Complex, not Complicated
Shaping Care Through Lived Experience, Because We Are More Than One Story
On April 23rd, 2026 I presented a speech as a Lived Experience Advocate at the The Royal Australian and New Zealand College of Psychiatrists, Psychiatry Interest Forum in Sydney. As a member of a number of mental health consumer committees, I was recommended for this particular opportunity by Lived Experience Australia and have nothing but positive feedback about the entire process.
It did initially take me a while to get into the groove of figuring out what I wanted to talk about on the day (in the month leading up to the presentation) but I am proud of how it turned out.
Please be advised of the following content and trigger warnings
Mention of suicide attempt and emergency hospital stay
Discussion of psychiatric hospital admission and care team
Mention of the terms childhood sexual abuse and pedophilia
Do you hear the voices beyond the hallways, or is it just me that hears their cries?
I had an older sister when I was four. (Mila) She kept me safe from the things that creaked in the night. She read me stories and comforted me even when the monsters in the closet scared her too. My little sister would giggle and try in her own way to help, sharing her own tales in shadow puppets on our bedroom wall “a wop pop pop” she would blabber, often skipping her idea of the storyline to talk about wolves that went “awoo”. Our younger brother (Colt) slept soundly through the frightful nights, sucking his thumb and occasionally trembling in his sleep. And our older brother, (Malachi) well he was angry most of the time. If we were tough, brave- more like him, there would be no reason to be scared. And as time went on, our older sister got her own friends that were bitter like our brother, when they stayed over and kept us ‘safe’ some would tease us, some would be resentful that they were stuck helping, and others were more than happy to help, and some seemed far too eager to do so.
And our mother, Ether, she was caring and gentle, everything you would wish for a mother to be. She would sing lullaby’s and hug us tight before bed while our father, Charles muttered about how we all need to be more like our older sister and some of her friends. He didn’t have time for the countless evenings I would wake other mother by crying out for help and feeling distressed. He was a perfectionist, stoic and devoid of emotion. Emotions got in the way of things, were a weakness. Do as you’re told, don’t make a big deal of things. Go to school, go to nan’s house. Come straight back home. Night time. Don’t talk about your life to strangers, and don’t think too much about why your sister leaves the hotel at night. A hotel that was just … off. I’d notice that the hallways were eerily silent despite the sounds of constant chatter, muffled crying, anger outbursts, yelling. I rarely interacted with anyone but my siblings.
I’ve written this on behalf of my little sister, Ady, as though I were her, because I think, even now, still very much like the four year old she was back then, she doesn’t fully comprehend all that was missed during childhood years and why other mother is no longer in our lives. I’ve also written this on behalf of myself, because I’m an only child. But this diagnosis that I have gave me my own internal family, my own means of survival during years of sexual abuse as a child. It also gave me my own external family internally. The views on what a ‘good’ child is, the criticism of being ‘too much’. All of it in fragmented pieces reacting to external stimuli every day even up until now as I stand before you, a 30 year old that didn’t even think they’d make it to 20.
Hi, I’m Ezra, well that’s my legal name at least. To those who know me well enough, I go by many others. Sometimes I reference myself as ‘we’, as I (Mila, Ether, Kai, Dakota and others) am the sum of all my parts. I am a person living with multiple diagnoses. On paper I have Bipolar Disorder type II, Complex Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, and Dissociative Identity Disorder . I’m also someone living with Fibromyalgia and Postural Orthostatic Tachycardia Syndrome. I’m also Autistic, hence the dog - this is Peanut, he’s a good boy. I am also biracial, black if you will. I’m also nonbinary and identify as trans, and queer. I am all of these things but also I’m a multifaceted person that loves rabbits, gets way too emotional about things being perfect, something and wishes for more of these beautiful collisions between care teams and lived experience advocates in the hopes they will pave the way for our futures.
I remember sitting with my then girlfriend at the psychologist’s office a few years ago. She was distressed about a recent mental health diagnosis she had received and was telling him how she hated her life being so complicated. Although I didn’t love some of his methods, he did say two very profound things that day.
Number one : You aren’t stuck in traffic, you are traffic
And number two: You aren’t complicated, you are just complex
Which is true, I mean we sit and complain about being banked up at traffic lights , uhm no but
For those of us with mental health struggles, particularly with long term diagnosis, we are often treated as complicated, cumbersome and a burden by not only mental health professionals, but by those closest to us. And for those of us with the more ‘rare’ cases or multiple diagnosis, receiving adequate person centered care often takes years of jumping through hoops trying to self advocate, something which adds to the struggles we are already going through.
When I received the email asking if I would be open to this speaking opportunity as a member of Lived Experience Australia, I was both shocked and honoured. What do I know about speaking to a bunch of ‘shrinks’? My experience with psychologists, psychiatrists and the like is always on the other side of things, I’m often being analysed, ‘coached’ through the methodologies you read in books and learn in classes, the mere weeks you spend doing prac. We are in the room but never IN the room.
