MY STORY: SUCH AS IT IS

   Let's see, where to begin?
   I was born on April 4th, 1968, sorry, just kidding. You don't need to know about my whole life.
   I was a "normal" little boy, happy, loved to play and play hard, I have the scars and aching joints to prove it. lol
   I was a "latch key kid", both parents worked, so I had to let myself into the house by myself. I kind of liked it that way.
   I watched a lot of TV, I played with my toys just as much or even more. My favourites were my army men and Matchbox and Hot Wheels cars. I also had a fair sized collection of Star Wars toys that I played with. Nothing stayed in the box and put up on a shelf, that's just silly.

   Everything changed when I was in grade two.
   I was struggling a bit in class. So a social worker came in and assessed me.
   I was diagnosed with a mild "learning disability". I didn't understand what that meant. Except, I later found out that I would be placed in a special class next year for grade three.
   This class existed of three grades in small numbers and we had two teachers.

   I was most upset by this. I thought I was stupid or something.

   But, against everyone's expectations, I excelled way above what I was expected to. It was discovered that my reading and writing level were way above where an 8 year-old should be. I was able to read and write at the same level as someone who was in grade 9, about 13 or 14 years old. Almost double my own age. Although my writing was a little messy, as it still is. I think it's because My hands try to move as fast as my brain did.
   I was placed back into the "general population" for grade 4 and continued to do quite well.

   I was starting to exhibit certain behaviours that weren't "normal". I was 8 or 9 by now.
   Such as day-dreaming, which I actually I had before.
   I became slightly moody, I was very figidity, I always seemed to feel the need to squirm in my seat, my teacher was always most annoyed with me for this.
   There were other behaviours, but am unable to recall them right now, it was 36 years ago after all.

   My temper continued to grow shorter and i was always over-reacting as I still do.
   I began to withdraw and increasingly kept to myself, not interacting with classmates, even those who were considered friends.

   Then I reached grade 6, and met my teacher, "Ms. Jaros".
   I came to regard her as someone sent from hell to torment me endlessly.

   She seemed to regard me as someone who was trouble right from the start.
   I was held back for detention a lot, over the silliest of reasons mostly, or at least that was how I felt.

   I vaguely remember having a few "discussions" with her over my behaviour, I was a little devil, liking to fool around, even when it was inappropriate to do so.

   She had arranged a number of desks next to her own for any trouble-makers and those who struggled with the work. Which I found myself to be re-located to.
   In fact, my desk was the first one right next to hers. I was literally 5 feet from her.

   I was always in trouble, nothing I did was good enough for her. She was always riding me and putting me down.
   She often would belittle me in front of the whole class along with a couple of others, but I seemed to be her favourite mark for some reason.

   She used to get right into my face when literally yelling at me for whatever.
   Man, the stuff she used to say to me. It really felt like, to me, I was being tormented and tortured for no good reason.

   Where were my parents you may ask?
   I used to tell them everything, but they didn't seem to listen or believe me. I was known to tell stories and embellishments.

   I felt so alone, I felt so depressed all the time. I cried a lot, in the boys room at school and alone in my room.
   I was being bullied by someone that should never do. And no one heard me.

   I withdrew more and more, I began to miss a lot of school days.
   I was afraid to go in, when i didn't finish homework. I just couldn't bring myself to always finish things.
   I began to not be able to concentrate increasingly, leading to not being able to understand anything.

   Eventually they brought another social worker in and I was assessed again. There was that learning disability again.
   So the school brought in a tutor to help me with trouble subjects for me. Like math, mostly math actually.

   He was a cool guy and he actually helped me a lot.

   Ms. Jaros' treatment got worse, she seemed to always go out of her way to put me down, making sure I was no good, stupid, she actually called me that. She constantly harassed me. She criticized everything I said and did, even when I was right.

   My parents eventually took me to see a psychologist, I remember being made to look at ink blots. You have to remember this is was 1980.

   This just made me feel worse and worthless and stupid.

   Then Ms' jaros failed me. Forcing me to repeat grade 6.

