An Unfortunate Life

I kinda grew up as an only child. Now, my brother and sisters probably won’t like me saying that, but it’s true.

When I was born, my half-brother and half-sisters were 11, 10 and 8. They’d already grown up together and I didn’t have anyone to grow up with.

Looking back, I was a bit of a loner kid. I had friends that I’d see at school, and one friend that I would spend every second of the day with if I could.

I went to a senior school on the other side of town while my friends went to the local comprehensive school. The girls I made friends with were from that side of town, so I’d come home and sit in my sister’s room on the computer talking to strangers on MSN.

When I was 14, my best friend died suddenly of a brain haemorrhage. I remember being told as if it had just happened.

I was sat in my South Birmingham netball kit, waiting for my coach to let me know if there was a match on and the phone rang. The woman on the phone just asked for mum and I handed over the phone, hearing mum tutting every so often. Mum hung up the phone, looked at me and said “Josie died last night.” I put my hands over my mouth and felt the tears slip down my face. Suddenly, the world had fallen away from me and I felt a shift in myself.

I spent the next few days in bed, not wanting to be bothered by anyone.

I’ve been like that ever since.

I’d rather sit on my own with a laptop and talk to strangers than make friends with people. Friends can die. Strangers will always be strangers.

Being the little sister, especially the little sister of someone with manic depression and bipolar, you tend to go one of two ways. You either withdraw into yourself or you rebel.

I did a little bit of both. After Josie died, I realised that I had no control over my life.

I decided to skip school. I was only found out on the second day when mum came home early and found me there. School gave me 12 detentions for missing 2 days of school.

When I was 15, I had stomach pains. No one believed me as they were sporadic. I missed school and the teachers didn’t believe I was ill. Mum finally took me to the doctors and I had my gall bladder removed.

When I was 16, I had stomach pains again. Again, school didn’t believe me. I had my appendix out a few weeks before I sat my GCSEs.

At school, the only girls I felt I had a connection to were the ones who expressed their emotions and wore black sweatbands on their wrists. I self-harmed quite a lot between the ages of 14 and 15. It was the only thing I could control. I started by scratching my wrists with my fingernails. I was able to focus completely on that small area, and it would burn, as if the bad feelings of the day were being burned away. Then when that wasn’t enough, I started scratching with nail scissors. I would research how to do it without scarring. There was a picture that said “down the street, not across the road.” As a self-harmer, this meant I could hurt myself and it wouldn’t scar.

When I finished my GCSEs, I decided to go to a sixth form closer to home, hoping it would be better. It wasn’t.

I realised that I’d missed out on so much life that I just felt shell-shocked. The girls there were talking about the parties they went to, and how they lost their virginity. I had only kissed one boy and it was a rebellion because mum didn’t like him.

When I was 17, I had a lump removed from my breast. I missed more time and had to drop two A Levels. The friendships went on without me and I felt even more on the outside.

When I got my A Level results, I decided to go to a university as far away as I could.

I made friends with two girls, two polar opposite girls. One a princess whose entire room was pink, and the other a nerd whose room was covered in Twilight posters. I realised that you could be whoever you wanted to be, but I didn’t know how to do it.

I joined the cheerleading squad and felt part of something. Almost. I was there but I was still on the edge of it. I didn’t like make up, I didn’t care about boys, I didn’t particularly care about anything. I went back on the internet and got chatting to a guy from a university not far from where I was from.

The first time I met him, he came up to see me and stayed for the night. We cuddled and everything felt good in his arms. When he went home, he messaged me and asked how I felt about being his girlfriend.

We didn’t see each other very often and that was hard for me. We didn’t spend a single Valentine’s Day together and I was determined to be ‘normal’. After uni, I moved into his student flat and forced myself into the good housewife role. Well, I fell into it actually. I got 2 bar jobs while he was on the dole. I’d come in after a night shift and try to cuddle up to him and he’d moan because I was cold. Then he’d wake me in the morning and be annoyed that I was grumpy.

It lasted a lot longer than it should’ve, but he was there for me through another tough time.

When I was 20, I was diagnosed with anorexia, bulimia and body dysmorphia. I wouldn’t have gone to the doctors if it wasn’t for my two friends.

I’d have a cigarette and a piece of toast for breakfast. A cigarette for lunch, go to the gym, have a cigarette for dinner, then I’d binge on a pizza when everyone had gone to bed. More often than not, I would throw it up again. I got to 9st 7lb and I was a bag of bones. My family didn’t noticed anything was wrong, they just thought I’d lost weight.

I came home from university and was bored. Of everything. I couldn’t get a job, or had a job that didn’t excite me. After almost a year at home, my brother suggested I apply for a job at his workplace. Reluctantly, I applied and got the job.

