About Me — Christina Jumper
“A crisis from the start!” — Mother of the Author
In 2021, I scribbled the following in my journal while on dissociative drugs:
My name is Christina Jumper. I’m 28 years old. I was born on July 17th. I have 6 younger siblings. I have 2 cats. Their names are Ruby and Little Fang. I used to read a lot. I have a degree in engineering. I am currently unemployed. I have a podcast. I live in a studio apartment in Seattle. I have depression. I spent the last 2 months in the hospital for my eating disorder. I don’t know what the future holds. I am feeling very insecure. I don’t really believe in myself.
In that moment, I believed I was in danger of forgetting who I was.
Maybe I still am.
Maybe that’s why I write.
I moved six times before graduating high school. Because of this, I never know how to answer the question “Where are you from?”
My father was a Navy chaplain and later an evangelical minister. This left my mother to raise and educate me and my six younger siblings at home, a choice that was partially due to the constant moving and partially due to the need to keep us safe from secular influences.
My religious upbringing shaped me in innumerable, seemingly irrevocable ways. So did my deconstruction. But those are stories for another place and time.
Born three months premature, I spent the first chapter of my life struggling to breathe in an incubator. My mom, who herself nearly succumbed with preeclampsia, is fond of telling me I was a “crisis from the start”.
My home environment was loving but chaotic, characterized by long periods of instability. As a family, we never had it together. But man, were we having fun when we weren’t being traumatized.
Because our culture encouraged families to have as many children as possible, and because I was the oldest daughter, I was put into a caretaker role earlier than most. I quickly learned that the way to earn respect was by exhibiting responsibility — cooking, cleaning, teaching the alphabet, all while maintaining a cheerful countenance.
I’ve been taking care of people since before I knew how to take care of myself. It’s for this reason, and others, that I am never having kids.
On the other hand, I have always been a crazy cat lady. Here’s proof:
You’ll notice I used the word “traumatized” earlier. This word is a fairly recent addition to my work, because for years I didn’t see my experiences as Traumatic™ enough to warrant its application. But the way I grew up wasn’t normal, and — combined with a brain already prone to mental illness and addiction — played a large role in holding me back emotionally and creating the maladaptive coping mechanisms with which I struggle to this day.
As long as I can remember, I’ve been anxious and depressed. Rather than realizing this as a sign of my neurodivergence, I took it to mean that I was broken and needed an external force to swoop in and fix me. When this didn’t happen in spite of doing all the right things, I decided that the only course of action was punishment.
I started self-harming at 15. When my parents found out, I switched to binging and purging. By the time I moved out at 18, I had my first hospitalization under my belt.
In college, I tried being a normal kid. The afflictions didn’t go away, but began to drift into the periphery. I changed majors three times and ended up dropping out junior year due to finances.
By then, of course, I had discovered alcohol. Here, at last, was a way I could surreptitiously pursue oblivion without setting off alarm bells.
Guess how that turned out?
7 years passed until liver problems and coming close to suicide forced me into detox. I had my last drink in May 2019 and have been sober from alcohol since, although I continue using other substances to cope with my brain. It’s a work in progress.
My bulimia stuck around even longer. In the absence of booze, it continued to escalate until desperation led me to crowdfund the means to admit myself to residential treatment in early 2021. Since then, I’ve had a couple of relapses, but as I write this, I can’t remember the last time I purged.
Unfortunately, I am still mentally ill.
As I write this, I am 31 and consider myself in recovery.
I host a mental health podcast that I started in the depths of my alcoholism and bulimia as a way to document my struggles and find a community. It’s going 4 years strong and remains my pride and joy.
After spending the majority of my life as a nomad, I now live with my partner and our now three cats in a 100 year-old apartment filled with books and art. For the first time in a decade, I’m in the same time zone as my family. We are learning to help each other heal from the past even as we continue to decipher it. Most importantly, we still know how to have fun.
Who knew that fun was so important?
I’m still insecure. I still struggle to like myself most days, let alone believe in myself. I still don’t know what the future holds. But I’m no longer interested in oblivion as a goal.
I am still learning about my brain. I recently got diagnosed with ADHD, and I continue to struggle with depression, anxiety, and suicidal ideation. Biweekly therapy helps. So does writing.
Won’t you come along for the ride?
Christina Jumper writes about addiction, eating disorders, harm reduction, deconstruction, and recovery. She is the creator and cohost of Pickles and Vodka: a Mental Health Podcast, where she embarrasses herself weekly.
