Making Fun of My Own Trauma

Six days after my 11th birthday, the morning after the Year 6 exams, when my whole class had gone out to an indoor activity thing, (God knows if I can remember the name, not that it matters anymore!) I had the joy of opening the door to two police officers.

That was the start of the worst day of my life to date. No child wakes up in the morning expecting loss. I knew friends who couldn't deal with losing a fish or hamster. And there I was, sitting in the living room, being told that no, today I would not be seeing my mum, and my little sister today. Nor would I be seeing them ever. Because they were dead. They had both died overnight in an accident at my mother's flat, where my sister's dad was out. Nothing prepares you for that. No child should ever have to suffer such a loss at such a young age.

As time went by, I definitely overcompensated for my sadness by being loud, over the top and silly. This often never really getting me many laughs. I was a shit class clown.But I learnt to make people laugh. I liked to shock people. Being able to say that you're an orphan (I lost my dad at 6, not that I really knew him very well to even begin with) has a certain shock factor that people don't seem to expect. Naturally.

Making fun of myself became something that (while definitely linked to my depression) helped me. People laughed with me, I shocked them and it helped me make friends. I shocked people and they thought I was funny.I know that what happened to me isn't funny. That isn't what makes it, to me, funny. It's the shock factor and the sheer level of bad luck that I went through- I mean come on, who loses their fucking grievance councillor? It always felt like the crappy shit that just had to happen to me.Humour has now become something that helped me recover, especially with the nature of Millennial humour. I have come through a minefield of shit, losing some of the people closest to me and taking it out on myself with years of self-harm and depression. With all that, I'm still here. I'll be damned if I let everything that I've been through destroy who I am. If I can laugh about my misfortune and make myself feel better, I would rather do that than be the person I was two, three or four years ago.

So why not dress up as Annie for Halloween; make jokes about Oliver Twist when a friend has crisps, and tell your best friend you're an orphan just to make them laugh? (I don't know why it works for some of my friends, it just does.)

However, at the same time, this isn't the most healthy coping mechanism. I know now, that using this sort of outrageous humour when I was younger was a way of getting the attention I craved. Because two of the most vital people in my life were gone.

I felt starved, and lonely, and isolated. Shocking people, making them laugh, anything that got me attention helped me and made me feel better. I'm glad in a way I know this now, because being in touch with yourself is something that helps you grow after a loss, and helps you to help yourself.

7 years post-loss I've become a strong young woman who doesn't let things phase her anymore. I won't deny the fact I still struggle with things, I still miss my mum and my sister. They always hold a special place in my heart.

Yet for me, I've found that part of being strong is my sense of humour. I know, it's not always appropriate but it makes me laugh. I can laugh at my literal shit show of a life and say that I've come out of the end stronger than I ever hoped to be. I'm happy now, even with the bad days. Finding friends who laugh at the jokes but still hug you and catch you on the bad days and birthdays and anniversaries was the biggest blessing I could have hoped for. So for now, I'm going to keep wise cracking at all times, try and be as stupid and young and dumb as possible and make the most of the time I have here - even if that means donning a full Annie costume at a Halloween party.