#i told my classmate i (might) have a math learning disorder and he was like you are in the wrong major lmao

[ra-vio]

Hi. Its been awhile

[nanowrimo]

10 Book Recommendations for Quarantine

Looking for some books to help pass the time while you’re stuck inside? Young Writer’s Program participant Mahreema J. has you covered! Here are ten novels to read while you shelter in place:

Ok, so I’ll be honest. I LOVE it when my friends and classmates come up to me for a book recommendation! Its just the best feeling to know, that someone can trust your book taste, and trust you in what they are about to spend hours reading. No pressure!

So, you can imagine how ecstatic I am, right now, to tell you my book recommendations. I’ll admit, I have a super long TBR (To Be Read) pile, and some of them I know are amazing already (by reviews, teasers, blurbs, recommendations) and they are included here. The obvious books that have probably already been read by you were not included, so you see new books. 

So here are the books that I definitely recommend you check out! I also put in some books written by super talented young writers as well:

Series

1. Alex Rider by Anthony Horowitz (My Favorite!)

“When Alex Rider learns that his uncle Ian has been killed in the line of duty as a British spy—and not in a car accident like he's been told—everything changes for this otherwise normal teen. He is approached by Alan Blunt, head of a shadowy offshoot of MI6 known, who reveals that Alex has been unknowingly trained since childhood for the dangerous world of espionage.”

2. Maze Runner by James Dashner

“When Thomas wakes up trapped in a massive maze with a group of other boys, he has no memory of the outside world other than strange dreams about a mysterious organization known as W.C.K.D. Only by piecing together fragments of his past with clues he discovers in the maze can Thomas hope to uncover his true purpose and a way to escape.”

3. Hunger Games by Suzanne Collins

“Sixteen-year-old Katniss Everdeen volunteers in her younger sister's place to enter the games, and is forced to rely upon her sharp instincts as well as the mentorship of drunken former victor Haymitch Abernathy when she's pitted against highly-trained Tributes who have prepared for these Games their entire lives. If she's ever to return home to District 12, Katniss must make impossible choices in the arena that weigh survival against humanity and life against love.”

4. The Knowers by Nina Martineck

“Skylar Rawlings knows that things are not right. The island she lives on is disconnected from everything, but she sees connections everywhere she looks. Her school says she has attention-deficit/hyperactivity disorder, but she can concentrate on all kinds of things–if they’re interesting enough. Like her math teacher lying about this field trip to the capital, the average IQ on this island being too high to be chance, or that time slows, speeds up, and sometimes stops altogether. Skylar knows her education is misleading, most people are oblivious, and the world certainly can’t work like this. She knows she’s missing something. What she doesn’t know is that knowing has a cost.”

5. The Da Vinci Code by Dan Brown

“The Da Vinci Code, by Dan Brown, combines mystery, action, and thrills. This novel is the second in the Robert Langdon series, and begins with the murder of Jacques Saunière. Saunière led a double life. Professionally, he was a curator at the Louvre in Paris, France, but he guarded a powerful secret.”

Standalones

6. The Book Thief by Markus Zusak

“Mainly, The Book Thief is about a girl who grows up with her foster parents in Germany, during the struggles of Germany in WWII. It explores the themes of war and death, and shows us the other side of the people under Hitler, showing us that not everyone hated Jews, and everyone had a hard time picking their side.”

7. The Secrets Within Me by Liana Ramirez

“For seventeen-year-old Magi Davis, everyone in her life knows her biggest secret, except for her... after Magi is almost murdered, her Egyptologist father takes her from their quiet rainy town in Seattle to Egypt in an attempt to seek refuge. After meeting R.J. Hicks, her father's witty business partner, and Carter McClain, the only person her age within miles, she quickly realizes that everyone in her life, including the neighborhood cat, has been lying to protect her from mythological forces that were once her father's bedtime stories. Now Magi must discover what her big secret is before an ancient deity kills her and everyone she cares about...”

8. Miss Peregrines Home for Peculiar Children by Ransom Riggs

“When Jacob discovers clues to a mystery that spans different worlds and times, he finds a magical place known as Miss Peregrine's Home for Peculiar Children. But the mystery and danger deepen as he gets to know the residents and learns about their special powers and their powerful enemies. Ultimately, Jacob discovers that only his own special ‘peculiarity’ can save his new friends.”

9. 100 Days of Sunlight by Abbie Emmons

“When 16-year-old poetry blogger Tessa Dickinson is involved in a car accident and loses her eyesight for 100 days, she feels like her whole world has been turned upside-down. Terrified that her vision might never return, Tessa feels like she has nothing left to be happy about.”

10. Leaving Wishville by Mel Torrefranca

“With time against him, and his curiosity stronger than ever, he knows what he must do. Leaving Wishville might be his only chance for freedom—but it may also cost him his life. A colorful and chilling debut, LEAVING WISHVILLE dives into a sea of forbidden curiosity, unavoidable grief, and the dangers of discovering the truth.”

Alright, so these are my top TBR books and top book recommendations. I hope you enjoy some of them. Obviously we all have different tastes, but after viewing/reading these books, I hope you find another book that you like from it. (By the way, a lot of these books are now movies, so make sure you go check them out AFTER you read the book!)

Thank you for reading, and enjoy your book!

Mahreema J. is a 12-year-old girl from England, with a deep passion for creativity and books. She has been writing since she could read and reading since she could write. She is currently writing a novel (unknown title) that will soon be published one day. She is talented at calligraphy, baking and other creative hobbies. And there’s nothing she loves better, than to sit and read a good book. Top photo by engin akyurt on Unsplash

[joylessnightsky]

As a dyslexic person…

You know, often times people hurt us without intending to. Us just meaning humans in general. We’re a stupid species, and we make mistakes. That’s okay. And everyone’s feelings are different, I know. Still, sometimes I have to really wonder how people don’t realize how what they are saying is hurtful.

