By Jordan Gray | Jordan Gray Consulting
“I am a burden and a mistake.”
“All love that is offered to me is fragile and a lie.”
“Everyone I love secretly hates me and wants me to kill myself.”
These are the beliefs that dominated me for the majority of my life.
I am the youngest of three children in my family.
From the ages of 0-4, my older sister was like a second mom to me.
She tied my shoes for me. She carried me around. She was endlessly sweet, patient, and loving with me.
Then some time around turning 5, my older brother found me to be increasingly annoying, and he turned on me. Not wanting to be on the wrong side of this power dynamic, my sister joined him in bullying me. This carried on for the next eight or so years.
I remember countless nights of self-loathing. I remember feeling unwanted and unsafe in my family. I remember having suicidal thoughts as early as eight years old.
Although I didn’t have the words to understand what it was at the time, I was intermittently depressed from the ages of 8-15.
After enough years of self-hatred and repressed emotions, I tried to take my own life when I was 15.
I sat down with a bottle of painkillers and a can of orange soda and I consumed them all.
Fast forward 24 hours and I was on suicide watch in a children’s hospital.
No belts. No shoelaces. No metal cutlery. Just me, two other suicidal teens, and a sterile jail cell of a bedroom.
My family came to visit me during visiting hours, and they all looked like shit. Their eyes were bloodshot. They looked exhausted. They looked like I felt.
And yet I remember the pain in their eyes confusing me deeply.
“Why are you all sad? I thought I was doing you a favour,” I thought to myself.
The pain on the faces of my family was the initial sliver of doubt that had me question whether I wasn’t actually a burden to the world.
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