Discover your own happy

When a person is scared there are two things that they will do; first, fight. Second, flight. Not many people realise that there is in fact a third, do nothing and hope it goes away; freeze. When anyone is faced with uncertainty they chose one of these, mine is by default the latter. It has helped and hindered me during my short-lived life. This is a story of a young lady who through independence and injustice found herself and became afraid of the skin she was in, this is my story.

My oldest memory is of my dad, my loveable, huggable idol, it was a time when we were happy. He would haul me up onto his shoulders and we would sing ‘I’m H-A-P-P-Y I’m H-A-P-P-Y I’m H-A-P-P H-A-P-P H-A-P-P-Y’. I loved him and would do anything for my father, he was the keeper of our family and loved us with everything he had and more, but, he wasn’t there.

When a person says distance makes the heart grow fonder, they were speaking the truth from the perspective of a daughter longing for her father. He was never a bad man, not in my eyes, but I now understand that the one day a week we saw him he was there, his mind his body and spirit were there and they were wanting to stay and never go back.

My ma was a constant throughout my childhood, she was the loving caring mother that was always there for all of her little ‘ducklings’. We saw her as the spirit and strength of a woman in that era and coming from the last. We saw her struggle through her studies and get through the other side while still having enough spirit to light our flames if we were feeling burnt out. My mother was always anxious, she wanted her house, herself and her children kept to a standard that I was not equipped to handle, nor did I want to. I never wanted to be the one to break my ma, the woman who raised me and loved me unconditionally but I did, over and over again.

My brothers were there, my biggest fans and oldest enemies. My older one, he cared, he didn’t show it because I don’t think he knew how but he cared. The younger was my shadow, he idolised his big sister and brother and wanted us to be his always and forever, and again he didn’t know how to show it. I was the keeper of my brothers, I protected them from the shadows but in my own time I eventually let them down.

I remember camping and going on holidays but I honestly don’t like nor enjoy thinking of the good times, the good times never last long with me. I never held my head up high as a kid, I never wanted to because from a very young age I was taught to fit in or not be accepted or congratulated for being unique. My mind didn’t understand the concept of being unique or depressed or anxious, I couldn’t have ever realised at such a young age that my life would ever turn out the way it has but I’m alive and I’m still fighting.

The most intense and worst feeling you will ever feel is guilt. From a young age, I felt that feeling, not because I would cheat on a test or hurt one of my brother but for stupid reasons, I felt guilty because the garbage man couldn’t be with his family every day, I felt guilty because I’d fallen over in front of people and I would feel guilt because my name doesn’t sound the way Its spelt. The feeling would run through me to the point of exhaustion and I would sleep and wake with a tummy ache. That was the only real and constant feeling I would feel in my early years.

I was happy, unsure of myself or who was around me but happy none the less. But slowly and surely everything changed, the first being constant sickness or injury within the confines of my home. The worst being my big brother's accident, he was struck down by an elderly man who shouldn’t be able to walk on his own, let alone drive a moveable weapon of sorts. My mother was with him and she was struck also, not as badly as my brother but struck all the same. I felt guilt on that day and the days that followed worse than I have or will ever feel again.

I wasn’t the one behind the wheel or even at the place but I still felt guilt, I should’ve been the one to be hit and not my innocent big brother, I shouldn’t have had a sleepover party with my friends the night before so my mother and brother wouldn’t have to get pies because we kept my ma up all night with our chatter. I should’ve gone with them to the shop like my ma wanted instead of falling asleep, we would’ve walked slower and taken longer.

He was hospitalised for only a couple of weeks but to me and my tiny mind it felt like months. The first time I’d witnessed fear in my family and saw a crack in that perfect picture that was my tiny little family, and I blamed nobody but myself.

That incident started the long line of mental health checkups within our family. One counsellor noted that my younger brother had PTSD from the trauma, my older brother and I both were deemed mentally sound. We learnt to lie early.

