This entry is going to be very personal. I'm going to tell you about the real me- not the Jordan that you've conjured up in your delicate mind.
Me.
I am warning you now that this isn't the story you're expecting. If you're a queasy person, or known to be uneasy during imperfect situations, well... this might not be something for you to read.
But for the rest of you, this is me.
Days of Childhood
I remember all the way back to when I was three. I remember being sad and afraid and confused. I remember hiding away in my room to escape the horrors of alcoholism that was corrupting an already dysfunctional family.
By age seven, I'd been called every name in the book. Bitch, worthless, cunt, lazy... You name it; I've been called it.
By the time I turned ten, I was thoroughly disgusted with myself. I literally could not
stand the reflection I saw in the mirror. I weighed 105 pounds in fifth grade and I hated myself for it. "Insecure" would be an understatement. I was
ten. I was just a
kid. And I
hated myself.
I remember how each day would go.
- Wake up and eat Cap'n Crunch.
- Have my mom/dad drive me to the bus stop.
- Spend all day studying a girl... Let's call her "Bella"... and trying to figure out how to be as perfect/popular as her.
- Watch the popular kids play in the tennis courts during recess.
- Go home to a house of anger.
- Cry myself to sleep.
I was only a kid.
Secondary School
Suddenly, I was eleven years old. I had my very first phone and life was looking up... sort of. I shared all my core classes with a girl who we'll call "Hadley". It was so nice having her as a friend. We were inseparable. We even won the same award one time and the teacher presenting the awards called us up on stage to receive the rewards together.
During sixth grade, the most popular girl in school (we'll call her Sabrina) made an effort to be my friend. I know, right? My friend. Like, what? Sabrina would always yell across the room and ask me to be her partner for projects, and I don't know. It was really nice, feeling accepted.
One day at lunch, Hadley and I sat at a table with some kids who weren't considered to be "popular", exactly. Sabrina's clique sat down at the table next to ours, and asked Hadley and me to join her. I said no. I said I was going to stay with the table I was sitting at.
Sabrina didn't talk to me anymore.
In seventh grade, I met a boy who we'll call Roger. Roger was older than me- he was in high school. One night, Roger got caught doing something he shouldn't have been doing. I don't know all the details and I won't pretend like I do. All I can assume is that Roger didn't like his punishment. How can I assume that, you ask?
I attended Roger's funeral that year. It was an open-casket. You could clearly see where he'd sent a bullet through his own head.
A few days later, a boy from school -one in the popular crowd- texted me, asking if I was okay. (He'd seen me crying over Roger's death.) I took an interest in this boy. This was the first time that someone of the opposite gender had actually seemed to care. I was innocent, fragile, and naive. And I fell hard.
I remember going to school in the beginning of seventh grade. I wore a pony-tail, no make-up, a graphic tee, jeans, and you could always find a Twilight book in my hands.
Once this boy and I started dating, you could suddenly find me wearing skirts. I don't know why I changed. It just sort of happened along the way. Maybe I wanted his popular friends to accept me. They never did.
After Roger's death, the idea of suicide was always torturing me. Oh, how badly I wanted to kill myself at twelve years old. Often, I'd run away from home during the winter and head towards the lake, prepared to do something stupid... but that boy (who was now my long-term boyfriend) always stopped me somehow.
Seventh grade morphed into eighth grade and a school in the district got shut down. Most of the kids from that school transferred over to my school. One of those new girls, who we'll call Evelyn, commented on my Facebook profile photo, saying I was pretty, and giving me her number. The next day in science class, we helped each other with a worksheet.
From then on, you could find us attached at the hip. Looking back, she was more like a sister to me than anything. I was always at her house on the weekends. And when I wasn't, she was at my house. It was just the way things were. I wish they were still that way sometimes.
High School
Suddenly, it was my freshman year of high school. And suddenly, things weren't so simple anymore. I took it upon myself to begin self-harming. I wouldn't cut. No, that was too obvious. The scarring would've surely caught someone's attention. So I decided to wear a rubber band around my wrist. I would snap it against my skin whenever I found myself smiling. No one ever noticed.
When that pain no longer hurt enough, I began bringing mechanical pencils instead of normal ones. I would use the sharp lead to draw a line on my wrist. Then, I'd proceed to draw over this line hundreds of times. You wouldn't believe how painful that can grow to be.
At my last volleyball game of freshman year, I had my first panic attack. I was sent directly to the nearest hospital. They didn't know I was having a panic attack. They thought I was only dehydrated. So after a quick I.V., I was sent home... only to be shipped to three more doctors/hospitals the coming weekend.
