Searching for something interesting to watch on netflix while housesitting I decided to let the all powerful netflix make suggestions. A high school documentary on bullying. Sounds easy enough right?
Not even 10 mins in and my heart sank, My head went all fuzzy, and the shakes came in waves. There is something to be said and acknowledged about how much this hit me right in the feels...
So here it is: Full honesty.
Jessica Burns entered her bathroom and swallowed a handful of hydrocodone and was found unconscious and unresponsive. Jessica Burns was at breaking point, a teenage girl chose to end her life because she was being bullied.
Her subsequent 1 hour 31 minute long documentary set off a multitude of emotions and thoughts.
These were the main contenders (in no particular order) :
Grief.
Anger.
Dismay.
Pity.
Shame.
Acceptance.
Understanding.
Confusion.
As I break this down I ask that if you don't think you can handle this honesty to stop reading.
If the topic I am writting about has already struck a nerve it is understandable and completely reasonable.
If you do choose to continue reading I cannot guarantee that you will like it nor understand. This may effect the way in which you interact with me, but that is the risk I must take.
So I implore you to stick to the old saying of if you have nothing nice to say, don't say anything at all.
If this leaves you with questions or concern please let me answer them the best way I can. Give me the space to explain or the time in which to brace myself.
High school: 2003 - Graduating year 12 class of 2008
High school was the best and worst experience of my life.
Sure, its probably the same for many people. One thing that I hear quite a bit is that its almost guaranteed you will be bullied at some point or another in high school.
But its not always just high school.
By the time I was 10 I'd been 'picked on' more times than I can count. If you had spoken to my parents back then you would've been told that I was a sensitive soul that would usually care too much.
I got shoved into poles, tripped, be littled, mocked and pinched. Stuff that many of us would've experienced.
At 25 years old I can still vividly remember heading to the canteen at lunch time - walking down the two steps to head off to the adventure playground at the back of the school and asking a visibly upset prep kid if he was alright. I can tell you the exact moment a boy almost the same age as me and twice the size stepped beyond my personal space bubble - lunged at me and wrapped his hands around my neck.
That day I was in fear of my life.
That day was not the first and not the last.
This child had choked me numerous times before and after that day- I had become accustomed to refuse to go outside for breaks, head straight for the most protected areas and hide and shut myself off.
My mum volunteered at my school in the reading program & it wasn't until another child had told her that they'd been choked that mum knew the extent of the situation. She reported it to our then principal. Nothing changed. Nothing prepared anyone for what was to come.
Mum dragged me into the principals office the morning after the canteen incident and screamed bloody murder for someone other than my parents acknowledged something was very wrong with their child.
By the time I had arrived home the day before my throat was swollen and the deepest red. I barely ate any dinner and refused liquids. Right before bed dad had yelled for my mum to come into my room immediately. I remember him demanding to explain myself. I remember the look of shock and sadness on his face, the gasp my mum let out upon walking into my room. I remember dad scooping me up and sitting me on his lap with mum gripping my hands. It was then mum knew that something had to give and it wasn't going to be her daughter.
She was told that kids gets picked on, it's what happened to sensitive kids. I was 7.
When I walked into the office 2 minutes later, the principal was horrified. She had yet again ignored my mother's plea and concern and now here I was with handprints around my neck.
Soon thereafter the principal began recieving phonecalls and visits from parents- turns out this one particular child had been doing this to 10 other children. He was punished by being told to stay away from all of us.
Its horrifying to think that that was being considered as being 'picked on'
It wasn't. It was assault. It was a prime example of how the school failed to realise there was a problem until it was too late. There was nothing in place to help those attacked by this kid thug. From 7 years of age I was lead to believe that bullying simply happens and theres nothing to be done about it.
By the last year of primary school I had been bullied too many times.
You wouldn't believe it- I was a quiet kid. Incredibly shy and too kind for my own good not yet ready to come into my own.