I hated it as soon as I walked into the building. I was in a booth with three and a half walls, with three people who I had nothing in common with, and doing a job I loathed. I secretly planned to go to law school, researching loans and where I could study.

I went to a cheerleading practice and was kneed in the ear. I had a few days off work because I felt horrible (maybe it’s because I didn’t want to go to work). When I came back, my manager took me in a room and told me they were letting me go. I cried.

Mainly because I thought I’d let my mum down, partly because I’d get to go to law school and not be in that soul-destroying building for any longer.

Home life was tough around that time too. My uncle is a prick, basically. He had a revolving door of women and neglected his son. I’m pretty sure my cousin was exposed to porn at the age of 6, if not before.

When my uncle finally had enough, my cousin went to live with my godfather. My cousin was such a horrible person to them. He would sneak out, come back drunk, steal from them, and eventually they asked him to leave. He came to live with us.

He did exactly the same thing. He would take all of the paracetamol he could find, then leave a note for my mum to find and refuse to go to the hospital. We all know it was a cry for help, but I didn’t feel safe in my own home. I told mum that if my cousin stayed with us, that I would leave. I was sleeping in another cousin’s spare room the next day.

Finally my cousin was asked to leave and I went home.

At law school, I didn’t fit in. I was always half involved. I had two friends and several acquaintances whose lives I didn’t fit into. They were from rich families and knew what area of law they wanted to go in to. I was worrying about my mum because she was getting more ditzy every day.

One day she had a breakdown.

She went to the doctors and was signed off work. I half focussed on law school, contemplating dropping out to get a job and help with the bills. Mum told me to focus on school so I did. I had one resit and passed it.

I got a job in retail and stayed there for a year. I had close work relationships with a few people and I was genuinely needed. I was made a team coach, managed the floor if other managers weren’t around and I felt needed.

After almost a year, I got an office job like people said I should. I applied for a gameshow on a whim and won the jackpot. When I told mum, the first thing she said was “you can go back to law school now.” So I signed up for law school two evenings a week.

I did this for a couple of weeks and realised that I had other things I wanted to do. I wanted to go travelling, I wanted to move to London, anything but the boring existence I had then.

So I plucked up the courage to tell mum and moved to London. Everyone told me it was the wrong time to do it, but I needed to do something for myself.

I lived with two sub-standard people and one nice girl, but had a horrible time. I learned a lot about myself in those three months but decided to go home to focus on law school.

A few months after being home, I got a job in a law firm. It was the perfect job, a top-50 law firm in the city, great prospects and would give me enough money to go back to law school.

After a few weeks, I started to feel out of place. No one talked to each other, no one was human. I was asked to do menial jobs that the lawyers could’ve done themselves. One of the women I started with left within a month, another was looking for another job after 2 months. I was glad it wasn’t just me feeling so horrible.

I would cross tram tracks every day and would consider walking in front of a tram. I started pinching my hands with staple removers. I started scratching again and I felt the worst I’d felt in years.

One day, I went to the cathedral in the city centre and had a panic attack because I couldn’t face going into work. I went to the doctors the next day, was signed off work and put on anti-depressants. The third time in my short life of 25 years.

I tried to go back to work twice, and had panic attacks both times so got signed off again. I received a letter from work inviting me for a probation meeting. In that letter, it said a conduct issue had been brought to the manager’s attention which could mean my contract was terminated. I hadn’t been in the office to conduct myself unprofessionally so I wrote my letter of resignation and accepted another job.

I started that job in September 2016 and it is the best job I’ve ever had. It was a shambles when I arrived, people didn’t even know we had a stationery cupboard! I was able to make processes and gave them things they didn’t know they needed, like a filing system.

As I type this on 4^th January 2017, I am 49 days away from getting on a plane to Sydney for a year. I’m not sure my family care. I told the sister that still lives with me and my mum, then put it on Facebook. My brother and other sister took acception to this. They wanted to be told personally.

I’m not sure why they thought they deserved it, if only because we were siblings. My brother left home when I was about 7, and my sister went to uni when I was about 10, and neither came home. So I didn’t grow up with them there. But they still expected me to tell them. The double standards they hold are exhausting. My brother had a drug problem and he didn’t tell me himself; my sister told me after my mum wouldn’t. My sister has had several miscarriages. Mum only told me because my sister had to have procedures.

These huge, life-changing events are supposed to be shared, but I only found out because they couldn’t keep it from me. So my logic is this. You don’t make the effort to tell me your news, I won’t make the effort to tell you mine.

It’s come to a time in my life where I have to live for me, no one else matters. I have to live with myself for a really long time and I want to be happy. If that means being in Sydney by myself while everyone I know is in England, then cool, I’ll be on the beach. But I can promise you this.

 

I won’t feel guilty about it because it’s my life.