Once the doctors finally figured out it was something mentally wrong, I was diagnosed. Want to know what I am? Here's the list:
- Major Depression Disorder
- Bipolar II
- Anxiety Disorder
- Post Traumatic Stress Disorder
My anxiety was raging. I was even pulled out of school for awhile. Being home alone during that period of time caused my depression to escalate to whole new levels. I cannot even begin to count the number of suicide letters I wrote. Fourteen-year-olds are meant to be worrying about what color their nail polish is. But not me. I was only worried about what day would be most convenient for the rest of my family to have my funeral.
I was sent back to school. I didn't last long. The massive amount of kids surrounding me just got to me. I was hurriedly shoved into a mental hospital called Havenwyck. I went to Havenwyck every morning and was sent home every afternoon. I did that for a month. It sucked, to say the least.
I made it back to school and I was okay. Well, sort of. For the most part.
Sophomore Year
I started out sophomore year really well. I wasn't "happy" but I was as close to happy as I'd ever been. My boyfriend and I were still going strong. Evelyn and I were still decently close. Things seemed to be going my way.
Until October.
My boyfriend broke up with me, for reasons still unclear. I was devastated. I went two months before I could last a whole day tear-free. I began to cut. I began to abuse my medication. I wrote suicide letters to individual friends/family members, apologizing.
And I was sent back to Havenwyck.
I faked my way out of there in three weeks this time. The nurses genuinely believed I was okay. I wasn't.
I attempted returning to school half-time, in hopes of patching things up with my ex. It didn't happen. I think I was so consumed with him because after dating for two and a half years, I'd forgotten about my friends. He was my only friend. Besides Evelyn, that is.
School didn't exactly work out for me. The suicide prevention specialist told me that because I was severely suicidal, I wasn't allowed to be in school. I began to collect homework from teachers, did it at home, then brought the completed assignments back to them.
I lost contact with Evelyn. Online, I could see her and my ex were becoming close friends. I didn't want any reminder of my ex, so I stopped trying to be Evelyn's friend.
In November, my mom received a job in Mukilteo, Washington (about 40 minutes from Seattle). She left, with plans to bring my sister and me out in January.
I was distraught. I wanted to move now. There was nothing left for me in Michigan besides torn-up, disgruntled, haunting memories of the past.
But she made me stay in Michigan, and so I fought my battles. Without my mom.
In my alone time, I experimented with self-harm. I quickly realized my unsafe actions and told my aunt. I was no longer allowed to be home alone at fifteen years of age. Embarrassing? Yeah. To say the least.
There was a period of time when I stopped eating. The first week, I lost 10 pounds. Then my aunt noticed. I was forced to start eating again. To this day, I struggle with the mind of an anorexic, but the stomach of a very hungry person.
And so months passed. I cried and cried and cried. I was friendless, boyfriendless, and motherless. It sucked. But I did it. I survived.
2013
On January 5th, 2013, I departed to Washington. I'm not going to lie to you and say that everything is 100% perfect, because that would be a lie. And that's not what I'm trying to do here. I'm not trying to convince you that one day, everything will be wonderful. No. What I'm trying to tell you is that things get better.
The anxiety of being the new girl was tremendous. But I found my depression becoming less intense. The people in Washington were not at all what I had expected. There were so... so nice. Nobody shunned me or made me feel unwelcomed. I think that's pretty amazing. Moving to Washington was a blessing that I truly believe God had planned for me.
Now
How is my life now? Different.
I have lost all the "friends" I had last year, after finding out they weren't very friendly at all.
I made new friends- over 30 of them. And they are beautiful, and trustworthy, and I know that if I am bawling my eyes out and ready to call it quits... at least one of them will be willing to stay up with me all night long, just to make sure I'm okay.
My anxiety is mostly gone, which is pretty amazing.
My PTSD is less intense.
My bipolar disorder is in the works. (Not gonna lie. I still have anger issues... pretty bad ones.)
And my depression is something I've come to accept.
It's a daily battle, but I'm a fighter. After surviving all that I've been through, giving up now seems stupid. So, screw that. I know that it's time for me to start living... with or without the people I thought I couldn't live without.
Cuz you know what? Those people are gone. And me? Well, I'm still breathing.
The Ending
Well, that's a summed-up story of my life. I left out a lot of things that probably would've bored you. I don't know. I guess I just wanted to give you some type of... of hope.
Instead of cutting or committing or swallowing those pills or starving yourself... TEXT ME. FACEBOOK ME. TWEET ME. I will listen. I do care. I promise. You're not a bother.
I understand what you're going through. I've got the scars on my skin to prove it. Please, don't go through what you're going through alone. I've been there and being there alone was by far the worst time of my life.
I wasn't even allowed to go to school. I was sent to a mental hospital.
So don't think I don't understand. Trust me, I do. And I want to help you.
You are too important to lose. Don't give up now. There is a plan for you.
Because if I can get through everything I've been through, then why the hell would you be any different?
-Jordan xx
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