I was a balancing act and all that was needed was for one end to be weighed down and fall.
2003.
The excitement of a new school and a being all grown up!
I have always made friends very easily and high school was no different. I had 2 best friends in my class- us against the world. How wrong I was.
If you spoke to the people who were in my class apart from potentially one girl, you might hear about our english teacher/home room teacher, the no bags rule, the friendships forged. When you ask the people they remember or even how many were in your class my name wouldn't come up. Not even the 2 out of 3 girls that made my life absolute hell would remember me.
In honesty I think I attended a maximum of 3 months during year 7.
I had my stuff stolen or ruined, classmates turned against me, nasty messages written to me, about me, I was intimidated, threatened and excluded. The messages were endless. Back then (no not when the dinosaurs ruled the earth) all messages were all hand written. Can you imagine what types of messages I recieved via the new mobile versions sms? Or school email?
My mum thought I was simply unwell and to be truthful intially I wasn't even close, but as the year progressed I actually had become unwell, towards the end of the year the sheer thought of catching the school bus made me physically ill. I didn't know what depression was. I didn't know that becoming short of breath was a panic attack in progress. That when I harmed myself and hid it from everyone I held dear I was on the most destructive path.
Simply getting out of bed was too hard. Throwing up my food because my so called friends girls had repeatedly told me I was fat and ugly.
Interacting with people wasn't happening. Because who would want to hang out with me anyway.
The one constant I had was choir rehearsals. It was the thing I looked forward to every week more than anything.
Mentally I was drowning and yet still couldn't tell my family why I cried all the time, that I'd hurt myself yet again. I didn't know any other way out.
Year 7 / September 2003: Monday afternoon my plan was in motion.
Do you know how easy it is to barricade a door when you tell your parents you are tired?
The pills were easier to get down than I thought. If I could tell you how much I ingested in that small timeframe with nothing but fear, but going back to school terrified me more.
It took a while to feel the effects. All of sudden I was exhausted. Breathing slowed, eveything went still and quiet. Here I was at 13- my whole life ahead of me and yet I didn't care. I couldn't live like that anymore.
At 5:30 as always on a Monday I'd be begging my dad to hurry up, I'd have my folder in hand running out the door.
I wasn't there.
My dad took it upon himself to come in and give me a lecture about making commitments and sticking to them.
Instead dad shook me awake. I must've looked like hell and yet he still asked me that all important question. 'Are you going to choir tonight?'
For the next hour and half I could barely keep my eyes open, uttered no words, My shoulders drooped. The rest of my body wanted out. It had already accepted it, worst of all I thought I could never be so broken as I was half conscious in that 30min car ride.
I made it through that rehearsal almost 13 years ago, spent the next 4 days wondering if I'd be ok, if I should tell someone. I didn't and I can only count a few on each hand that discovered the truth years after.
I am chosing to come clean. Helped by my friends and families unwaivering support for the last 13 years of fight, and in some ways by this documentary.
In hindsight I wish I could have said something at the time, I wish I hadn't ever gotten to that point. But I did, it happened. I can no longer be ashamed of fighting, losing or anything in the middle. All of this happened and I am actually kind of thankful for it. Not because of what I did or did not do- Because its apart of my story, my lifeline, my fight.
You see if it wasn't for the cameras and the people pushing for interviews you probably would never have heard this story.
But all the same this occurs more times you could ever or will ever imagine.
What provided the *trigger warning* for myself was the sheer desperation in which this girl became so broken.
It tore at my very being. That girl was me at 13 and that could have easily been the end of my story.
So many thoughts have since spiraled through my head in the time its taken me to write all of this down.
While this post may only take a few minutes to post and be read, you should know that it has taken me weeks, almost months to try and put eveything I have thought or felt to finish this post.
In my own words; I am a rollercoaster depressed person.
