Love Yourself Like Art: A Journey of Faith and Friendship
Unsinkable Author: Brennan Jackson
Trigger Warning: This Unsinkable story discusses bullying. We invite our community to read it only if it's the right time for them! If you're struggling, please reach out to the Crisis Text Line or Kids Help Phone.
I’m Brennan Jackson. I’m sixteen years old with cerebral palsy. My disability has given me many unique experiences as well as a unique perspective on life and mental health. Through this lens, this is what I believe; this is what I see.
Some people say life is like a roller coaster, but I’d say it’s a bit more like the entire amusement park. Relationships are the roller coasters, complete with dizzying loops, drops unaware of brakes, and climbs where you can’t see anything but free, open sky.
Throughout my life I’ve experienced a wide range of people and experiences that have shaped the way I think and who I am today, always carrying the gift of empathy. This has been both a detriment and a blessing.
Since I was very young, I’ve had a deep understanding of emotions, maybe even beyond that of most adults (or so I've been told). Naturally, I discovered a passion for psychology, and began to study it as soon as I could. In a way, I turned myself and those around me into case studies. Of course, the guiding and grounding core of any case study is awareness. This awareness, the root of empathy, has made me aware of the emotions of others and myself. This is a gift, but at times can be a detriment.
Let me elaborate.
In elementary school, I had some amazing friends who treated me just like any other kid—one who could play as hard and as fast as they could. This was a very positive experience in my life. And a very important one. It gave me a basic understanding of how I should be treated as a person. With my friends in cars all around me, the roller coaster was climbing up a smooth track, looking into a cloudless blue sky.
Around the fourth grade I switched schools. For the most part it was okay, but it wasn't the same as before. I never had friendships as intimate, thoughtful, and kind as I did at my previous school. And then, in my final year of elementary school, I experienced the heavy manipulation and bullying that you can never be prepared for—the nauseating lurch of the roller coaster as it pulls you into a fifty foot drop.
Since I didn't have many friends, I spent time with my siblings at recess.
“Your siblings aren't going to be in high school next year—why don't you come hang out with us?” Said the sneering voices of the kids who teased and bullied me.
When I occasionally accepted their patronizing invitation, I endured their teasing the entire time. Eventually, I learned to avoid where they hung out, which only resulted in more teasing and bullying for “not wanting to spend time with kids my own age.”
It was always and continuously something, most of the time fabricated. I remember the vivid teasing when they decided I had a crush on someone. In one particular instance, the girl they pretended I had a crush on was in on it. She grabbed me and started teasing me for having a crush on her, even though it wasn't true. I wasn't strong enough to get away from her. All I could see was the bottom of the roller coaster’s drop—a slab of grey pavement coming at me faster and faster, and I didn’t trust the brakes.
Even through all of this, it was hard for me to tell that I was being manipulated and bullied—I just thought the kids wanted to be my friends. But they were teasing me behind my back, which I didn’t know. I think it took me so long to name what was happening because I was quite desperate to have friends like I did before. When I finally came to terms with what they were doing, the damage was dealt, and it felt too late. I left those memories and people behind (or so I thought). At this time, I didn’t realize I was stuck in a set of loop-the-loops, a grey sky smearing with the paved ground.
In high school, I rekindled the friendships from my first school. To a degree, it felt just as it always had. But I could feel something different. There was an underlying voice in the back of my head this time, repeating, “What if they're just like the other kids? What if they don't actually want to be your friend? What if they’re just trying to get something out of you?" That voice just kept strengthening until one day, it backed me into a corner very, very alone. I felt like the roller coaster was going backwards now, moving away from an unreachable clear sky. I had great friends around me, but I felt like I was aboard a boat in the middle of an empty, vast ocean. I looked hard at the people around me, and saw one thing in their lives that I didn't have: a relationship with Jesus.
So I decided to try going to church.
It took me a while to get the hang of it, but eventually, I did feel a sense of hope. Did everything feel better right away? No, but the church community helped me believe in a future—near or far—where I would be okay. So I continued attending church, strengthening my relationship with Jesus every week. To this day, I still consider that to be one of the best decisions I've ever made.
Through church programs, I met many wonderful people. Even though there are/were many negative perceptions of Christianity, this community showed me what being a good, caring, and kind Christian looks like. Simple acts of teaching and kindness helped me re-learn how to trust people a little bit more. Of course, as there is in every space, there was bad, good, and much in between. Thankfully, I had the strength to surround myself with the good.
After this period, some new people entered my life through other activities I was involved in, though it took me a while to even begin trusting them. They weren't a part of the church community that I had built up, but I discovered that they were wonderful people. Still, the voice in my head begged me not to trust anyone. It told me the world was a terrible place. It kept getting stronger. And stronger. It got so loud that I started having panic attacks, hanging over the edge of the roller coaster’s ninety-degree drop as the gears of the brakes creaked in unison with the voice’s screeching.
Because of my disability, panic attacks look a little bit different for me. The panic attacks that I have usually start with difficulty breathing; my breathing gets heavier since I have to work harder to breathe, generally speaking. Sometimes my vision will fade, and my head will get really heavy, feeling like it is filling up with water. All at once, it becomes hard to see or think. Then, my muscles usually tighten because my body's fight-or-flight response is much more severe. This causes paralyzing pain. As these panic attacks persisted, I asked my parents about seeking therapy for the first time.
In therapy, I learned strategies that were meant to help me to cope, grow, and work through my panic attacks. These tools helped a little bit, but as life got busier and more stressful, the panic attacks grew stronger, and the small coping mechanisms didn’t work as effectively. This was a scary change because I didn't know what else to do.
Due to scheduling conflicts, I eventually switched to a new therapist, with whom I was able to work through these panic attacks more effectively while diving deeper into my past. This work wasn’t easy and felt like those continuous small hills on the roller coaster—not quite a series of straight ups and drops, but undeniably disorienting.
As I grew in my therapy journey, it felt as if I were building a lamp that only shone on all of the things that caused me pain in my life. At the very same time, life became more stressful, and with it, my panic attacks took me and my car right off the roller coaster tracks. Some panic attacks enacted a severe shortness of breath, and because of my disability, I would experience extra pain.
I am still on my therapy journey and, to this day, still experience painful panic attacks. But doing things like this—sharing my story—allows me to work through the stressors in life and grow to fight the pain. I have confidence in my ability to get the car back on the roller coaster tracks and keep going.
If there was anything I could leave you with in regard to mental health, it would be this: inside that roller coaster car of relationships, treat yourself like a precious painting. There may be days—or even years—that you don't appreciate yourself as art, but I encourage you to stop for a moment and think: there will always be someone out there who does appreciate a given piece of art, especially its creator. So next time you're thinking, “Would the world be better without me?” or anything along those lines, remember that there will be somebody out there who is always willing to ride the roller coaster in the seat next to you, with nothing but love, appreciation, and admiration.