And this post is half a vent and half a cautionary thing. If you ever talk to a dyslexic person, please be mindful of these things. Whether or not they’ll actually be hurt by some of these is not for me to tell you but for them, but you should still be mindful of it. Conversation and stuff, works with people of all kinds, you know?

If you have dyslexia yourself, please feel free to add on with your own experiences. And please read the post yourself, too. Because, as I already said, sometimes we hurt each other without wanting to, because different things hurt different people.

Now, let’s get to it:

1) A lot of the time people will say something like “That’s great for someone with dyslexia!” And I know they mean to compliment me. I know they mean to say that it is an accomplishment. And it probably is. But by saying that, you’re actually devaluating my accomplishment. It’s basically the same problem as if someone said “You’re so nice for a man.” or “That’s such an impressive career for a woman.” There’s a serious difference between giving a compliment and giving a compliment in relation to something about you.

I worked for the reading speed I have. I worked for the capability to write with so little misspellings that I could pass as just another student. I worked for being able to read a text I haven’t read before. I worked for being able to read out loud to the class without making an utter fool out of me. I worked, for years, about an hour a day, in therapy and at home, until my head hurt form the effort, despite the frustration, despite the insults, despite questioning if anything would ever actually help. So the last thing I need is for you to tell me that my efforts and my work make me “good for a dyslexic person”. Tell me I did good. I’d love to hear that. Tell me my work can be seen. But don’t remind me that my efforts will only ever be seen in the context of my diagnosis. At one point, I managed to become one of the top students in my literary class when it came to spelling in exams. And I still only got praised with that phrase. It’s honestly gotten to the point where the compliment makes me feel bad about myself. It’s not a compliment anymore! Just… Don’t. Don’t.

2) One time I was talking with my teacher about how the others would call me pretentious and say I only relied on my diagnosis and the “advantages” I supposedly got (they meant the stuff that was supposed to make my disadvantages less bad, I think). And she said that I shouldn’t take it to heart, that they didn’t know what they talked about and “whoever says someone like you shouldn’t be here is stupid.” A little context, we have a system with different forms of schools, the one I choose to attend is the form with basically all advanced classes.

Now, in on itself, this was a really great thing to say. The reason it’s still stuck with me years later in a negative sense is because no one had, in fact, questioned my position at said school. I had never even heard anyone say that dyslexic people being at this form of school was weird or anything. Never. The first time the idea that I had to prove myself capable of belonging there had been placed in my head at that very moment. She didn’t meant to do that, I know she didn’t. And that makes it all the worse, because she was trying to make things better and she was so kind about it. I can’t even be angry at her for planting that thought in my head! And the way she so casually said that, as if it was a known fact that people would think I didn’t belong there, as if it was only natural for people to say something like that to me - even if she said they’d be stupid and wrong to do so - really hurt. A lot.

So all I’m asking is, please check what was said to someone. Don’t assume what they might have heard others say about them. If you’re wrong, knowing that people could possibly think that on top of everything else can feel… icky.

3) I’ve meet a lot of ignorant people in my life. We all have, haven’t we? And one of those people was my teacher for one horrible year. I pity everyone who ever has to live through her classes at this point. Why do people who can’t respect others have a mind of their own become educators again?

Anyways, I’ve posted about this before, but she was sure that she knew better than me what dyslexia meant, as well as that dyslexia had to be the same as reading and writing disorder and I had my facts wrong. Surprising no one she never really cared much that I couldn’t do the things my classmates could do. And one day she had the nerve to tell me that “class is over and you should have been able to write that down in time if you’d actually worked. So, if you really need these notes, just ask someone for them. I’m sure even you can manage that, right?” and take the notes down from the board. She didn’t have to do that, and she had put those notes there in the last minute. I’d told her they were too small for me to read and that I couldn’t tell the letters apart like that. She hadn’t cared. Yeah… That was one of the few times a teacher made me cry in the bathroom.

So, even though I can’t believe I have to say that, don’t assume you know what someone can or can’t do, and listen to them when they talk about their experience. If they say they can’t do something, they can’t. And no matter how much you think to know about a disability, when someone lives with it, they know what it’s like in a way that you could never know.

4) I’ve also had a math teacher, and he was great! One of those teachers that just make sense and that actually really care about their students and them understanding things rather than learning them like vocab cards. He was the only math teacher who I’ve ever felt comfortable with enough to confess that measurements can be tricky on some days. Does it say “cm”, “dm”, “km” or even just “m” there? Is it “L”, “cL” or “dL”? “g” or “kg”? He was really nice about it and we made a deal: In every class test I got the measurement would not change within one task. Helped a lot. And yet…

Students talk. They noticed. Because what my teacher had done, you see is adjust just my class test. I didn’t need to switch between measurements, the others did. and I see why that wasn’t considered fair. It really isn’t, because that doesn’t have much to do with reading or writing. Yet the issue at the bottom was still there. What I’m saying is that if you change a task so that a dyslexic person can work with it, don’t change it just for them. Especially not if the task itself changes then. Dear teachers, if you’re reading this, do it for everyone or not at all. Yes it helps if you do that, but no it isn’t fair if it’s just for one person. And I honestly still feel like I cheated after hearing what my classmates said.

5) Sometimes people will tell me that it’s impressive that I work against the dyslexia, you know, did the therapy and everything (even though many people just can’t afford it and would do it if they could). In that context a little sentence often fell that I just hate from the bottom of my heart: “If only everyone would do as much. It’s great that you don’t just rely on your diagnosis to take care of everything.”

First of all, I was lucky. I was lucky my health insurance covered not only one but two therapies. It didn’t for my brothers, my parents had to pay for that themselves. And that is not cheap! Not everyone can afford to do therapy. Not everyone has the chance to do therapy. That the therapy worked as well as it did was, again, luck. That my dyslexia was on the lighter side to begin with was also luck. That I knew I was at risk and got tested early on, so that I was diagnosed at an age where a real difference could be made through developmental psychology was also luck. Don’t ever make the mistake to think that one person who got lucky can be used as the bar.