While yes, there have been great strides in organisations hiring those with lived experience and expertise for greater insight into decisions pertaining to our care, there is still no legal obligation to do so. And even when we are consulted, that doesn’t guarantee change. A clear example of this is the National Disability Insurance Scheme. Despite having consumer advisory groups and the Independent Advisory Council, access to care for those with lifelong psychosocial disabilities is being removed nationwide, and participants are being pushed in droves into the public mental health system, a system that is not yet equipped to support anything beyond textbook presentations.
I can think of countless times where I have utelised public, and medicare subsidised mental health care services in the past decade that made me genuinely gobsmacked. More often than not, those of us seeking help are vulnerable people with histories of trauma forced to endure more mistreatment just to receive bare minimum levels of care. And even then, we are often misdiagnosed and forced again into a cycle of trauma.
2017 was that cycle for me. The year that turned me off seeking help for a very long time, and still has me hesitant to book psychiatry consults to this day
Back then, which was prior to any of my diagnosis I was fumbling through life like many of us do in our early 20’s. At the beginning of 2016 had finally moved out of Dubbo to the big smoke. I was working in an adult store, going out day-drinking with my highschool friend, then housemate, spending money on gadgets and gizmos. I even tried MDMA once, I was so cool. But I was also experiencing an increase of nightmares, forgetfulness, and depression. I’d be travelling home from work and get off at the bus stop, zone out and then all of a sudden I was inside of my apartment and ready for bed. A bunch of small things, not super noticeable. At least at first. December of 2016 I had my first suicide attempt, and two weeks later I had my second. The second time I was home alone, though not entirely ‘alone’.
Now I didn’t know I had DID until I was 22, but I’ve lived with it since I was probably in kindergarten. And on this day in 2016, although I saw no value in my life or the world around me, Charles did. He’s the one who called the ambulance, stumbled down multiple flights of stairs despite limited feeling in our legs, he’s the one that got us to hospital. We were admitted through the emergency department and put on a drip, and endured a night full of hallucinations and an angry nurse that was anything but accommodating. Do you know how humiliating it is for a nurse to force you into going to the bathroom in front of her when you are in fact capable of doing so yourself. As someone with a history of CSA I still think about that evening at the hospital to this day. I still find sirens triggering. Anyway, during this stay because I wasn’t admitted directly through the psych unit, the next morning another part/ alter that felt as though nothing really had happened, everything was fine - was able to discharge us from hospital.
By no means do I believe I should have been put in a hold had my diagnosis been known at the time, but I want to highlight where things can start becoming complex, particularly with DID. 2 weeks later I was back in Dubbo. I was back in the environment that caused my CPTSD, my DID, in the first place.
The following year was arguably one of the worst years of my adult life. Here are the top 3 reasons why
1. My location: Over the period of that year I was in an out of Dubbo Base Hospitals Psychiatric unit due to ideation and planning. On any given day I could be a danger to myself and not even know it. But once I was admitted, I was quiet, submissive. I flew under the radar. The Ezra that interacted with hospital staff was the ‘people pleasing’ ‘fawn’ part of me. They didn’t want to be there, they wanted to be home, ‘safe’.
2. My care team: When I disclosed the nature of the nightmares I was having to my assigned psychologist from the outpatient team and how I was confused and didn’t feel safe at night given they involved someone who was still a part my life at the time; she acknowledged my concerns by asking if I believe this person posed a current threat? To which Mila quipped “doubt it, I’m an adult now”. And that’s where the concern ended. I suppose Pedophiles are no longer a danger when the victim grows out of it.
3. My care team: There was one time where I was making loose plans for ending my life. Younger parts that had an idea of what was going on put together an overnight kit in our usual backpack prior to our weekly appointment with the psychologist. Her supervisor also had to tag along for safety reasons. At the traffic light he turned around and asked “If you were going to attempt to kill yourself, then why did you pack an overnight bag?”. *shrugs*, clearly I have commitment issues.
Despite these being my personal stories, things like this aren’t uncommon for those of us accessing the mental healthcare system.
Can I have a show of hands for who knows what DID is. And a show of hands for those who have encountered a patient that has DID or you suspected they may have it? And a show of hands for those who have had a patient suspected to have Bipolar Disorder or BPD? Thank you, you can lower your hands now.
Research over the past decade shows people with DID are often misdiagnosed for years, with earlier studies finding delays of up to 6–12 years, and more recent research confirming the diagnosis remains complex and contested. Dissociative identity disorder is frequently misdiagnosed as conditions like PTSD, schizophrenia, depression, or borderline personality disorder. While some symptoms overlap, skepticism and lack of familiarity mean many of us slip through the cracks when seeking care, particularly when in 95% of cases DID is covert in presentation.
Even when we do receive care, treatment is often seen as a one size fits all. “Fusion” as they call it, which honestly makes me think of Dragon Ball Z. Fusion is the clinical term for the process where all parts- alters eventually form one singular personality. One normal, typical-boring human being. It’s not like becoming whole again though, because for all of us, DID or otherwise, parts are separate from the beginning. But for DID these parts don’t all meld together by 7-9, they remain fragmented and have the ability to fragment again during severe stress or trauma over the course of ones life.
