Blog Post Two

“Do you regret it”

“Meanwhile, you hear all around you how the throng of humanity thunders and sounds in the whirlwind of life; you hear, you see how people live—they live in reality; you see that life for them is not forbidden.”

— Dostoyevsky

I’ve always wondered why I got dealt this card in life. Looking at friends, family, acquaintances, even the people I went to school with, it felt like they were thriving in every aspect. And then there was me.

Every morning, I travelled over 2 hours to get to school. We moved around constantly because my family was broke. We’d be okay for a while, but eventually, we’d get kicked out and on to the next one. I lost count of the times we had to pack our house up and move onto the next or even ended up sleeping on the floor of some stranger’s house.

I remember a girl at school overhearing someone talk about me. “Omg, she must be so rich. How can she afford to move around so much?” she said. If only she knew. At the time, I was sleeping on a camper bed in a sleeping bag on the floor of a living room that wasn’t mine. It just goes to show, you never really know what someone is going through.

I think that was the moment everything changed. I was in Year 8. We had just moved from a small town in New Zealand to the big city of Sydney Australia, and I was desperately trying to find my place in a world that already felt like it was slipping through my fingers. That year, everything started to fall apart. My family, my sense of self. That year, I started self-harming.

It wasn’t something I had ever thought about doing. But one day, a girl at school showed me her scars. She told me it helped her. “Maybe it’ll help you too,” she said.

So there I was, locked in a stranger’s bathroom, hoping that maybe, just maybe, it would help.

A year later, I was sitting on the floor of yet another house, covered. My arms, my legs, my stomach. It never helped, but I kept doing it anyway. I was numb. Looking back now, I can fully comprehend how lost I was back then, even if I couldn’t put it into words at the time. It felt like I was screaming silently, begging for someone to help me understand what I was going through, how to cope.

Later that year, my family had financially recovered so we decided to take a much needed holiday to Singapore. If you’ve ever been there, you know how unbearably humid it is. For a girl who wore a jumper everywhere to hide her scars, it was hell. My family had no idea what I had been doing to myself. Or so I thought.

I remember this moment so vividly.

It was supposed to be a fun family day at Universal Studios. But 10, maybe 20 minutes in, I was already dripping in sweat, still refusing to take off my jumper. Eventually, my parents sat me down, frustrated.

“What? What is it?! Do you have a tattoo or something? Just take the jumper off!” they yelled.

I had no choice.

I took it off.

I’ll never forget their reactions. My dad just walked away. Didn’t say a word. Just left.

My mum? The only thing she ever said to me about it—“Do you regret it?”

That was it. No comfort. No questions. No acknowledgment. And still, to this day, nothing.

So, that’s where my battle with mental health began. And I’ve been fighting it ever since.

I’m not sure how to end this post, but this is something I’ve wanted to share for a long time. If you’re going through something similar, I hope this blog can remind you that you’re not alone.

I’ve come a long way since then. I’m still healing, still learning, but I’m here. And if sharing my story helps even one person feel less alone, then every part of this journey, every scar, every struggle has meant something.

Much love,

Karina Jade xx