Virtual Open Mic: Ellie Wildbore (Part 2)

This was the exact opposite. People stood up with the microphone (or without, or sat down, or stood at the back – whatever worked for them), and spoke, honestly about their stories. Their injury, what happened, how they were burnt, how much they were burnt, the recovery process, trauma, people they’d lost, things they’d gained.

Even 3 months ago I would have not have been able to sit in that room. I have such a low tolerance for experiencing or even hearing about triggers without dissociating that I would just have not been able to be there. Or if I had I wouldn’t have heard what was being said as my brain tried to protect me. But I heard every word. The room listened raptly to every individual who stood up there. Every member of the audience with that person on every step of their recounted journey.

And the stories, the stories were painful. They were raw. They were tragic. They were sad. They were uplifting. They were joyful. They were hopeful. They were humorous. Every single emotion a human being could possibly feel must have been felt in that 2 hour session. They were resilient. They were courageous. They were vulnerable. It was an absolutely privilege to be in that space. I won’t recount other people’s stories -they’re not mine to tell, it was a safe space for those that got it. It was an absolute honour to hear them.

Everyone had scars. And it didn’t matter if they were big or small. Visible or hidden. Whether the story was an international headline or a home accident gone unnoticed by the rest of the world. Everyone in that room had experienced their life changing forever. And the experience of continuing living in the aftermath of that event.

I’ve never met another person who knows what its like to be in on fire. Not like “shit I accidentally caught my hair and blew it out” on fire but engulfed in flames sort of on fire. That experience and the feelings that came with it are what plague and disable me every single day. And here I was in a room which was full of people who knew what that felt like (Disclaimer: this wasn’t everybody – there are plenty of other ways to obtain burn injuries – but there were a fair few). And just knowing that was healing it itself. I wasn’t alone in that experience.

I wasn’t going to speak. I didn’t think I could. It didn’t seem fair after hearing all those journeys. But there was a gap – and I somehow found myself at the front of the room. I honestly can’t remember what I said. Except I explained at the start that it was literally my job to talk about lived experience of mental health. But not my burns story, and I didn’t think I could do it. I took a deep breath and admitted to the room that unlike a lot of them, I had a choice in my injury. That in 2015, at a point in my life where I didn’t think I could get any lower, I took a lighter to my hospital night gown and set myself on fire in a psychiatric unit. I don’t really remember much else of what I said. Except that I got emotional. I am never emotional when talking about my story. I am entirely disconnected. I rambled on in what felt like a really incoherent babble before losing my way and returning to break down in tears in Shami’s arms. I’d for sure just turned a room of human beings on me – they must hate me now for what I’d done.

But then the lady in front of me turned around and squeezed my hand. The guy next to me said well done and thank you. From behind me a woman hugged my shoulders. Polly took the mic and said to the room that we all had a right to be there and deserved support.

Even me. The girl who set herself on fire.

The session continued with people telling their stories. The guy next to me got up and went to the front. He looked straight at me and said “I wasn’t going to come up. But then Ellie did, and I felt that I could too – because I too feel responsible for my burns”. His story was different to mine but he had the same feelings of shame, guilt and unreservedness because he felt it was self inflicted. After he finished speaking and returned to his seat we both told each other we were proud and shared a hug.

And in that 2 hours, everything changed. That anxiety and separateness and paranoia I had felt melted away. Straight after, and for the rest of the weekend people showed their support, and appreciation that what I did was brave. People asked more about self harm and how it worked. Another person came up and said she felt her injuries were self inflicted in a way too. One woman took me through her emotional journey as she listened to me speak – first anger towards me, then anger towards others, then empathy and finally pride. Everyone reiterated that I had as much right to be there as everyone else.

The rest of the weekend flew by. With more story sharing. Talking about scars and laughing about situations we’d been in because of them. Dark humour was rife which is my favourite way of coping with difficult stuff. There was an amazing dinner and dancing – people boogying away like no-one was watching. Because for once, no one was watching. Most of us were used to being stared at in some way because we look different. We were used to being the elephants in the room but now we were a whole herd of elephants. I wondered what the few other people at the hotel thought – being in the minority as they were not scarred.

Several more challenges presented themselves over the weekend. But unlike normal, I was able to face them head on. This weekend – where I had expected to be a dissociated, triggered mess, I was actually more grounded and in the present than I have ever been.

Anyone who knows me even a little bit knows I go to massive lengths (to the extent of being in danger or ending up homeless) to avoid triggers. But this weekend showed me that I can, somewhere deep down, do the things I avoid doing. I have been stuck for 8 years. Trapped by my own fire. This weekend unstuck me. It oiled my gears just enough so that they could inch forward and I could see that there is a stage ahead. Something I didn’t know was there. But at this weekend there were people who had gone through that stage and moved forwards. There were people still on that journey. But most importantly it proved to me that it is possible. Even the most stuck people can move forward. Time heals too.

I’m so grateful to have had this opportunity. To feel empowered. To have hope. To feel like maybe I do have more control over my life than I thought. I will move forwards, and it will take time, and I will still need some help. But I will move forwards.

The next chapter is just beginning.

6 months later, the magic of that weekend hasn’t worn off. I now have a new hope - that one day I can get through this and be in a better place. I now identify as a burn survivor, not the girl who set herself on fire. And by identifying as a burn survivor I am now part of the strongest, most resilient and accepting community of people I know. I now have a whole host of burns friends who I can message when difficult stuff happens - like seeing something on the news, or weird stuff happens - like leg hair growing on my face from my skin graft. I am no longer alone.

Disclaimer: The stories featured on this website are personal accounts shared by individuals from the burn community. Each burn injury, recovery journey, and healing process is unique. These stories are meant to offer connection, insight, and hope but are not intended as medical advice. What worked for one person may not be appropriate for others. The perspectives shared in these stories do not necessarily represent the views of Phoenix Society for Burn Survivors. If you have medical questions or concerns, please consult a qualified healthcare professional.