I have extreme highs and disaster lows. I recover and then I throw myself off the wagon. My closest and dearest friends can't keep up with me sometimes I fall that quick or rise that fast. I can be fine for a few hours or a few years, and theres only a handful of known triggers so anything could set me up for the new ride.
I am under the impression that I will always be in some ways recovering.
13 years on since my first wagon launch and I can't say that I haven't had that breaking point again, never will I get to that point again where I make that particular decision. Truth be told my fight is not over. Luckily for me I am slowly getting a handle on the lifebelt while careening down through to the next loop-de-loop.
I just hope to never be in that position again to feel like I have nowhere to turn, or not seek help.
I wrote this to put out into the world, one seemingly stable at times person who sometimes falls off the wagon.
I am angry beyond all reason because of watching this.
How easy it is to ignore someone getting bullied?
How easy is it to miss all the signs of a person falling downhill?
Truth be told its easier than you could ever know, when nothing is said, or witnessed its harder to notice.
Try proving that someone has destroyed your soul.
The difference between this doco and myself was her best friend knew the entire time and he was just as afraid to say anything- it was only when he almost lost her did he speak up.
That is awfully sad.
Its awfully sad that anyone has to be at the end of their fight. Its horrifying to think that I was there when I decided to be done.
One thing I am absolutely sure of: Bullying is not ok. It will never be ok.
So watch what you say. Lower the clenched fist. Do not become the person who could be responsible for someone having enough.
I feel for that bully. I really do. She had no idea what effect she was having until it was shown to her- shoved right into her face.
I will never condone her behavior. Nor will I ever fully understand, but I can always feel for the broken person.
After dealing with depression and anxiety for so long I have an understanding of how easy it would be to crumble into non-existence, how hard it is to see the way through the darkest of moments, to not keep fighting. To fight.
My story is not finished. I'm not finished. So yes I will continue to fight and fail, whoop and holla when I'm great and admit I need backup when I'm not
I need to know that I am ok. I need to know when I'm not, I will be.
I medicate and meditate. Tense and release. Run and stop. I will continue to do so all of my days.
To the rollercoaster ride. With love
Xx
Not even 10 mins in and my heart sank, My head went all fuzzy, and the shakes came in waves. There is something to be said and acknowledged about how much this hit me right in the feels...
So here it is: Full honesty.
Jessica Burns entered her bathroom and swallowed a handful of hydrocodone and was found unconscious and unresponsive. Jessica Burns was at breaking point, a teenage girl chose to end her life because she was being bullied.
Her subsequent 1 hour 31 minute long documentary set off a multitude of emotions and thoughts.
These were the main contenders (in no particular order) :
Grief.
Anger.
Dismay.
Pity.
Shame.
Acceptance.
Understanding.
Confusion.
As I break this down I ask that if you don't think you can handle this honesty to stop reading.
If the topic I am writting about has already struck a nerve it is understandable and completely reasonable.
If you do choose to continue reading I cannot guarantee that you will like it nor understand. This may effect the way in which you interact with me, but that is the risk I must take.
So I implore you to stick to the old saying of if you have nothing nice to say, don't say anything at all.
If this leaves you with questions or concern please let me answer them the best way I can. Give me the space to explain or the time in which to brace myself.
High school: 2003 - Graduating year 12 class of 2008
High school was the best and worst experience of my life.
Sure, its probably the same for many people. One thing that I hear quite a bit is that its almost guaranteed you will be bullied at some point or another in high school.
But its not always just high school.
By the time I was 10 I'd been 'picked on' more times than I can count. If you had spoken to my parents back then you would've been told that I was a sensitive soul that would usually care too much.
I got shoved into poles, tripped, be littled, mocked and pinched. Stuff that many of us would've experienced.
At 25 years old I can still vividly remember heading to the canteen at lunch time - walking down the two steps to head off to the adventure playground at the back of the school and asking a visibly upset prep kid if he was alright. I can tell you the exact moment a boy almost the same age as me and twice the size stepped beyond my personal space bubble - lunged at me and wrapped his hands around my neck.