Secondly, everyone’s dyslexia is different. You can’t compare mine to other people’s struggles. Again, my form of dyslexia isn’t that bad. Both my brothers have it worse. Sure, it might not be the easiest to deal with and it’s not the bare minimum for the diagnosis, but others have it worse than I do. And they have different symptoms. I can’t even deal with most of mine, they are just easy to conceal until I have a better day. We’re not all the same, so don’t compare us in a way that makes it look like we are.

Third, a lot was my own research. No one told me that there is a fond that was developed for dyslexic people to read easier (”OpenDyslexic”, if you are interested. It’s free to download). No one told me about all the side effects, no one told me “hey, this might actually be because of your dyslexia, too”. No one told me having subtitles on in a language I already spoke would help remembering the spelling of words. No one told me how to articulate things. I didn’t get an awful lot of help along the way, you know? Keep in mind, I come from an environment in which I got more help than on average. And you saying that is basically pushing the responsibility onto us. You made a world in which we have little to no access to help, and you’re shaming us for not finding any.

Last but everything but least, you make it sound like the treatment and the way we handle this is what makes the dyslexia valid. If you’re really thinking so, you’re wrong. Like, really wrong. I chose to work my ass off to teach my brain how to keep up. I managed to find information on it. I was lucky to get the possibility to do so, because of the way you are handling this. None of that makes my diagnosis valid. It doesn’t, because it already is. My struggles, my feelings about it, my experiences, my symptoms are what makes this valid. The diagnosis, dyslexia? That just gave it a name. 

6) “That might be hard for you to do. Are you sure you can handle this?” I’m glad that you are concerned on my behalf. But as someone who also has a lot of anxiety and has lived with this shit in my mind for my entire life, I can guarantee you that I do, in fact know my limits. I have lost many opportunities in my life because I wasn’t sure I could handle it, or because I couldn’t tell beforehand if I would have a “good day” or a “bad day”.

I’m aware of the risk. I decided to take the risk, or am in the process of decided whether or not to take that risk. You aren’t helping. If you are concerned, offer to help me should I struggle. If you can’t help me, offer support. If you can neither help nor support me, I don’t know you well enough for you to be meddling with my choices so you should just leave me alone.

If you’ve made it this far, thank you so much for taking your time to read this. I hope this’ll help. And if you do make a dyslexic person uncomfortable or hurt them with something you say or do, please remember that that will happen, no matter what someone’s dealing with. Even my brothers will hurt me sometimes and I will hurt them sometimes, even though we are all dyslexic and have known each other for literally all our lives, because we all experience this differently. And that’s okay. You can’t always know what will hurt someone and it’s not you job to read their mind and figure it out on your own either. Important is that you recognize you’ve made a mistake and that you make a conscious effort to avoid said mistake in the future. And remember: Sometimes it’s not what you’re trying to say but rather how you’re saying it that hurts. Formulations can make a huge difference.

[minddimin]