I love my little brother and I hated seeing him in such pain and not being able to help, solve or cure him, it was ADD that ripped through our family and tore my younger brother in half next. I know that my older brother blames himself for triggering the demon in him, I could see it in him every time it attacked and launched at him, my older brother wouldn’t know how or what to do, he’d freeze and hope for the best.

First came the hair pulling, not mine or anyone else’s, his own. He would curl and curl and curl his hair so tightly around his finger that slowly but surely he was creating patches of nothing on that loveable adorable head.

Then the attacks. He would scream and work himself up into such a state that my beautiful little brother couldn’t control himself anymore and needing to be physically and mentally restrained for fear of hurting himself or anyone near him. This is a battle that he faces every day and he fights it head-on without ever turning back.

From the day of the accident, I could see my older brother change. The bullying started after that. He was 7. He was always different, didn’t like blokey stuff, and wanted to be more of a girl than I was. I never saw a problem in it because I was the protector and never wanted anyone to take my title from me, plus he was my best friend and I admired him for being a different sort of person.

The first time I noticed the bullying was in first grade, I was 6. A friend of mine came running to me and said that a boy in a wheelchair was about to be pushed down a hill. It was him, he was laughing but his eyes were telling me to help. I couldn’t understand why these boys were being so horrible to my big brother and how dare they ever do something to him that he doesn’t want, but at the same time I wasn’t sure why he didn’t say no or stop, I know now that he just wanted to fit in, just like every other kid at that damn school. After I realised what was happening I grabbed the back of my brother's chair and I pushed him until he said stop, I was walking so fast I thought my legs would catch on fire just like in the cartoons on TV. Once he was safe I went back to those boys, I was so angry that I just picked up everything and anything around me and threw them. Rocks, sand and bark flew through the air in their direction. I thought I would never stop but eventually, I did, I punched one and ran at the other pushing him so hard he fell, then I ran, I was the first back to class and I put my head down as if nothing had ever happened. I was never reprimanded, I was never questioned I was just left alone.

I was never the smartest in the class but boy did I try. I was average and I mean severely, mind alteringly average and I was told as such. I remember fondly that I was always the first to put my hand up for things because I knew that if I took something to the office or help to water the plants I might get some sort of acceptance or the congratulations that I was needing in my life. I might feel like I was needed. That’s all I ever want or long for is to be needed. Pleased understand that my parents loved cherished and gave me everything they could but my brothers needed them more, that’s something that I was aware of but couldn’t comprehend at such a young age.

I grew up quicker than most, I had to. I knew that if I learnt to protect myself then I wouldn’t hurt as much. If I bury it then it stays buried and will never come to the surface.

The following years through school I kept busy, always trying different things and being thoroughly average at most. I fought death in the family, disease, displacement and a love that went out faster than I’d ever seen. Then one day it dawned on me, I can do what I want and I’ll be noticed all the same. So I stopped.

I stopped sports, I stopped laughing, I stopped raising my hand in class and I stopped caring. I started drinking and smoking and eventually, I was that teenager that ‘street smart kid’. I thought I was invincible but it was still there, that guilt and now it was growing. I’d never felt such pain, I thought I had my life sorted, I was dating, doing what I wanted and finding my own way with nobodies help. I was 15.

I knew one day that I would confront her, I’d stand in front of my mother and cry. I’d cry because of my brothers, I’d cry because I was alone, I’d cry because I was hurt and I’d cry because I’d lost all hope. I needed her help because I was broken, the men, the drugs, the pain, they were all building up and then one night it came out. I can never remember what happened, I don’t want to, all I know is I screamed and yelled and ran and punched until I was held down. I now know what my brother felt, he was scared. I wanted my mum.

From that day I knew I needed my life back. I needed my courage and security back. I worked hard, I fought for what I needed and was grateful for it all. I never thought I’d make it, I was defiant but this time defiant to those that didn’t believe in me. I had been running for so long that when I had the chance to breathe it felt like joy could enter my body again. I’m happy again.