   I was absolutely terrified, another year of her abuse.
   Thankfully I was put in the other grade 6 class with a different teacher. But my sister, once a year behind me in school was now caught up to me.
   She was put in the class with the evil Ms. Jaros.

   She tried to treat my sister as she did me, just because she was my sister.
   But my sister was smarter and didn't seem to have my shortcomings.
   She excelled actually, still er teacher continued to pick on my sister.

   My sister always told our parents everything, this time they listened and believed.
   Making me so angry, why did they listen to her and not me. This did something to me inside, I felt like something was very, very wrong inside myself. I felt the most unusual of feelings and my emotions were out of control more than ever.

   Anyway, this time my parents went to the Principal with everything and my sister was brought in to describe everything. I was brought in too, considering how she treated me the year before. I don't think they believed very much of what I described. It all was so far out there.

   Other students were brought in too.
   Eventually she was suspended and was later subsequently fired.

   To me, it was too late. The damage was done.
   I was never the same little boy I used to be. He had died.

   All the behaviours I described already became worse with each year.
 
   My absenteeism grew and grew. I missed 75 days one year.

   I was assessed again.
   They described me as a low average student.

   I never did very much of the work, and I realized I didn't know how to study. I failed a lot of tests and exams.

   Eventually I was expelled.

   The next year I returned to school, but continued to be absent most of the time, and I was able to get away with it because I was now 18 and was able to excuse myself.
   Eventually they suggested that I leave school so the teachers could spend more time with those who wanted to learn.

   Lets go back in time a couple of years. I was 16, 1984.
   One night I was feeling particularly depressed, an unusual type of depressed, one I had never felt before.

   I went to the kitchen and grabbed a butcher knife and returned to my room down in the basement, isolated from everyone.
   I started to try and slice my wrists, I did break skin, I was bleeding quite steadily but I hadn't reached the arteries in my wrist yet.

   When all of a sudden something happened which I cannot explain or even describe.
   I don't re,member a single thing. Except I found myself quietly lying on my bed with my headphones on listening to Def Leppard quite loudly.

   I felt at peace and relaxed. The scratches were even gone.

   All I remember is, me holding the knife, me dragging the blade along the flesh of my wrists while standing in the kitchen with everyone in the living room right next to the kitchen with a wall separating. I remember seeing the blood start to flow, I remember feeling dizzy, i remember stopping then starting again.

   Then I was in my room and there were no wounds. not even a scratch.

   A miracle for sure. The only one that ever happened to me by Divine intervention like that.

   My mood swings continued to worsen. My behaviour became unpredictable and strange.

   I did and said weird things, my attitude, well, I can't really describe it, even still.

   My dad decided I was doing drugs and was smoking and drinking. He accused me of all this all the time.
   I had never done drugs, nor drank at all back then. I tried smoking once about 5 years prior.

   All this just made my moodiness and behaviour increasingly worse.

   I was taken, against my wishes, to see another psychologist. Which just angered me more and I began to feel very ill feelings toward my parents and siblings.

   Jumping back in time again, to grades 7 & 8.

   These years began the bullying, harassment, ridicule and some physical abuse.

   Again my parents didn't take very much from what I was telling them. Their only concern seemed to be my lack of interest in everything, doing homework and projects included.
   Also there was my struggle with everything at school, even spelling, grammer, and creative writing.
   My brain just didn't feel like it was working right.
   This I kept to myself. I was afraid to say anything for fear of facing more rejection.

   The bullying carried over into high school, and the picking on of.

   I had a bit of my hair set on fire in class once. i had a big wad of gum stuck to the back of my shirt and I wasn't allowed to go home and change.
   I had a can of pop spilled on me in such a way that it looked like i wet my pants. Again i wasn't allowed to go home to change.

   I was often pushed around, made fun of. I always heard remarks about my long hair, the music I listened to, heavy metal during the eighties when electronic pop was king.

   As I mentioned already I missed an incredible amount of days because of all this and when I was a t school I kept way off by myself even in class when I could.

   There was even a teacher who thought it was fun to smack me in the back of the head when I misbehaved.
   Eventually I began to smack back. Causing a smacking contest once. Which found me out in the hall, desk and all.