book I’m writing

“Wake up Ella!” my mother calls up to my room, I groan and rub my eyes. I look at the clock and it reads 8:00 a.m. Darn it I’m going to be late to work again. I’m only sixteen but I have a really good job at the pet store and I’m attending a private school but I don’t go there until the afternoon. I haven’t really been looking forward to anything lately.  I have two best friends, their names are Becca and Zoey and they are really fun to hang out with. We make fun of the boys in our school and laugh at the popular girls. We live in the town of Weston and I guess it’s an alright town. It’s pretty small town and I like it, it’s pretty cozy. We all get together at Christmas at the Community Centre and exchange gifts to whomever we are closest with. Recently I was diagnosed with Borderline Personality Disorder and Depression. I see a psychiatrist in the next town over, I haven’t told my friends but I think they know because I’ve been acting kind of off lately. I don’t want to tell them because I feel they might not look at me the same again and they’ll treat me differently. I don’t want them to do that, and what if the whole school overhears me tell them. I’ll be the school joke and that would be chaotic. I’ve been feeling weird with the medications, I’m bloated and I eat a lot now. I’m extremely thirsty. My mom says it’s good to drink water. I like drinking water though. So I better get off to work before I’m late.  I walk through the doors and smile at my co-workers and my boss. I put on my work gear and head to work. Emma Hastley, she’s a popular girl, and she walks to the cat food section. She ponders at a few, and I take a deep breath and walk over. I ask her, “Do you need any help?” she looks up and smiles, “Hi Ella, how are you today?” Luckily she’s one of the nice popular girls. “I’m fine thanks, how are you? That brand is good.” I say pointing to the cat food next to her, smiling. “Oh that’s really great to hear, I’m doing great thanks. Are you going to Max Austin’s party this weekend?” She says picking up the cat food I pointed out and begins walking to the till. “Mm. I’m not sure, maybe.” I say shoving my hands in my pockets. “Oh okay, well hope to see you there. I haven’t seen you at a party in months!” she said handing her money, I take out the change and hand it to her.  “I’ll sure think about it, maybe I’ll surprise everybody.” I sign out of work and head to school. I walk through the woods and the woods open up to the back of the school. I see all the classmates that are waiting outside the school and I groan. Why does there have to be so much people here? I walk through the crowd and see my two friends Becca and Zoey, “Hi guys. I’m sorry I’m late. I got off work late and woke up late. So that’s my reason for being late, what did I miss?” “Oh Ella!” they both exclaim, “we missed you, where have you been?!  We haven’t seen you all weekend. We thought for sure you’d be at Joel’s party!” I look at the ground and rub my foot into the ground. “I’ve been really busy. I had to go out of town to do some grocery shopping.” Well that isn’t a total lie. I did have an appointment with my psychiatrist and mom and I made it a girls’ day. We went to the salon and got manicures and pedicures. And we did do grocery shopping, so I wasn’t making things up. “I totally wanted to be there though!” I lied. I recently started to hate the parties and going out every weekend. I would’ve wanted to stay home and do girly things in my room and read magazines and talk about boys we liked. But that is totally grade eight. Nobody is into that anymore. I lost interest in many things, I don’t do soccer anymore. I miss the way my life used to be but nothing is interesting enough for me. I tried to get into Track and Field last month but I dropped out and my parents weren’t impressed because they paid to get me into it. Another thing I failed at. I am sitting in English class, and I am bored out of my mind. English isn’t a class I’m really good at. I’m flawless at Math though and that makes it my favorite subject. I doodle a picture of the teacher in my notebook, and he walks by, picking up my notebook and looking at it. “Well Ella, this is a really nice picture but you should be taking notes.” The class laughs, and I turn red in embarrassment. Why did he have to point me out? So embarrassing! I look behind me and see Lindsay Williams and Lacy Munro whispering and passing a note to Tony Adelaide and he opens it, and smirks. He looks up at me, and grins. I quickly look away and I hear the whispers, so I look at the back of the class and see people quickly look away as they notice me staring at them. The note is passed around the class and it eventually makes its way to me, and I open it and it says. “Ella is so weird. Bet she has a crush on the teacher.” I look down at my desk and sit there in silence as the whispers continue. I turn red, and I get up and walk out of the classroom. Mr. Andrews calls after me but I ignore him, I walk into the girls’ bathroom and sit on the floor in one of the stalls. I don’t understand the point of my life, I write in my notebook as I cry. I leave the school and start walking home, taking the same route I did this afternoon. I wipe the tear that rolled down my cheek, and take a deep breath. In and out, just like Dr. Stephens taught me. I enter my home and go up to my bedroom, I pull out my favorite book; two girls staring at the ceiling by Lucy Frank and put on some headphones. I put the music to Kim Taylor- Lost and Found. I read a couple chapters and I put the book down, and sit at my desk, trying to do some homework from the night before. I sigh, and look out the window. I see my parents pull up and I go to my bed and pretend to be asleep. “Ella!” they call up to my bedroom, and I hear their footsteps approach. They open my bedroom door and peek in, my mother Alice comes in and my father David puts a blanket over me, and my mother smooths the blanket and kisses my forehead. My parents are so loving, I think, I don’t deserve them… I could’ve been something better for them. I could’ve been a better daughter with good grades and many skills. But I’m not. My father smooths my hair, “we’ll talk to her later… let her sleep.” They leave my room and close the door, I sigh. Slowly opening my eyes, I turn onto my back and look at the ceiling. I wonder what they want to talk to me about, probably about leaving school. Darn it, I forgot my backpack at school too. I “wake up” and walk to the bathroom, closing the door and close the door. I start taking off my clothes and turn on the shower. I like the water hot and then cold. I dry off and put some comfy clothes on. I walk downstairs and enter the kitchen. My mother stands by the oven putting in a roast with potatoes and vegetables. “Looks fantastic mom,” I say. She smiles and calls over my father. “We want to talk to you about what happened at school today sweetie, why’d you walk out of school? Your teachers are worried, and so are we. Are you feeling okay? Do we need to try a different med-“ I interrupt them “Mom, dad. Enough, I’m okay. I swear. It’s just… I needed to come home because I felt ill. We don’t have to try a different medication. I’m okay. It’s just the flu or something.” They nod their heads and look down. “We know it’s something more sweetie, you don’t have to hide anything from us. We hope you know that. We won’t bug you anymore, but if there’s something wrong just tell us, okay?” I nod. “Yeah, Mom and Dad, I’ll tell you.” I say as I retreat upstairs, and go into my room. I sit down at my desk and take out my drawing book, and sketch a few pictures. I grab my laptop and go to my bed, and scroll through Tumblr. I look at the pictures of the people cutting and quotes about suicide and depression and what it’s like having BPD. I look at my pencil sharpener and I feel the urge to take the blades out. You’re thinking irrationally Ella, you won’t do that. Who the hell would? Many people cope well with this disorder. I think to myself. I take a deep breath and re-post a picture I seen. I sigh again, “Ella! Dinner’s ready!” my mother calls to me. “I’m coming mom!” I yell at her, and close my laptop. I walk down the steps and sit at my usual spot, my mother sets everything on the table and she asks “do you want some vegetables sweetie?” I shrug, “maybe only a little bit. I’m not really hungry.” My father looks at my mother, “are you sure you’re feeling okay sweetie? You’re usually hungry by the time we’re home.” I nod. I take a bite of my food and thank my mom. “Thanks for supper mom, I really appreciate it.” I smile to show them that I’m okay. “No problem sweetie, I like for you to have a nice supper to keep that body of yours healthy.” They think that I’ve been mentally ill since the age of thirteen. I mean I thought I was going through some normal teenage emotions and changes. But it turns out I have two mental illnesses and that’s not a great thing to find out, I’m totally embarrassed. I hear about the stigma surrounding BPD and I don’t like what people have to say about it. People make it seem like having a mental illness is bad, and I guess in a way it is. You lose interest in things, you’re constantly in bed, and bored out of your mind but you can’t bring yourself to do anything fun because you won’t like it anyway. There isn’t much keeping me here now, I often think of death but I’m too afraid to die. I mean, why am I having these thoughts lately? Maybe the medication is making me feel this way, I should stop taking them. I’m in my bedroom, listening to music with my headphones on and lying in bed looking up at the ceiling, in the dark. I’m mouthing along to the words and it seems okay. But I have learned not to hope so much that things are going good, because once I start thinking that things are going to be okay they turn to shit. I’m tired of the constant shift in my emotions. It’s exhausting to be this way all the time. I better get to bed. I have school in the morning. Friday’s you go to school in the morning, and the rest of the week is in the afternoons. I’m not sure I mentioned that. I quickly fall asleep while listening to Blue Jeans by Lana Del Rey. I wake up to the sun shining through the blinds on my window, I groan. I look at the time and it reads 6:00 a.m. I get up and brush my hair, quickly throwing it into a French braid. I go to the bathroom and brush my teeth and put on some make up, doing this routine is so hard every day. It’s a simple routine, but it gets annoying when you’re depressed because you’d rather be lying in bed. My life wasn’t always this way, it was simple. I remember some happy moments from when I was twelve, my birthday party was amazing. We had a bouncy castle and Lacy was my best friend in Elementary School. I loved frogs and bugs, while Lacy loved Barbie, so I guess that’s why we grew apart. We just don’t have the same interests, but now I am a girl just living in an ordinary town with two best friends and the perfect parents. But I seem to be the problem, I don’t know why I have these thoughts but I have them and it’s so difficult to deal with. I looked my illness up and it said we have different perceptions of ourselves. That we think lowly of ourselves, and we have suicidal thoughts and we can act on them and be impulsive. I’m completely terrified of what I might do. I think I’ll have to go into the hospital because I don’t know if I’ll be able to manage on my own, it’s getting harder to manage my emotions and these medications don’t seem to be working. I have to talk to my parents before I do something… I close my diary and close my eyes, and I take a deep breath trying to manage my emotions. Cool off and slow my thoughts. I go into my parents’ bedroom and crawl into bed with them, my mother wakes up and she wraps her arms around me. My father wakes up and smiles, tucking my hair behind my ear. I start to cry and they look at me with concerned faces. They ask, “Ella, what’s the matter?” I take a deep breath in and continue crying, my mother gets tears in her face. My father holds me, and my mother holds my hand, “Mom, Dad. I’ve been thinking – thinking that I might kill myself.” My mother starts to cry and so does my father. We lay like that for a while, just holding each other and they thank me for telling them. They tell me that we’re going to get through things together and that they’ll get me the help they need no matter how much it may cost. “Ella, your life is precious to us and we love you so much, let’s go to the hospital.” I nod and go to my room to pack my things, we get in the car and we start the two hour drive to six towns later, which reveal a big city. Two hours later, we arrive at the hospital and we check in with the nurses. They immediately call me back and the doctor comes in with a concerned face, and he introduces himself. “Hi Ella, my name is Doctor Richardson. Nice to meet you, I want to say thank you for coming in today. You’re so brave.” I shake his hand and nod, trying to contain my emotions as he utters those words. “Why don’t we talk about what brought these feelings on lately?” My tears flow out of me like a river dam that burst and I say through my crying, “I was recently diagnosed by my psychiatrist with Borderline Personality Disorder and Depression, and I guess all that and the emotions I get and the thoughts that associate with the illnesses just got to me. I came in today so I wouldn’t hurt myself because I don’t want to die, I want to live my life happily but lately I’m not happy. I dropped out of so many things that I enjoyed, I was going to be my class Valedictorian but then my grades dropped because I couldn’t get myself out of bed. I just recently started going back to school, and now. I can’t even bring myself to school because there are kids passing notes about me because I was drawing a picture of the teacher and – and everything is just falling apart.” I cry harder and try to catch my breath, he pushes a box of Kleenex towards me and I take a tissue.  “I’m so sorry Mom and Dad. I should’ve told you before it got this bad.” They dab their eyes with tissues and my mother blows her nose, “it’s okay sweetie, we’re going to get you help now.”  The doctor finishes his notes and he says, “So Ella, we’re going to admit you to the adolescent mental health ward and I’ll contact your psychiatrist and tell her that we’re admitting you.” I thank the doctor and change into the hospital gown they gave me. The nurse smiled at me and introduced herself. “Hi Ella, I’m Hannah. I’ll be the nurse looking after you today until you go up to the floor.” I forced a smile, “Hi.” It took two hours to get me up to the ward and the nurses and child and youth workers there were nice to me. There were twelve other people there. They all seemed nice, some had scars on their arms and others kept to themselves. I sit by myself when the food arrives, and I don’t even eat it. I push the food around on my plate and I ask to be excused, “yes Ella you may leave the dining room.” A nurse follows me, “Hi Ella, I’m Natalia. Are you okay? I noticed you didn’t eat anything.” I walk to my room and I say, “I’m just not hungry. I think I’m going to sleep for a bit.” She nods, “okay. Well there’s going to be group in a bit and I’ll come to get you or your roommate will wake you up.” She smiles at me and closes the door, I put my clothes away in the dresser they have. I lie on my bed and close my eyes, I fall asleep quickly, exhausted from all the crying. I wake to rustling beside me, I look over at the other side of the room, “oh, hello. I’m Taylor. It’s time for group. I’m just collecting my papers for group.” She smiles at me, and I notice the cuts on her arm and she notices, so she pulls her sleeve down. “Well, come on then.” I get up and smooth my covers, and follow her out to the room down the hallway. “Everyone here is nice and so is the therapist. Her name is Felicia.” I nod and we enter the room, everyone looks at me and I look down, pulling at my sleeves. Felicia looks up from the paperwork and she smiles at me, “Hi you must be Ella. Come have a seat.” I take a seat beside Natalia, and the guy sitting beside Natalia says “Hi, I’m Wade.” I nod and force a smile, “Oh we got a smile out of her!” Natalia exclaims, “I smile.” I say, looking down and the smile on my face disappears. “Oh Ella, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to-“ she says quietly, I cut her off. “It’s fine. I’m just going to go back to my room, I leave and I go to my room. I lie back down and close my eyes, and try to fight off the tears. I just wanted to fold up and stop, I didn’t want to think anymore. The therapist Felicia comes in. She knocks. “Hello Ella?” I groan. “I’m here to talk to you, I want you to know that it’s okay if you miss one session but you have to come from now on.” I sit up and look at her, “I’m sorry for coming here. There are people here with bigger problems.” She looks me in the eyes, and sits beside me. “Just like you.”

