Shrapnel

It Hits Hard

Before you read this, I want to express how I have wanted to share this for a long, long time, but I felt too scared to. I am finally doing this, but it's personal. I'm just hoping this gives you an insight, to something...I'm not sure whether it be an insight to me, to see that you're not the only one, or anything, really. But please, be kind, this is/was my life, and is my family, I love them unconditionally. But more importantly, I am NOT doing this for attention, I'm doing it to help, because after this journey, I'm finally ready to talk and let others know they can too.

My childhood was a pretty happy one, I didn't get everything I wanted so I grew up being grateful for what I did get. Outdoors was my kingdom, every day I would play outside with my friends. I would go to school looking neat and come home with my hair a mess, grazed knees and grass and dirt stains on my uniform. When I got home I immediately ran to the trampoline and played on it until sun down and dinner was ready. I would read or I would make up dances. I would practice my handstands and cartwheels on the front lawn. I would kick a ball or dance with the garden rake or a teddy for hours on end. When I got older things became harder, but I was still social and I loved spending time with my friends. In year 10 the bullying started. I got pushed into gardens at school, teased by my class, called names like slut, whore and inbred by a kid in the school yard. Things became worse, I was reclusive, I hid in my room. It was easier, not having to talk to people, not having to tell them why I was so upset all the time and trying to get them to understand. I never went out and I became increasingly desolate. I felt so lost and I didn't want advise or help from anyone. I could handle this on my own. I was found crying in the middle of writing a practice English essay one day. A girl came up to me and told me that someone who I thought was my friend had called me a slut behind my back. When I asked her about it, she denied it, whether it's true or not I will never know, but the thought of it still hurt. Sure, it's an insult that gets tossed around a lot, but it was enough to push me to crying in the middle of class. I thought that moving to a new school would help, you know, to stop the bullies and all, but obviously not. I had seen a therapist at my old school after I lost someone extremely close to me and I had not a clue why, but once I left there, I felt so confused. I saw several other people, but none of them compared to the first one I had. I ended up seeing a therapist once a week for a whole year at my new school for a year. Things were still heading downwards though, so fast that I couldn't stop them. I cried after every session in the girls toilets before pulling myself together and heading to class only to be nailed by teachers about not concentrating properly.One night it all became too much, I had to get it out, I had to let my demons out, but I felt too trapped to do anything about it. My mom came in my room. I was just sitting on my bed watching a movie. And she told me everything. How much it was hurting her and dad seeing me not eat, that I was always locked away in my room...all they wanted was their bright bubbly little girl back. And that night. That night I felt like I was going to throw up. I felt so, so, so terrible for what I had done. I didn't tell her about how bad my anxiety was getting and that I thought I had depression even though the doctor said it was just something I was going through... But that night I vowed to try my best, to make my parents happy again.

People always told me I was beautiful but I never believed them. Everyone says people are beautiful just so they think a bit better of themselves and so they can be happy, but I always saw past it. I was fat, if I just lost that little bit of weight I would look so much better. My face is blotchy, if I could just find the right stuff to cover it all up, someone might actually mean it when they say that I looked beautiful. I was determined to lose weight. I fasted, I ate as little as possible, I felt sick from it but I knew I would look better, I went to the gym to do cross-fit 2-3 times a week. Until my mom noticed..."Brooke, you're not eating properly and it is really stressing dad and I out, if you don't start eating properly you're not going to France next year." At 16 years old and 5'10-11" I was 60kg and I hated it, if I could just get down to 50...

I done so much to put myself down, because that was so much easier than trying to compliment myself when all I could see were flaws and ugliness.

A lot of people told me a lot of things to try and stop me from being secluded and so upset all the time, but nothing hurt more than my mom saying it...

Depression hits hard and it hits anyone.

Now I'm 17, things are looking up, I'm going to France, I'm eating better, my friends are my hero's and I'm glad I stuck around to see that.