   What really sucked, the class was history, my favourite and one I was really good at.

   Again, my parents didn't pay much attention to what I told them.

   That was it. I would say no more about anything.

   I'm going to end the story here.

   I just wanted to lay the foundation, as it were, for what are now my mental illnesses.

   These kind of experiences in life do not cause mental illnesses, but they do worsen them.
   Mental illnesses flourish in a negative environment. Just as the flu and a cold flourish in cold weather.

   All the behaviour I have described here were the very beginnings of what are now Borderline Personality Disorder, Bi Polar Affective Disorder (Bi Po II), Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder (which was that learning "disability" I had in my early years).
   I also have Generalized Anxiety Disorder and Social Anxiety Disorder. With tendencies with schizophrenia.

   All these illnesses are caused by an imbalance of the chemicals in the body and the brain.
   The environment I grew up in didn't cause this, but it sure didn't help any.

   Mental illness seems to run in the family.
   My late father had Major Depressive Disorder, my mom has undiagnosed Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, she's a hoarder.
   I have an uncle on my fathers side who is a recovering alcoholic and a couple of undisclosed mental illnesses.

   It's possible I may never recover and may be on disability for the rest of my life. Probably due to the fact I went so long being undiagnosed. It wasn't till 2008, just before my 40th birthday that I was finally diagnosed.

   Here I am almost 6 years later, with very little change, and maybe even worse off. A long story which I don't feel like sharing.

   I take 5 different medications to aid in my treatment. Trying to quiet my mind so as to decide on which course of action needs to be taken.
   I have had many therapies, one or two good, a number more not so much.

   I must mention though, with my illnesses and all I have never been closer to God than I am now.

   He has even used me and my illnesses to reach out to the silent, those without a voice. Those who, like I did for so many years, suffer in silence for fear of ridicule and judgement.
Which I have experienced and still do.

   Now, I'm not saying God wants me to have these illnesses, that couldn't be further from the truth.

  But there are those who need to know that they are not alone, nor are they the only ones who feel as they do and experience that which they do.
   That there are those like-minded (excuse the pun) and share the same experiences and feelings and do actually understand to a point.

   So, I have become that voice to others that need to hear and see.

   That's why this poetry blog exists and my other writing blog, Broken Mirror, and my two Google+ communities, Alternative Christian Community and Mental Health & The Christian.

   These are all ministries that God has given to me and are the means for me to reach those who maybe otherwise wouldn't be touched.

   I must add that it is the Holy Spirit that guides me in everything, in the words I write and so on.
   I seek only to follow God's perfect will for my life, I seek to use the gifts He has ordained me with, one being the gift of encouragement.

   I am sitting here punching on this keyboard solely because God gave me life instead of letting me die all those years ago and many other attempts since.

   By God's grace alone I have been saved and I have been chosen, as are all God's children, not by any merit of mine, not by any choice I made, only by God's, and His alone, grace and love I have been chosen.

   I use my illnesses to reach out to those who have illnesses of their own. Because it just wouldn't work otherwise if I didn't have the illnesses I do and haven't experienced what I have in life.

   Now I just want to say I have not been afflicted by anything or any one, nothing has been put upon me. God would never allow that.
 
   Why do I have mental illnesses? I don't know. Why do people get cancer? Why do people get cystic fibrosis? Why do people get diabetes? Any one who has any of these illnesses know. Nor do we care. We just do and will make the best of it under these trying circumstances, to say the least.

   As for me, I and my illnesses will seek to do the perfect will of my Father in Heaven. I am His, and I will follow Him wherever He leads me to the best of my God given abilities.

   All honour and glory belongs solely and wholly to God and God alone. For only He is worthy.
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PSALM 18:1=For I love you, Oh Lord, my strength.

JEREMIAH 29:11="For I know the plans I have for you," declares the Lord, "plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future."
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P.S.-There is still much to my story but will, maybe, tell another time. I hope this story blesses any who read it.
And remember no one is alone in anything. God surrounds us all with His grace and unfailing love.
And if you read all of this, I thank you. may it bless and/or help you in any way.

SCOTT DAVID BUCKLEY (23/11/2013)