She gets up and leaves, I sit there thinking about what she said. I took my diary out of my backpack and got a pen, I wrote a page and a half. I don’t know if being here in the hospital is a good thing for me. I feel like I don’t belong in here, I think I’ll get my parents to sign me out. But what if I go home and I feel bad again… I don’t want to do anything. I don’t want to hurt my parents. Maybe I could stick this out. I’m just a lost girl who doesn’t matter after all. I’m never going to get better. That’s what the website said. So it must be true. I have to leave before I get my hopes up too high. I get up and go to the nursing station. “Hi, I was wondering if I could get the papers to sign myself out. I’d really appreciate it.” The nurse behind the station looks up, and she smiles at me. “I’m sorry sweetie. I can’t without the doctors’ permission. You’ll have to speak with your psychiatrist.” I rub my hands on my pants, “Please. I want to go home.” In that instant, the door to the ward opens and I run towards it. The orderlies run after me and they eventually catch me and drag me back to the ward. I scream and kick. They grab my legs and arms. They carry me back as I struggle. I’m begging them to let me go home, and there are people looking at us. We get back to the ward and they put me in my room, but there are restraints there on my bed. They moved my roommate out of the room and they put me on the bed, I’m screaming for help but no one is moving to help me. Instead the nurses come to help the orderlies put me in these restraints and I continue screaming and fighting. The psychiatrist comes in and looks at me, and says something to the nurse. The other nurses come back with a needle with some fluid in it and I try to squirm away because I have a fear of needles. “PLEASE NO! NO. I DON’T WANT THAT!” They hold me still and the nurse calmly talks to me, “It’s okay sweetheart, one little pinch. Deep breath in and out.” The fluid immediately knocks me out, I wake up a couple hours later. I’m still in the restraints and I hear the voices of my parents shouting. “WHAT DID YOU DO TO OUR DAUGHTER?” I yell for them, “MOM. DAD, HELP ME!” They rush towards the sound of my voice and burst through the doors, they see me restrained to the bed. “Get her out of these restraints. We are taking our daughter home.” My father demands. “I’m afraid you can’t do that, she is a danger to herself and she clearly showed that to us by taking off. So we are holding her under a seventy two hour observation. If you have a problem with that contact a lawyer. If you wish to do so, you may contact the Hearing Board and apply for a hearing. I’m sorry Mr. and Mrs. Jorgenson. We’ll have to escort you out,” says the psychiatrist. The orderlies move towards my parents and they grab a hold of my father, and drag him out. “ELLA. WE’LL COME FOR YOU.” I start to cry and try to get out of the restraints, they sedate me again and I sleep until the next day. The psychiatrist comes in, and gets the orderlies to take the restraints off. “Hi Ella, sorry about yesterday we were just fearing for your safety. Your parents have applied for a hearing, and if they lose you will have to stay for the full seventy two hours. After that, I’m not sure what we’re going to do but if you manage to keep yourself safe while you’re here I’m sure we can let you go home. Is that a deal?” I nod frantically, and rub my wrists and ankles. “I’m sure it was uncomfortable being in the restraints but we had to ensure that you were safe. We don’t want you hurting yourself while you’re here in the hospital.”

