WARNING: Before I go in to this, this post contains graphic descriptions of suicidal thoughts and self harm. Some people may find this upsetting or distressing. I've always urged people who feel that way to try and get some help if you're being bullied or have suicidal feelings.
To fully understand the whole thing, you first have to know one simple truth. For the nearly 3 years that I attended that school, I was miserable. I hated it. I was bullied, a lot. And it wasn't just the simple bullying most kids endure, this was daily torture by a good number of people and I didn't understand them, nor did they really understand me. Maybe we should look a bit further back?
I was a bit different to my peers and even during primary school, I found it hard to fit in with other kids my age, especially with the other girls. We didn't know why. I just couldn't click with the girls who were interested in playing with baby dolls or Barbie. I just didn't find myself too interested in Baby Born or Tiny Tears (i had a Tiny Tears but never really liked playing house with it, I was more interested in drawing on it or overfilling so the water ran out of the neck) but I was happier with Transformers or Biker Mice From Mars figures. My friends were often boys. I preferred climbing trees and riding bikes. I had interests in the arts and loved playing the flute.
Another thing you need to understand is that I have never been interested in sports, in fact I am probably one of the least athletic people out there but unfortunately where I grew up, most of the popular kids were athletic and loved sports. I mean, that's great if you can find pleasure in something that seems so alien to me. It doesn't help that I inherited a condition called Spastic Paraplegia, along with spinal problems as well. This condition affects my back and my legs. I used to walk "funny" and my gait often caused me to fall over. It was made worse by a teacher at Weston Road who was sometimes as bad, if not worse, towards me as the other kids, despite my mum explaining over again that it wasn't my fault that I was so bad at her subject (PE...) but it was a physical, mechanical problem. That woman was adamant that I was just "lazy and stupid" (yes, she said that a few times, to my face as well).
It was during my last few months at that school that I found out what exactly I was good at. Art and music were my favourite subjects and I would relish those brief lessons. Unfortunately though during the "Cull Avenue" period, I wasn't exactly happy at home either. Now, there is a lot to unpack here and I won't be picking all that apart here, purely because it wouldn't be appropriate to discuss someone else's mental state or situations in a public place. It wouldn't be right and certainly wouldn't be fair to say anything about them. All you really need to understand in that scenario is that I was struggling at home too and spent a lot of time in my room.
So when we left Cull Avenue when I was about 13, nearly 14, I really was hoping this would be a catalyst for a change. I was given 2 weeks away from school so that we could focus on both moving house and my operation on my eyes, being a teenager with strabismus didn't help me at all, and we hoped that I could just be enrolled in a new school. This didn't happen and for 6 months I would have to commute from one side of town to the other. When you're already kind of burned out after a long day of school (leaving the house before 8am, returning about 5ish), you really can't face a bus full of abusive peers (admittedly most were gone before we left the town centre but still about 40 extra minutes there amd back was not fun or healthy) before arriving back at home with the house to yourself (alone with your thoughts and anguish), that was when I really started to do things that I'm not proud of and self harming.
By year 9, there were other things going on. Things that I couldn't tell adults about. Things that shouldn't have happened to a 13/14 year-old in a place where they should have always felt safe. I was told to keep quiet while these boys hurt me and that no one would believe me anyway. When I did try and tell someone, they found out and I was "punished" by having rocks smashed in to my legs and told that if it happened again then it would be worse. It took me until I was 19 (and some stiff drinks) that I told my Mum what happened.
I've selfharmed on and off (admittedly the last 5 years I've been "clean") for years. Whether it was starving myself to maintain a weight that was unhealthy (which was a result of a long sickness), cutting or other things, I would often use that as a way of letting the frustration and self hatred out. Selfharm is a symptom of something greater and often when people do it, they're branded as "attention seekers" which is really not the case. Nor is it an expression of a wish to die. Sometimes it's a way of getting back some form of control over your own body or a way of expressing your frustrations in a way that you can choose. For me, when I was cutting, it felt like a release of all that pressure, all that anger and sadness. I would often do it in places people couldn't see under my school uniform, I was terrified that people would find out and tell social services or blame my mum for all of this when really she had no idea what I was doing.
I started going to my Nan's after school so I wasn't alone, I never really talked about what was going on at school but I think my Nan, Aunt and brother knew I was unhappy at school. I was happier at home though, so at least I got some kind of break but I think by the time the decision to take me out of school (after one day that I was sat on the stairs of our house refusing to move because I just couldn't face it, the Education Authority were great but we decided to give the school one more try, about 2 weeks later we decided I was done), I was a wreck. I was lashing out at that point and I didn't care anymore.
I think the thing that fuelled the rumours surrounding me leaving so abruptly was that there had been some really tragic situations which were similar to mine in the local area where 2 young ladies had sadly taken their own lives. Everyone wondered if I was going to be next and it's hard to admit that had it been different, I may well have been. I'm just thankful that we had the right people supporting us through that because when I think on it, I always think about how my family would've been the ones to suffer for it. So my summer holidays that year were longer, but it gave me time to get my head together and I was started at Rising Brook for my GCSEs.
So, yeah, if you were wondering what the truth was when one day, I kind of just vanished one day. It was a rough experience but in some ways, I'm kind of glad as it did make me stronger.
Til all are one
Wendy xx
