Me and My Disabilities

Hi, I’m Benjamin. I live with a complex combination of physical and mental health conditions, many of which stem from trauma, illness, and the simple fact that sometimes life throws more at you than anyone should ever have to carry. But I’m still here. Still standing. Still telling my story—not for sympathy, but to speak the truth, to break stigma, and to reach anyone who might need to hear, “You’re not alone.”

My Mental Health Journey

I live with Bipolar Disorder, Severe PTSD, Autism, and Emotionally Unstable Personality Disorder (EUPD)—also known as Borderline Personality Disorder. It’s a lot, and none of it came out of nowhere.

Some of these conditions were triggered by trauma I experienced as a child. I’m a survivor of childhood sexual abuse from my second cousin who was 5+ years older than me, it started when I turned 7 and went on until I was 13. I think he stopped when he reached 18 thinking probably that he wouldn’t get it trouble as he was underage as well. and while those words are hard to say, I refuse to let silence protect what should never have happened. That trauma shaped the way my brain and body developed. It led to years of emotional pain, confusion, and mental health struggles that have taken a long time to begin to untangle.

Bipolar Disorder means my life is often lived in extremes. The highs—mania—can be exhilarating but dangerous, filled with racing thoughts, reckless impulses, and a mind that won’t slow down. The lows are crushing. Depression feels like drowning in cement. It’s more than sadness; it’s emptiness, numbness, and a complete loss of energy or hope.

PTSD has stayed with me like a shadow. Flashbacks, nightmares, and constant hypervigilance have made even the simplest tasks exhausting. It’s not just about remembering the past—it’s about reliving it without warning, over and over again.

Autism adds another layer. I process the world differently—often more deeply, more sensitively. I notice everything: textures, sounds, changes in routine. It makes connection with people beautiful at times, and extremely challenging at others. I sometimes struggle with social cues, sensory overload, or needing structure to feel safe.

EUPD is possibly the most misunderstood of all. It means I feel everything intensely. My moods can change in minutes, and relationships can feel unstable and overwhelming. One of the hardest parts is that I hear voices—often dark, intrusive ones—that urge me to harm myself. And at my lowest, I’ve acted on them. Not because I wanted to die, but because the emotional pain became too much to bear. I live with scars, but also with strength. I’ve worked hard in therapy. I’ve learned coping strategies. I’m learning every day how to survive in a mind that can turn against me—and I’m proud of that.

My Physical Health Battles

My physical health journey is equally complex. Over the years, I’ve had to learn to adapt to a body that’s been through more trauma than most people face in a lifetime.

I’ve had five spinal surgeries, including a major spinal fusion, which has left me with spinal stenosis, sciatica, and relentless chronic pain. I take a cocktail of medication daily, including painkillers and regular injections just to manage basic mobility.

I also broke my left leg severely, shattering both the tibia and fibula in a spiral fracture that required a metal cage for seven months. The recovery was slow and brutal. Even now, I still struggle to walk far and rely on walking aids for support. My balance is poor, and I’ve had countless falls. It’s frustrating—but I get back up.

One of the scariest points in my life was when I developed pneumonia and sepsis. I ended up in intensive care, on a ventilator for four weeks, and stayed in hospital for eight weeks—right over Christmas. I nearly didn’t make it. That illness left lasting damage, including pulmonary fibrosis, which affects my lungs and breathing, and hearing loss, which means I now use hearing aids.

On top of that, I’m diabetic, requiring self-injected insulin, and I don’t naturally produce testosterone, so I’m on HRT (hormone replacement therapy) to help regulate my body’s systems. The lack of testosterone led to gynecomastia—the development of breast tissue in men—which has taken a toll on my self-image and confidence. Steroids saved my life during sepsis, but they also caused me to gain 40kg+ and destroyed my teeth, which have all now been removed. I’m currently waiting for dentures, and that process has added a whole new layer of physical and emotional discomfort. I am starting a long journey of rehab to get myself back on track and loose all the weight that I had gained from the steriods

All of these issues together mean I live with chronic fatigue, mobility issues, and constant pain. It’s a daily battle just to function. But I do it, because I have to. Because I want to live.

Why I Share My Story

I know this is a lot. It’s not easy to live, and it’s not always easy to share. But I do it because I believe in honesty. I believe in breaking the silence that surrounds trauma, illness, disability, and mental health. I believe people like me—people who’ve been through hell and are still here—deserve to be seen, heard, and understood.

My story is messy. My body and brain don’t always cooperate. But I’ve got a fierce heart, a lot of lived experience, and a deep desire to help others feel less alone.

If you’re struggling—physically, mentally, or both—please know you’re not the only one. There’s no shame in the fight. There’s courage in simply existing.

This is me. I’m Benjamin. I’m still here. And that matters.