I walk the halls of the ward and spot my old roommate. I go up to her and say, “I’m sorry you had to be moved out of your room. I’m sure that sucked, who’s your roommate now?” She looks at me and smiles, “oh it’s okay. We all have tough moments and my new roommate is Michelle. She’s a nice girl but I wish I was your roommate we could’ve had fun and did girly things.” I stuff my hands in my pockets and look down, “yeah that would’ve been nice. I haven’t done anything girly in a long time.  I haven’t had much interest in anything lately so having an interest in something is really great.” I smile at her. Wade walks up to us, and he smiles at me. “Hi Ella, are you okay? I heard what happened and I just want you to know that we’re here for you if you ever need to talk. Sometimes talking to the psychiatrist can be a little intimidating, so you can talk to us.” I look him in the eyes and thank him, “really? That would be so great.” I grin. Today’s been the greatest I’ve felt in a really long time, one of the nurses come up and smiles. “So glad to see you smiling today Ella, if you need anything come to the nursing station.” Wade waves at me to get my attention and smiles when I look at him. “Ella, did anyone tell you how beautiful you are?” I blush and look down. “Oh Wade!” Laughs Taylor. ”That was so smooth.” I thank him and turn to leave. I rush down the hallway and look back to see him watching me. That was unexpected.  I wonder why he said that. I go into the bathroom and they have those plastic mirrors and I look at myself. Am I really beautiful? I look at my long, wavy brown hair and full lips. I look into my hazel eyes and smirk. I guess I’m not too bad now that he planted that in my head. I twirl my hair with my finger. I walk out of the bathroom and walk to my room to have a little snooze before group. I quickly fall asleep and wake to the sound of knocking on my door. “Wake up Ella, it’s time for group. My name’s Charlie and I’m going to be your nurse today. Your child and youth worker will be Jenna.” He smiles at me and writes his name on the board in my room. He quickly leaves and waves goodbye before he closes the door. I get up and brush my teeth, putting my hair in a bun. I put on comfy clothes, and I walk to group. I sit beside Wade and Taylor. Wade smiles at me and I turn red immediately. I turn my focus to the therapist. I sit in awe taking in everything she was saying. I go up to her after the group was over and smiled, “Felicia. That was such a great group. I totally didn’t want it to end. I think I’m going to like this.” She smiles at me, “well hello Ella, it’s good to see that you are here today. We’ll be learning more about the topic tomorrow if you really enjoyed it.” I nod, “I’ll totally be there. I want to learn more before I go home, because I could really use these skills and integrate them into everyday life.” She nods and walks with me down the hall towards the nursing station, “I’m glad you want to do that. I should take note of that so the psychiatrist sees how much you want to get better.” I grin and thank her. I follow Wade and Taylor to the dining room. Dinner smells really good and my stomach rumbles. Tonight dinner is Meatballs and Spaghetti, and I scarf the food down from not eating anything all day. Wade walks me back to my room and we stop outside my room, and I look at him. “Why’d you call me beautiful?” I ask, and he looks at me and grins, “Because you are beautiful. And I don’t just say that to girls, I mean it Ella.” I blush and look away, I spot a nurse and shoo him away before we get in trouble. “I’ll talk to you later Ella, meet me in the dining room.” I nod and he walks away, I watch him as he rounds the corner to the men’s part of the ward. I go into my room and my heart is racing, I lean against the door and I go to my dresser. I pull out my diary and write about how I’m feeling and write down what happened today.

