Learn to fly

‘I’m falling apart in your hands again’ Shakira – Objection (Tango)

I feel small, sad, suddenly quite alone. I don’t know if it’s the time of year or what, but I want to curl up in a ball and ignore everything and everyone.

I was 15 when I first tried to kill myself. A messed-up, confusion filled teenager struggling to cope with the pressure of gcses and the expections of her family. Before me, only 1 person on my father’s side of the family went to university, and that was my uncle. Now at 15 I was expected to pass my exams with 9 A grades and trot off to 6th form, pass my a-levels and continue on to university. Do not pass go, do not collect £200, just do whatever it is that everyone else wants of you. And I hated it. I couldn’t see past the end of school, I didn’t want to see past the end of school, because to do that was to admit that, as much as school had been a big pain in the ass, it was comfortable, predictable and secure. Leaving meant a big world with strange and scary people in. So one night, around the start of my final year in school, my friends and I got a bottle of alcohol, from god only remembers where, and proceeded to drink it. I didn’t have that much, between five of us there wasn’t that much for each of us. But I remember having some and remember feeling that there was only one way out of the perceived mess in my mind. To end it all. No-one would notice, my mum was remarried with two new children (and another one on the way although I wouldn’t find that out for another couple of weeks), why would I matter anymore?

So I started to try and climb the concrete barriers at the side of the road. Below, the constant traffic of the M6. I didn’t get to sit on the barrier, much less throw myself off it, a friend grabbed my arm and pulled me down on to the pavement. They thought I was mucking about, taking it too far and in that moment, I knew that explaining what was screwing up my head, would be a waste of time to them. So I laughed it off, shook my head and headed off home.

I can’t remember how many attempts there have been since. I remember them, I just don’t care to count them, much less give them thought in my head. It’s not where I am now, I’m not wandering the house looking for the paracetamol (although I have a splitting headache and need something), but I just want to curl up in a ball and be left alone for a few days to work myself out of this.

My sister turned 13 on Wednesday. Maybe that’s it. Maybe I suddenly feel old. If I’m lucky I’ll have finished my pgce by the time I turn 27. I can’t help but feel that this is something I should have decided on a long time ago, that everything over the past few years has been a waste of time. I don’t feel able to go back to my crappy job. I’ve been off since wednesday afternoon with a stomach bug of some sort – maybe it’s my body’s way of telling me that the job is destroying some part of me, and this is a fight back. Or perhaps I just feel like right now, I don’t have a clue what is going on in my own head. That feeling takes me back to being a teenager, not knowing anything but being expected to do everything.

Until there is a next time…

xx