But I don’t want to ‘kamehameha’. I don’t want to be mushy like playdough, but I’m also not at all resistant to ‘treatment’ or healing from my trauma. I don’t want the nightmares, the flashbacks, the dissociation that feels like being lost in a foggy thicket. I do want to heal, but healing for me looks like embracing all of my parts. Because standing before you right now is not just one ‘I’. There are multiple parts drafting this speech, speaking it here today. Some are very present in this space, and others peeking out to just watch because crowds are scary.
And although she would disagree and say that it’s all me, I would not be here speaking unapologetically as a collective self without my therapist’s ongoing support.
I’ve been working with my psychotherapist for the past, I want to say five years to help better understand each part of me, listen to them, hold the pain that they went through- that I went through and work towards what it is we collectively want in the future. I have spent numerous appointments on the floor, conveying my feelings and thoughts through pastels and a huge A3 sketchpad. I’ve cried uncontrollably into my plush toys while my therapist held space for my emotions. I’ve seen the change in trust by parts of myself that initially wanted nothing to do with therapy at all, parts that made that very clear to my therapist on multiple occasions.
She didn’t judge, she didn’t force those parts to interact with her. She built their trust slowly because she knew they had been hurt before and traumatised by those who were supposed to keep us safe. But I won’t speak much more on that to a public audience because I can tell they’re around and not a fan of that level of vulnerability.
I had passions for advocacy prior to therapy, but by strengthening these internal relationships over the past few years, I have finally made my dreams reality.
I have been sharing my lived experience with mental health struggles on platforms like youtube and tumblr for over a decade, however in 2023 I began participating in local, ‘real world’ focus groups. No longer did I just wish to share my story, but I wanted to intertwine it with those of others with similar experiences. I wanted this mush of despair and resilience to be put in front of those holding our livelihoods literally in their hands so they can see clearly what needs to change. For the first two years these were once off gigs, but then I took a chance of the possibility of failure and applied for a consumer advisory role, and it was one of the greatest choices I have made in my life.
Since 2025, I’ve stepped into a variety of roles across committees, co-design projects, and mental health studies. -work that is paid, as it should be. Along the way I have been privileged enough to listen to the stories of other advocates from many diverse backgrounds. One of the things I’ve learned is that even when we share diagnosis, and even when we’re all looking for support, community, change, we’re still not the same. We’re not a monolith.
And I see that in the stories people have shared in these spaces. I have spoken with advocates who have experienced periods of homelessness and unstable housing- people who couldn’t access Medicare services due to not having a valid postal address. I’ve spoken with advocates who have found it difficult to reach out to healthcare providers because of the stigma of mental health in their culture. I’ve spoken to advocates who are new to their diagnosis but passionate for change. And I’ve spoken to advocates who have been long involved in these spaces that know there is still more work to be done.
I’ve heard from the ‘mad’, the ‘crazy’, and all of the above. Their stories are rich and they sit at the heart of the letters and proposals sent to organisations and our government to push for greater change in not just mental health treatment, but in society around us. We’ve seen this in things like national suicide prevention policy, where people with lived experience are now sitting at the table and shaping the decisions that affect them. We’ve seen this in the Royal Commission into Victoria’s mental health system which was shaped by thousands of lived experience submissions that led to real reform. We’ve seen this in national conversations around stigma, where lived experience voices continue to change how mental health is talked about-not just in services, but in schools, workplaces, and communities.
And that shift-from being spoken about, to being listened to-to being collaborated with, is powerful.
Today we speak unapologetically as a collective self, that doesn’t need fusion, but cohesion and a collective goal to heal from the atrocities we lived through in childhood. This is my first time moving all of this out here because even though I am not sharing everything that lies below the surface, I have an obligation to my younger self to show her that now that we are an adult we can be listened to. That even though my support network is small, it is mighty. And through opportunities like this and my other advisory positions, I can contribute to projects that will improve the support networks of others with similar experiences. I want them to feel less alone. That someone is in their corner fighting when they themselves cannot.
There is no one size fits all to ‘recovery’ nor is there one size fits all to advocacy. We each bring value by sharing our stories, regardless of whether or not we are collaborating with individuals such as yourselves. And it is your role to listen to advocates like myself, and clients like you have now or will be working with in the future and to see the whole picture rather than a tunnel vision on the diagnosis. We are people first, that have varying symptoms, that are then assigned a box with a name.
To be complicated implies there is a laundry list of problems that need fixing. It implies difficulty for the one doing the dissecting, the analysing, the individual or team doing the diagnosing.
To be complex implies there is an abundance of moving parts. Something that is perplexing perhaps for the diagnostician, but difficulty for the one living with the various symptoms. It brings forth the acknowledgment of all of the puzzle pieces that make up an individual, symptoms, relationships, past, present and future.
And so, I leave you with a quote from Jamie Marich, an author, psychologist, researcher and speaker with DID
“Sharing lived experiences is how we will truly bring about the change that is needed in the fields of the helping and healing professions, and ultimately in our world. We’ve hidden too long behind clinical jargon myths and fears of our body-mind systems and now- as so much of the world adapts to change is a good a time as any to make this vital and necessary shift”