Becca and Zoey came to visit me today. It was quite awkward for me to let them see me in here. I feel quite crazy now that they know about my mental illnesses. They kept looking at each other and it seemed like they wanted to tell me something but they were holding back. I’m worried that they might tell the whole school but they’re my best friends and they’d never do such a thing. I’m just being paranoid. It was great to see a familiar face, my parents haven’t come back. I think it’s because the ward won’t let them. At least that’s what I think. I miss them so much and it’s only been 34 hours since I came here. The time is going by so slowly, I never met up with Wade last night. I couldn’t bring myself to do that, I am not here for a relationship with someone. I’m here to focus on myself, and I can’t have any distractions because I got to get home, and being home may seem scary now. But I have to eventually go back. I can’t live here in the hospital all my life. I talked to the psychiatrist an hour ago and he said that my parents lost the hearing. So I’m stuck here until my seventy two hours are up and he wants to put me on stronger medications to help with my mood swings and impulsive thoughts. This is great because I don’t want to feel the way I felt when I came in. My thoughts are chaotic right now and my mind is collapsing in one itself again. I don’t think that I can handle any of this much longer. I’m going to ask for a pass so I can go to the store and buy a razor. Or a bottle of pills, it’ll be simple.

I asked the psychiatrist if I could go on a pass and he said it was fine, my, my, what a stupid psychiatrist. Unless he wants me dead this could be a possibility. I’m going to go out on my pass and thank God I packed my debit card to buy these things. I should leave a note behind for my parents to read once the hospital realizes I’m gone. I’ve thought about it before, about killing myself. But not like this. Not so real. I go to my room and write a note to my parents. Mom and Dad, I want you to know that I love you so much. You are the greatest parents ever and I never imagined when I was younger that I would result to this. I never thought I’d be this way and you probably thought the same. I’m sorry if I hurt you. I know this might be difficult. Why did I have to be this way, I have you two. The perfect parents and I had good academic results. Living has become this constant nightmare, and it affects my everyday life. My school, my grades, my accomplishments, all I know is that I wake up every morning feeling like complete shit. Tell my friends that I love them, and I love you too. I wish that I was strong enough to fight this to the end, but there is not an end to this. This is the only end and I had to do this, so don’t blame yourselves because it’s not your fault. I love you. A tear rolls down my face and I fold up the note, writing please give to my parents, and I leave. I run through the hospital and down the hospital steps, onto the street where I nearly get hit by a car. The driver honks his horn and yells at me, I run a couple blocks down the road and I enter a store, I go to the pharmacy area and look for Tylenol. I go to the tools area and find an Xacto-knife. I purchase these objects and walk to a wooded area and walk at least 8 kilometres in. I open the bottle of pills and begin shoving handfuls of pills into my mouth and downing them with the Gatorade I bought. I then put the Xacto-knife on my wrists and push down and slice. I bite my lip and scream quietly. I cut deep and I lie down and close my eyes. Hours pass and I hear sirens from way off in the distance. They won’t find me in time. I think, and then I begin losing consciousness. “ELLA! ELLA!” I don’t fight to keep my eyes open, I feel myself slipping away. And darkness swallows me whole.

[bipolarblurbz-blog]

Where Would I Be if I Were Born 25 Years Later?