That day I was in fear of my life.
That day was not the first and not the last.
This child had choked me numerous times before and after that day- I had become accustomed to refuse to go outside for breaks, head straight for the most protected areas and hide and shut myself off.
My mum volunteered at my school in the reading program & it wasn't until another child had told her that they'd been choked that mum knew the extent of the situation. She reported it to our then principal. Nothing changed. Nothing prepared anyone for what was to come.
Mum dragged me into the principals office the morning after the canteen incident and screamed bloody murder for someone other than my parents acknowledged something was very wrong with their child.
By the time I had arrived home the day before my throat was swollen and the deepest red. I barely ate any dinner and refused liquids. Right before bed dad had yelled for my mum to come into my room immediately. I remember him demanding to explain myself. I remember the look of shock and sadness on his face, the gasp my mum let out upon walking into my room. I remember dad scooping me up and sitting me on his lap with mum gripping my hands. It was then mum knew that something had to give and it wasn't going to be her daughter.
She was told that kids gets picked on, it's what happened to sensitive kids. I was 7.
When I walked into the office 2 minutes later, the principal was horrified. She had yet again ignored my mother's plea and concern and now here I was with handprints around my neck.
Soon thereafter the principal began recieving phonecalls and visits from parents- turns out this one particular child had been doing this to 10 other children. He was punished by being told to stay away from all of us.
Its horrifying to think that that was being considered as being 'picked on'
It wasn't. It was assault. It was a prime example of how the school failed to realise there was a problem until it was too late. There was nothing in place to help those attacked by this kid thug. From 7 years of age I was lead to believe that bullying simply happens and theres nothing to be done about it.
By the last year of primary school I had been bullied too many times.
You wouldn't believe it- I was a quiet kid. Incredibly shy and too kind for my own good not yet ready to come into my own.
I was a balancing act and all that was needed was for one end to be weighed down and fall.
2003.
The excitement of a new school and a being all grown up!
I have always made friends very easily and high school was no different. I had 2 best friends in my class- us against the world. How wrong I was.
If you spoke to the people who were in my class apart from potentially one girl, you might hear about our english teacher/home room teacher, the no bags rule, the friendships forged. When you ask the people they remember or even how many were in your class my name wouldn't come up. Not even the 2 out of 3 girls that made my life absolute hell would remember me.
In honesty I think I attended a maximum of 3 months during year 7.
I had my stuff stolen or ruined, classmates turned against me, nasty messages written to me, about me, I was intimidated, threatened and excluded. The messages were endless. Back then (no not when the dinosaurs ruled the earth) all messages were all hand written. Can you imagine what types of messages I recieved via the new mobile versions sms? Or school email?
My mum thought I was simply unwell and to be truthful intially I wasn't even close, but as the year progressed I actually had become unwell, towards the end of the year the sheer thought of catching the school bus made me physically ill. I didn't know what depression was. I didn't know that becoming short of breath was a panic attack in progress. That when I harmed myself and hid it from everyone I held dear I was on the most destructive path.
Simply getting out of bed was too hard. Throwing up my food because my so called friends girls had repeatedly told me I was fat and ugly.
Interacting with people wasn't happening. Because who would want to hang out with me anyway.
The one constant I had was choir rehearsals. It was the thing I looked forward to every week more than anything.
Mentally I was drowning and yet still couldn't tell my family why I cried all the time, that I'd hurt myself yet again. I didn't know any other way out.
Year 7 / September 2003: Monday afternoon my plan was in motion.
Do you know how easy it is to barricade a door when you tell your parents you are tired?
The pills were easier to get down than I thought. If I could tell you how much I ingested in that small timeframe with nothing but fear, but going back to school terrified me more.
It took a while to feel the effects. All of sudden I was exhausted. Breathing slowed, eveything went still and quiet. Here I was at 13- my whole life ahead of me and yet I didn't care. I couldn't live like that anymore.
