(Buckle down, this one’s a doozy)
If someone had told me a few years ago that life would be
playing out the way that it is now, I would have looked at them incredulously
and scoffed (or reacted with a few choice curse words and a punch to the arm, depending
on how many years back we’re going).
Truthfully, if someone had even told me just a year ago how different
everything would be, I probably would have cried and told them to stop lying.
Back track all the way to junior high, probably the worst years
of my life. While there were some
significant positives and great memories that stemmed from these years, they
were also the period in which I experienced my first symptoms of depression and
borderline. My borderline personality
disorder is undoubtedly a psychological issue within myself, but there were
also many environmental triggers.
I remember the first
day of the eighth grade, “Whoa, from behind I thought you were a guy. You should start wearing make-up.”
Scrutinizing look. “Ugh. Never
mind. That would look so wrong.” At first I didn’t think
anything of it, I liked my baggy clothes and cropped hair, but after a while
and a few more similar comments in the coming weeks, I started taking it to
heart. I started believing that I did
look like a boy, so out with the baggy clothing and in with the more girly
styles and tighter options, eventually the application of eyeliner found its
way into my morning routine and the use of shinier lip balms and glosses a
regular addition to my regimen, and out grew my hair. I convinced myself I was doing these things
to make myself prettier, to feel better about myself – I didn’t. In fact, with all of these perceived
improvements, down went my self-esteem.
My self-esteem didn’t bottom out this year, however. It lessened a bit, but I still had a strong
group of friends on whom I could rely and who provided me with enough support
to not take the snide comments too personally.
We would laugh and joke, talk about our favourite shows, give ourselves
nicknames based on these shows, and we even created a band. I still believed in my skills and abilities,
and how I looked, and where I was going.
I still had enough of a self-esteem that I figured if my crush became
interested in me, it would be a reasonable thing.
Eventually my interests turned to the tall, blue-eyed boy
that I had known since we were 9. My
friends greeted this news with the usual chorus of laughter, teasing “What?!”s
and “Why?!”s and the all too familiar threat of letting the secret go. Despite keeping it to my few friends, the
news of who I found myself attracted to reached my tormentor and all too soon the
disparaging comments ensued: “You should just forget it; that would never
happen,” and “Don’t bother, guys like him don’t go for girls like you.” And I
believed her. Within a few days I told
all my friends that I swore on my life that I no longer liked that boy. It was amusing because they all dubbed this
turn-around as the “shortest crush ever!”
when in reality, I hadn’t let it go.
Fast forward a few months to grade nine: the school year
started out just fine but the depression started sinking in and with the
depression the paranoia and perceived abandonment came too. That bully remained a thorn in my side,
digging in deeper every time I tried to fight back. Outwardly, I was unfazed by it all, choosing
to retaliate with equally vicious words and actions. However once I was at home, I put away the
harsh façade and allowed her words to sink in to my bones. I can’t blame everything on what was going on
at school, things at home were changing too.
There was pressure from my parents to step up my grades, to be more
responsible, to start thinking about the future. And that boy I fancied, but had to conceal?
He started seeing someone. All these
factors contributed to my falling apart.
Fortunately I had a group of friends (fondly and purposefully named the “287”)
who supported me through and through. I
never shared all of the exact details of my downward spiral, but they knew
enough and they helped me to take that necessary stand against the school-based
pain; it was a simple but powerful message: “You aren’t alone.”
Unfortunately, even with that message my self-esteem
spiralled even further downward and it felt like the hole of depression
wouldn’t ever bottom out. It eventually
got to the point where the most rambunctious and funniest teacher in the entire
school started picking up on my downer personality. I’ll never forget the day he called me out in
class “And there’s Adrienne, she’s been coming to class for months now and won’t
even crack a smile!” He then proceeded to bombard the class with an arsenal of
his funniest jokes and had everybody cracking up, except me. After class he pulled me aside and apologized
for calling me out in front of a crowd, but if I ever needed anything that I
could come to him with the shields down.
I never did take him up on that and maybe I should have, but I figured
something would just have to give.
Something must have given because by May I felt myself
returning to a state of normalcy. I had
events to look forward to, my friendships had evened out, I was set to go to a
different high school than the designated one, and the bully appeared to want
to make peace. Perhaps it was the sheer
excitement of knowing that there was a light at the end of the tunnel: junior
high was finally ending and I could start a new chapter of my life.
Truthfully, high school wasn’t nearly as traumatic. In fact, my high school years were probably
the best time of my life. It was as dramatic
as one of those reality t.v. shows and we would always joke we could cut a deal
with MTV to document our everyday lives because every week seemed to have new
love triangles with the associated drama, different cat fights, “frenemies” in their constant relationship turbulence.
I could spend ages talking about the past four years of my
life since completing my undergraduate degree: the traumatic break-up, losing
my job, the downward spiral of depression, being officially diagnosed as having
borderline personality disorder … but, if you’ve followed my blog for any
length of time, you’ll know about those years.
The past two years, however, has been wonderful. Remember that
tall, blue-eyed boy from my junior high years? We reconnected, over Instagram
of all things, and while it began as something of a distraction for both of us
it exploded into something a lot bigger than we anticipated. While I can confidently say I’m with the love
of my life, this relationship hasn’t been without its own trials and tribulations. Between my mental health issues, his temper,
and demons from both of our pasts, the beginning of our relationship was
difficult. We both questioned if it was
worth staying together, but we did.
Something was pulling us to work through our issues, together, and that’s the necessity isn’t it? Just because you’re pissed off
at the other person for something that they’ve said or done, isn’t an excuse to
leave them hanging in the limbo that is the silent treatment.
I was criticized by a few for how I was conducting myself in
this relationship, seemingly bending over backwards at every snag. It wasn’t just me working and jumping through
hoops though. It still isn’t. It’s an equal partnership. We both have our faults, but we have our
strengths too, and its our strengths that bring us together and that we bring
out of each other. It’s something I
didn’t have in that last relationship that left me so irrevocably broken. This relationship pushes me to be better as a
whole. It hasn’t been an easy road, but
it’s been worth it.
My life hasn’t always been rainbows and butterflies – whose
has? My life still isn’t ideal, I know I still have a long way to fully conquer
all the issues of self-esteem, depression, and topsy-turvy moods, but life is a
lot better than I could have imagined it, even just a year ago. That bully is living off cheap tricks and an
even bigger mountain of lies and deceptions.
I have my undergraduate degree and I’m on my way to a graduate degree, I
have a job that I am passionate about, I bought my car, I bought a house, I’m
in a healthy relationship, and I’m
living life mostly how I want to.
This is winning.
