Sticks and Stones

Ten years ago I quit.

I had gotten into a fight with my mother the evening before. Despite our very close relationship now, which I believe has only been emboldened by these many occurrences, we did that a lot back then. I got upset, and returned to the thing I had given up nine months prior.

The next day at school I turned to my best friend and told her what had happened. She in turn called her mother, who then called our principal at the time. I was sitting in Biology when I was pulled out of class.

This wasn’t my first time being pulled out of class for this reason. It had happened when I was living in Minnesota and my friends were concerned. The counselor told me I needed to get help, and when I told her I was seeing a counselor once a week she didn’t believe me. She was a little shocked when she got my mother on the phone and my statement was confirmed.

Carol pulled me out of class and we sat down. She knew me personally, which isn’t difficult when you’re at a private school with a graduating class size of 74. I was very close with her two sons that were around my age, I had spent movie nights at her house, and she cared about me as an individual. She asked me to roll my shirt to my elbow.

The word “worthless” was carved into my forearm. The letters were neat and methodical, not haphazardly scribbled. All thin red lines from the blade I stole from a shaving razor the night before. Much less offensive than the time "Fuck You" was etched into my inner bicep. 

It's a little ironic that that was the last thing that I wrote while self mutilating, because it's the very belief that got me into the mess in the first place. I was incapable of helping a friend of mine which resulted in their self harm, and I believed the lie that I was worthless and unable to be a productive friend.

As I sat with Carol in the hallway outside the biology class she took my hand, looked me square in the eye, and said to me "Bekah - you are not worthless. You are a daughter of the Most High King. And your friendship is worth everything to my family. Please do not believe that lie."

At that moment I realized that my actions had not only impacted me, but those around me. I was worth something to the people I had chosen to surround myself with, and that's what incited the change in me.

The past decade hasn't been easy - depression is a bitch of a disease that always finds a way to rear it's head. I lost my father in that time frame. At points I've struggled with nihilism. I've graduated college, stood next to friends during their weddings, and been a shoulder to lean on through divorces. I've had my heart broken and I found the joy that comes with adopting a dog.

Life isn't easy - but I'm glad I discovered it's worth it.