A little More 

Soundtrack for this blog “A little more” by Machine Gun Kelly 

Ever since I was a kid, I had problems with depression. When I was 10 years old, I was suspended from my elementary school for two weeks and half a day. I had to go see a therapist first before I could come back according to the school. (I continued these sessions until I was 17 or so. First by force, then I learned to see the benefit of it. Ms. Mary, you saved me. I will be forever grateful). 

Back story: I was overweight, I had coke bottle glasses and I never fit in. Ever. I had the girls tell me I was ugly, the boys called me fat, I was only invited to birthday parties out of pity. I had spit balls thrown at me and one time, it stuck to my face in math class. So? What does my 10 year old self do? I make a list. A list of names of every single person who tormented me 5 days a week. Next to said names, were marks that said “30 strikes your out.” (I had strikes spelled wrong BTW). As if, my 10 year old self was going to commit murder. I was caught. I was walked to the assistant principals and my parents had to pick me up. 

The small town in NJ had a small town newspaper. Printed the damn story front page news and I got half a page inside. I believe my mother has a copy somewhere. 

Returning to school, my teacher moved my seat to the back of the classroom. He picked up my books after I sat. Put them on the desk away from everyone, in the left corner of the room. I will never forgive that man for that. I was 10 years old. 
None of the parents of those kids took responsibility for their children acting like monsters. I was the monster. It is one of the reasons of my now habit as an adult, of holding people accountable for their actions. Own it. 

So here we begin, the aftermath.

There are a few things that happened to me during this time I chose to not share. For it is to the deepest part of memory I wish to not take a hold of me ever again.  

In 6th grade, I started smoking and running around with people way older then me. My parents divorce was finalized that same year and my mother and my two younger siblings and I moved “yet” again to a new duplex, in the same shitty town. 

I had a best friend in 6th grade. She was wild, no fears. We got into mischief. I was 12 the first time I ever smoked pot. It was also the first time I ever saw cocaine. (No, I did not do it). Me and that said friend stopped being friends after that. I just couldn’t dig so deep into the underbelly of city life. (That friend- was shot and killed many years later). 

In 7th & 8th grade, I had a lot of “friends”. We would smoke cigarettes behind our parents back, we would drink, lie about where we were and I hated my parents. Same old story. Everyone’s parents thought I was the devil. So. I was goth. I listened to heavy metal and punk rock. I was “detained” at 14 for being caught shoplifting. I gave into the peer pressure “just do it, come on, I do it all the time.” My mother beat the shit out of me in the parking lot of the mall. 

I switched high schools the moment I was able to. I went to a vocational school for health technology. It was the best decision I ever made then. I made a new life. I had friends. I had a life. No one in my small town liked me. I couldn’t make friends. I didn’t fit into their molds. 

I was prom queen at our senior prom (class of 2009)! 

I was given a second chance as a kid. I cried, I was scared, I had fears. I just wanted a friend. I wanted to be seen for me, as Jordan. Not “you have a guys name!” Or “that fat ass freak.” 

At that point in life, I was starting to love who I was. I was growing mentally. I was 18. 

“We all just need a little more love.” 


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