At 5:30 as always on a Monday I'd be begging my dad to hurry up, I'd have my folder in hand running out the door.
I wasn't there.
My dad took it upon himself to come in and give me a lecture about making commitments and sticking to them.
Instead dad shook me awake. I must've looked like hell and yet he still asked me that all important question. 'Are you going to choir tonight?'
For the next hour and half I could barely keep my eyes open, uttered no words, My shoulders drooped. The rest of my body wanted out. It had already accepted it, worst of all I thought I could never be so broken as I was half conscious in that 30min car ride.
I made it through that rehearsal almost 13 years ago, spent the next 4 days wondering if I'd be ok, if I should tell someone. I didn't and I can only count a few on each hand that discovered the truth years after.
I am chosing to come clean. Helped by my friends and families unwaivering support for the last 13 years of fight, and in some ways by this documentary.
In hindsight I wish I could have said something at the time, I wish I hadn't ever gotten to that point. But I did, it happened. I can no longer be ashamed of fighting, losing or anything in the middle. All of this happened and I am actually kind of thankful for it. Not because of what I did or did not do- Because its apart of my story, my lifeline, my fight.
You see if it wasn't for the cameras and the people pushing for interviews you probably would never have heard this story.
But all the same this occurs more times you could ever or will ever imagine.
What provided the *trigger warning* for myself was the sheer desperation in which this girl became so broken.
It tore at my very being. That girl was me at 13 and that could have easily been the end of my story.
So many thoughts have since spiraled through my head in the time its taken me to write all of this down.
While this post may only take a few minutes to post and be read, you should know that it has taken me weeks, almost months to try and put eveything I have thought or felt to finish this post.
In my own words; I am a rollercoaster depressed person.
I have extreme highs and disaster lows. I recover and then I throw myself off the wagon. My closest and dearest friends can't keep up with me sometimes I fall that quick or rise that fast. I can be fine for a few hours or a few years, and theres only a handful of known triggers so anything could set me up for the new ride.
I am under the impression that I will always be in some ways recovering.
13 years on since my first wagon launch and I can't say that I haven't had that breaking point again, never will I get to that point again where I make that particular decision. Truth be told my fight is not over. Luckily for me I am slowly getting a handle on the lifebelt while careening down through to the next loop-de-loop.
I just hope to never be in that position again to feel like I have nowhere to turn, or not seek help.
I wrote this to put out into the world, one seemingly stable at times person who sometimes falls off the wagon.
I am angry beyond all reason because of watching this.
How easy it is to ignore someone getting bullied?
How easy is it to miss all the signs of a person falling downhill?
Truth be told its easier than you could ever know, when nothing is said, or witnessed its harder to notice.
Try proving that someone has destroyed your soul.
The difference between this doco and myself was her best friend knew the entire time and he was just as afraid to say anything- it was only when he almost lost her did he speak up.
That is awfully sad.
Its awfully sad that anyone has to be at the end of their fight. Its horrifying to think that I was there when I decided to be done.
One thing I am absolutely sure of: Bullying is not ok. It will never be ok.
So watch what you say. Lower the clenched fist. Do not become the person who could be responsible for someone having enough.
I feel for that bully. I really do. She had no idea what effect she was having until it was shown to her- shoved right into her face.
I will never condone her behavior. Nor will I ever fully understand, but I can always feel for the broken person.
After dealing with depression and anxiety for so long I have an understanding of how easy it would be to crumble into non-existence, how hard it is to see the way through the darkest of moments, to not keep fighting. To fight.
My story is not finished. I'm not finished. So yes I will continue to fight and fail, whoop and holla when I'm great and admit I need backup when I'm not
I need to know that I am ok. I need to know when I'm not, I will be.
I medicate and meditate. Tense and release. Run and stop. I will continue to do so all of my days.
To the rollercoaster ride. With love
Xx
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