I wish I had known a long time ago about my mental illness. As the saying goes, “hindsight is 20/20” and my life played out as it should have, but I believe I would be “further along” intellectually, emotionally, and professionally had I been born 25 years later. I speak from an education perspective, because I believe that school is critical to a child’s neurodevelopmental, social growth, academic success, and ultimately their professional career. Today it appears that parents have a much better sense of their child’s character and surroundings, an awareness of potential psychological disorders and, perhaps most important, a closer relationship with their child’s teacher than years past. Teachers are privy to a child’s daily behavior and their associated developmental and learning disorders, and are often the first to recognize the need for intervention. Either way, it feels as though children are looked after and cared for in a way that I was not. And because of this, many get the support and help that they need to do their best in school, on the playground, and at home. I can still see my 3rd grade self being put in the corner for acting out. It was not until recently that I realized that I wasn’t a bad or misbehaved kid, I just couldn’t sit in my chair for an entire lesson. Had it been known that I had ADHD, then maybe I could have had the tools and, perhaps, medication to improve my school experience, and positively influence my life’s path. I always dreaded school assignments from elementary grades through college. Some people actually get enjoyment from learning! Unfortunately, that was not the case for me. I imagine this is because it was painfully difficult for me to focus to get work done; there is nothing enjoyable about that. People with ADHD are often quite bright and, because of this, the disorder goes unnoticed until the student can no longer “keep up.” This means that I was smart enough to get the work done even though I was comprehending far less than 100% of the lesson being taught. This explains my grades; both academic and conduct. I would soar academically and drown in conduct. Talking out of turn and to classmates, and getting out of your chair disrupted the class and are significant factors that affect conduct grades. I remember doing all of that. By junior high, my grades started to slip in some classes from A’s to B’s, spoiling my chances of getting into “honors-level” courses. I fell even further behind in high school. Courses were harder and more demanding, and I just couldn’t keep up. The student advisors were useless; we’d meet 1-2 times per year and accomplish next to nothing. They should be required to assess a student who isn’t doing well, and ask questions in an attempt to identify the potential cause and demand further evaluation, so that a proper diagnosis and treatment can be prescribed. Teachers working in my school didn’t talk to students or their parents about their progress, or lack thereof. Any news that got back to my parents was simply what I was telling them; and my report card of course. Neither of which told the whole story. But my home was chaotic and my mother didn’t have the time nor energy to understand and help all four of her children. My father was never involved; he was too busy being an alcoholic. My mother was the disciplinarian and caretaker. But she wasn’t able to see my poor grades as something beyond “laziness”, “misbehavior” and “carelessness” and to get me the help I needed to thrive in the school environment; ironic because my mother, herself, was a middle school teacher for 40 years. If I complained about school being hard or making me anxious, she would tell me something to the effect, “Well, I don’t know. You’re a bright girl and have a high IQ. You have the highest IQ of your three siblings.” But that didn’t help at all, nor did it matter to me. I was crying out for help, feeling as if I was drowning at school. Unfortunately, my calls for help went unanswered. My mom didn’t have anything to give; she was spent from the turmoil that was her life. It hurts my heart when I think about high school because I know I’m smart and could’ve done well. I could’ve learned and participated more, and ENJOYED the classes, but I had untreated ADHD, and symptoms of depression coupled with anxiety that began to significantly affect my performance. I remember having anxiety as early as junior high. That followed me into high school where it got worse, eventually becoming acute anxiety. Walking from the bus to homeroom was agonizing. Homeroom to first period, agonizing. Sitting at lunch, agonizing. Getting on the bus to home, agonizing still. I had no self-esteem; common for someone with ADHD who is often forgetful and clumsy and just can’t seem to “get it together”. Self-worthlessness shared space in my head with depression and anxiety. I managed to make friends, play sports, and make it through high school despite my struggles. I felt lucky that my state university accepted me -- I swear it was God working magic! My 2.8 GPA got me into their reputable business school. I chose a major in business administration because I was strong in math, and it seemed like a more functional degree to have when looking for a job after college. I remember arriving at college feeling clueless and terrified. My anxiety was debilitating, and coupled with my ADHD, I felt paralyzed. I was scared to go to class because I knew I could not pay attention and didn’t want the professor to call on me. I could not speak in class. I was horrified to give an oral presentation and would worry from the day I received the syllabus until the date of the presentation (usually 4 months in between!). I loathed working in groups and frequently didn’t produce my piece of the pie. (As a child of an alcoholic, you hide the truth and do anything you can to appear “normal.” Relationships are difficult to foster and hard to keep, and you don’t want anyone to see your weaknesses, so you do your best to not show any.). I skipped class often and would daydream during class; missing whatever the professor was saying. I would’ve been better off sleeping or going to the gym because I would’ve done something productive. I was so unbelievably not “present” that I FAILED the introductory course to my major! In the business school, you had to take an intro class for each department to confirm that the one you chose was something that you could succeed and were interested in (i.e. Intro to Marketing, Accounting, etc.). Since I could not pay attention in class, I would often not attend and would subsequently fail the exams. Consequently, I teetered my senior year on the seesaw of graduation or failure, while working my tail off to make that class up. Hard to believe I was taking an introductory course and the more challenging classes that are required just before you graduate at the same time. This was my life – a sad young woman who was lost and fearful, always trying to clean up her mess. I am a good example of what happens when mental illness goes unnoticed and untreated, while the person suffers, but either thinks it’s normal because they don’t know better or doesn’t understand why they feel the way they do. So, IF I were born 25 years later, my life might have looked like this: My parents and teachers would’ve gotten me help in elementary school where I would’ve been diagnosed with ADHD and put on a treatment plan. This wouldn’t necessarily include medication; however, as an adult I have responded very well to stimulants. I would’ve enjoyed school more and performed better. I imagine a chain reaction, with an early diagnosis and this newfound focus being my elixir to thrive academically, socially and emotionally.

Nothing is perfect though. I did develop depression (now diagnosed bipolar disorder II), anxiety, and PTSD, and those too would’ve had to be addressed as I reached my high school years. I would have had all my diagnoses and been treated consistently from high school to college and thereafter. I believe had my mental illness been cared for sooner, I would have chased my passion for languages. I started to learn Spanish and French and adored them both, but like anyone with ADHD, you start many “projects” and have 100 going at the same time, but you can’t ever complete any. Also with self-esteem and self-worth (squashed by untreated mental illness and an unhealthy home environment), I would have applied myself in all aspects of my life and progressed more quickly professionally and in my relationships. I never had a problem making or keeping friendships, but I also didn’t show them all of me, just a few. I was the friend who quietly listened, gave the feedback that they wanted to hear and shelled out compliments like candy to avoid talking about myself. The perfect people pleaser, typical of a child of an alcoholic. But I did have a social life and friends, that wasn’t my problem. I had a terror of boys and men and didn’t have my first boyfriend until I was 23 years old and I plan to marry in my 40’s. Maybe that’s the way it was going to be regardless, but I like to think that losing trust in men at a very young was a result of fearing my alcoholic father and growing up with parents in a dead marriage. I don’t attach mental illness to hiding myself from friends or being scared of males, but anxiety definitely contributed to feeling very uncomfortable around them, platonically or not. Doesn’t mental illness, though, impede life from moving forward? Not until recently did I no longer sense an immaturity (not naivety) that I had when thinking about being an “adult” (i.e. sustaining a serious relationship, getting married, having children, etc.) It took time for me to get a proper diagnosis, which had a negative effect succeeding in romantic relationships and jobs, and may have correlated to the relapses I had from stopping my medication. To me, mental illness, lack of self-esteem and self-worth, undoubtedly stunted me emotionally and affected my growth into adulthood.

But, this was my path and I am who I am as a result. And despite the lack of mental health intervention and my many struggles, I’ve managed to find my way to create a life for myself, rich with wonderful friends and a loving fiancé, and will continue to push myself to grow emotionally and spiritually. This is why I am bravely taking on the challenge of blogging my way through mental illness and pain in pursuit of mental health, just like how I eat well and exercise for my physical health. My hope is that I won’t allow fear to stop me even though each time I sit down to write, I am slapped with paralysis. I have to remind myself to write from the heart and the words will flow. “There is no shame in your story. There is no shame in your writing.” I imagine the more I write the better my writing will become and the prouder I’ll feel about my progress. There’s only going up from here!