As a kid growing up in a small and tight knit family, I thought I had it all. I was a happy go lucky kid, always exploring and trying new things. School was always fun and I was known as the ‘happy kid’ all throughout primary school. I was not expecting the transition between primary and middle school to be so difficult.
I lost a lot of friends. I started to close myself out. I wasn’t as loud or as happy as I used to be. No one noticed which is what made me think that everything was okay. 6th grade was the year I let the voices take over. I let them tell me to stop eating. To stop being happy. 7th grade I had no one. The only friend I had, wanted to be in the ‘popular’ group and she didn’t want me to be the one who held her back. 7th grade was the year I let the ED voices take over my mind and introduce me to self-harm. They were mean voices. Almost as mean as the people at my school thinking it was okay to push me around. 8th grade I found someone I can call a sister. Someone who hasn’t left my side for a second.
8th grade things got pretty bad. Anxiety through the roof over just walking home alone. Fear of gaining a single pound. Anger over hurting myself, but that didn’t stop me. Fear of the transition to high school. Could it get any worse? First day of high school was a bust. I skipped the first day because I was unwell to the point where I was making myself sick and I was pale in the face. Little did I know that this year would be the first of many events that would shape me into who I am.
9th grade health class, learning around healthy living and nutrition. I stay after class one day and ask for advice for a ‘friend’ who is struggling. She didn’t just tell me to talk to her and be there if she needed it, she not only provided number after number for potential ED helplines, but she also provided advice on the spot for both my ‘friend’ and myself. Halfway through the year during physical testing, she found out I was the ‘friend’ I was talking about. She was there to help me with my ED more than I could’ve ever imagined.
10th grade came and I thought I was all better. My ED under control, doesn’t that mean my anxiety and self-harm will get better too? I learned the hard way that that is not the way it works. My self-harm took over the role of my ED and was twice as worse. The teacher from 9th grade left the school on maternity leave. I was lucky enough to have another supportive teacher be my health/gym teacher. I was able to open up to her about my ED and she offered to help me throughout the year and I agreed.
Every morning I was expected to come to her office and eat breakfast with her and the other teacher. She made sure I had a breakfast every morning and I cannot thank her enough. She wanted to see me not fear food and overcome my fear of eating in front of people. Later in the year she noticed a band-aid on my arm. She called me into her office after class and asked what it was, and me being embarrassed about it I lied to her. At the end of the day I told my friend about it and she saw me collapse and start to cry. We went down to her office after school and I asked if I could have her e-mail because I had to e-mail her something for class. That evening I e-mailed the teacher the truth about the band-aid.
The next day was the hardest. She called me down at lunchtime and sat me down in the change room with my best friend and told me that under our school board policy she had to report it to my parents. Well, it was parent at this point. My father left. No need for further explanation. That day I sat in that change room crying. I’ve never cried in front of a teacher before. But I did. That day changed my whole life. My mother found out and not much changed at home. At school I began to find support. I could talk to my gym teacher any time I wanted and she would provide the best advice.
11th grade. School started and I let it all get to me. I let things that usually wouldn’t get to me, get to me. I never stopped self-harming, I just became a pro at hiding it. But not well enough for my gym teacher. She asked to talk to me after class 2 months into the year. She noticed a mark I had on my arm. She got worried and called home again. I was sent by my school board to an emergency therapy session in fears I would hurt myself to a point of no repair. It was hard. I was angry. I felt like I lost all trust in her. I felt alone again. But the next day I talked to her and the fear in her eyes was painful for me to see. She did what she did for the best of us all. I couldn’t stay mad at her. She saved me. I don’t think I would’ve made it out alone. From that day, I saw that people cared about me. I felt loved. I felt joy again.
12th grade came and I havent hurt myself since the start of summer break, 5 months. The thoughts don’t go away, but I learned healthy ways to cope with them. “It doesn’t get easier, we get stronger.” I thought I was at the end of my rope. I thought no one cared. I thought I was alone. That wasn’t me. Those were my negative thoughts taking over. I am loved. I am here. Happy. Healthy. Ready to see what the future has in store. Never lose sight of the goal. I am on my way to studying psychology in college and I am ready to learn from my past, to help someone not have to go through what I did.
I’m gonna leave with one of my favorite quotes – “I don’t know why terrible things happen to us sometimes, but I have to believe that something good is gonna come out of it.”
Stay strong!
Love Brayden, age 17