to engage with the Citizens Advice Bureau, who helped identify that I wasn’t receiving the correct benefits.  

Finding connection through peer support 

As things began to stabilise, I was able to start thinking about other kinds of support. I had never considered attending peer support meetings. I had been told previously that group work was my only option or I would receive nothing. That felt like a threat, not support. I didn’t trust people in the first place. 

Lynne encouraged me to try the Hearing Voices peer support group. I chose to trust her.