Everything and Nothing

What It Means

I remember what started this journey for me. November 27th, 2012 was the day my life changed forever. I was always depressed as a child..but the death of my father is what made the pot start to finally boil over. That night after thanksgiving, My father took his own life in a motel bathroom while his new wife was sleeping in the next room. Wait. I know, this is a rough start to this novel. I know what majority of you may be thinking.  -"This is supposed to be helpful, or inspiring?"- The answer is yes. It is indeed supposed to be helpful, inspiring, and uplifting..but among the other things as well. I always tell myself that you can never reach the brighter side of things without going through the dark ages first. I need to be reminded that by other sometimes but hey, i'm not perfect. That's okay. This may be dark, but this is some real shit. The shit that hardly anyone talks about these days. This is how I plan to open up the conversation. 

My dad was never really present in my life. He came around once a year after my mom remarried. That was my birthday. He was always late to the event, but made sure to shower me in gifts to make up for it. I was 6 years old when he stopped coming. I stopped hearing from him entirely. At this time he had a new wife, and two more children. My two brothers, Jason and Christopher. He had a new life with them that he was trying to build. Trying to start over and make something new for himself with. Myself and the rest of my family were completely unaware. I never even had contact with his side of the family. My mom, grandmother, and mostly myself were left in the dark. 

Depression, Anxiety, and general behavioral disorders had hit me early in my life. I lost friends, never really made any new ones. So i spent most of my time alone. Collecting dead things i found, catching bugs and small animals, picking flowers, and sitting against lots of walls during recess. I had just moved to a whole new town. How could I start all over again? What did it mean to be a "normal" child? How was I going to behave as I should..when all I know has always kept me isolated? There was really no way to find out for sure. I tried my luck many times with other girls and boys. I ended up being one of the guys and finding a small group. We spent our time catching bugs in the side yard while the rest of the kids our age were focused on who could run the fastest across the black top. I had finally found a distaction. But this never changed how sad I felt, or how overwhelmed I felt every moment of every day. 

I picked up a bad habit once I moved to this new town. An anxiety habit known as "Picking". A habit of which a person picks at their skin on any part of the body as a nervous or anxious habit. In my case this was my cuticles, my lower lip, as well as my face in some spots. Most of the time, even to this day.. I am unaware that I am doing it until they bleed or someone else happens to notice. I have only ever met a handful who do this other than myself. None throughout my years of school. Meeting the handful of others came much later. 

Over my years of school I started to do worse and better, I began to draw, to study. I had found ways to keep myself busy, that I was great at too. I carried these throughout my whole school career. Sad? Draw. Mad? Draw. Confused? Study a new topic. Bored? Pick up a new book. There was always something. My therapist always said to keep my mind and my hands busy. This way I could manage the picking, and find things that make me happier. This tactic did work, but not one hundred percent of the time. With anything, there is times of productiveness and destructiveness. Times where you peak in your activity, and times where no matter what you do..you just can't win it. For the longest bit of growing up, I always felt it was never okay to be in a state of destructiveness. I always thought it was never okay to not be okay. This mindset made my childhood very stressful and very toxic. 

I was 12 when I had found out my father took his own life. By this age, I was diagnosed with MDD (Major Depressive Disorder), GAD (Generalized Anxiety Disorder), And possible BPD (Bipolar Disorder). These were already majorly affecting my life. I had to have a schedule for everything. Thought out every day before the day even happened, and when things didn't go the way I thought it through, it became the trigger of an anxiety attack. The depressive episodes were long, gruesome, and lonely. I started harming myself. Stealing ciggies to put out on my skin, taking my art pencil sharpeners and dragging those cheap dollar store blades across my arms and thighs. At the time this helped me feel what it really felt like. It helped me release my anger. My sadness. My confusion. Doing it on myself was the only way I knew how. Self destructive behavior seemed to be the most occurring. Hardly ever did I have periods of productiveness. When I did, the good feelings never lasted very long. 

"How am I supposed to do this?

How do I go through life completely blinded by what's in front of me to what's on the other side?

How does the path I pave and the scars I paint myself with make this all worth it?

In times like this, I begin to wonder if I should be the one to forfeit.

I think of the faces of my family and friends that wouldn't be able to bare it if i don't make it through this. 

Then I can hear myself in the back of my mind saying "You can beat this." 

Thinking of who i want myself to be after all of this is done is what makes this mudslide they call life worth living through. 

Stay true to yourself. Do this for you." 

A poem written by myself, Jaden Elizabeth. Written December 11th, 2013. 

I went through tons of therapy. Therapist, after therapist, after therapist and I still wondered why they were all so puzzled as to what to offer me help wise. My skin was covered in scabs and scars. My fingers torn and chewed down to the knuckles. I had a small group to which I belonged but I still felt lonely. I came to realize that this is what my brain was. This was how my chemical imbalances worked. This was the brain that was so complex to understand. The brain that over works itself, but has no "normal" function. This was the time that I realised, that this s what it meant to be. What it meant to exist in my time, my body, my mind. My system wasn't broken..it just functioned different than other people's. Now I just had to learn how in the hell I was gonna take control of it. How the hell I was going to be the Dr. Frankenstein to the creature torn to bits that was my body and brain. 

This is my journey on how I began to build myself up again, while living with these disabilities every single day. To those reading this to seek help, Hi. I hope I can offer you some options through my experiences. To those looking to give yourself a good cry, you came to the right place. To those who came here because you relate, I am sorry..and thank you for staying and battling yourself long enough to give this a read.