I have scars that still remind me of my past. The scars of each cut I made when I couldn’t handle life or what life had threw at me.
It started at age 14 when I found my, “Best Friend.” The one thing that was constant. The one thing that was there when there was no one I could turn to. The one thing that made me escape reality even if it was just for that moment. It was my addiction for a long time.
I can’t say I don’t think about it anymore. I think it’s only been 6 months since I last made a mark on myself. It has always been my go to when I needed a release. Or if things got to much. It’s still my go to thought. But I fight this thought a little more than I used to.
So far I am in recovery. I know this will be a lifelong battle cause it was my lifelong friend. A friend that somehow I can’t erase the thought of. It’s like a toxic thought that sometimes never erases.
I don’t think many people understand why some people self harm. And all I can say is you probably won’t ever understand unless you have gone through it. A lot of people say you could always use other coping skills to escape, but it’s nothing like feeling the pain on your skin instead of the pain or thoughts that never die down in a cutters head or heart.
I am not saying that this was the best way I could have handled my life situations during that time period. What I am saying is at that time “IT” was the only thing that numbed everything else. It was my escape from all the emotional damage I was internally feeling.
I hope that I never have to use this “friend” again. I hope that I can just deal with my crap and face all my issues head on like a champ. But I don’t know the future. What I do know is that today I didn’t use cutting as my escape.
I grew up in an abusive home physically and emotionally by my mom. I always felt scared and on guard. I also had strict rules where I couldn’t go to any of my friends houses or even have them over. It was to the point where I snuck my friends in when my mom wasn’t home and I ran away 2x (and got hurt in the process) but I will leave that topic for another blog. My mom knew nothing about me. I was quiet. I kept to myself, and I was always on guard. It wasn’t till I ran away she leaned back with being too strict but at that point it was already to late. There is so much more I can say what my mom did to me but that’s not the point of this blog.
My dad on the hand was not in the picture a lot, but when he was around and I did visit him. Man it was like a battle field. I was always put down. I needed to be perfect for him. I wasn’t his poster child. He beat me all the time for little things like grades in school, and for listening to music that wasn’t his taste. He was just not a good support either. I hated him more than I hated my mom. But I was more scared of my dad than I was my mom. Weird I know but true. Again I can go on and on about what he put me through but he doesn’t deserve that attention right now.
My only true outlet was my friends or friends I thought were friends I shall say.
I was in an out psychiatric hospitals it started at age 15. There I can honestly say I felt my safest. So I found reason, and ways to go back. The sad part is it was death or the hospital. Those were my options. At least in my brain it was the only way to escape.They tried to make me live with my dad but that was a disaster and lasted less than a week. So finally after trying multiple sessions with my family they found them both to be unfit. And they put me in a group home called parsons.
Parsons is another place I can say I felt safe and at peace. It was my home at that time. I made relationships with staff and peers. But the reality is it was only my home back then. Not anymore! The reason I say this is all the relationships I made with the staff were all just temporary. I mean let’s face it they can’t be a mom or dad figure now. They can’t come over to my house and Watch Netflix with me when I am depressed. Still trying to accept this piece of the puzzle.
It’s sad I still crave my mom’s love and my dads attention. I mean let’s face it I won’t ever get it no matter how much I wish and hope.
Now I have a beautiful daughter that I just love to pieces. I have the ability to be a better mom than I ever had. And I am proving to myself I can.
My daughter gets sooo much love and so much more than I ever had growing up. I don’t beat her, or put her down, and make her feel like crap. Instead every day I lift her up and I tell her she is beautiful and that she can be anything she wants to be in the world. I tell her how much I love her. I want her to know she is safe. And that she can come to me, and never be scared of me. When she is older, and is sad about something I will be the one with chocolate, ice cream and a box of pizza and we will watch movies till we fall asleep. I will be there. I will protect her. I will be the mom I never had. She also has a dad that I can say is a true dad. She is one lucky girl. I will break the cycle and the best part about this is so far is I already did.
I lie awake at night
With the demons inside my head.
It’s never quiet
It’s always oh so loud.
I Fear of the demons
That consume me.
I can’t hide,
I can’t run away,
I am trapped and alone.
Anger pulls at my heart,
Fear rips me apart,
Regret stays heavy on my chest.
Past seems to control me.
The future seems to scare me.
The unknown is even harder to grasp.
Wanting to hide and make it all just stop,
But there’s no where to run,
And no where to hide,
Not even my own body is a place I want to be in.
Who wants to really listen?
No one knows what to say.
Except let’s drug you up so all you feel is sleepy and have no emotion.
Cause yeah that’s smart.
Let’s just hide from the pain.
Move on! Everyone says.
That’s a joke.
When I look in the mirror
I can’t believe what I see.
I am ashamed of the women looking back at me.
So much pain is in that women’s heart.
Fat, ugly, disgusting, pig is what I see.
How can I show my daughter to look in the mirror and love herself?
When I don’t even love me!
You ever say something and your like oops I should have kept my thoughts to myself?
Well that’s me! Yup I admit it. Sometimes I don’t shut my mouth when I should. I speak before I think. And after it’s all said and out there I always seem to say to myself, “why the Hell did I say that?”
Well I have no logic answer as to why, but I do notice when I am more stressed or angry at other things in my life I tend to speak whatever comes to my mind without thinking.
Sometimes what I say has some truth to it but do I have to really express it? No, not really. But I seem to do it anyway.
My boyfriend always tells me I need to watch what I say. And to think if it will hurt that person. And he also says the way I express myself speaks volume. So if I say how I feel and I use sarcastic humor or it comes in an aggressive tone he usually hates it. But sometimes I just can’t help myself.
I wish I could just sit back and think before I speak or make a quick harsh text. Gosh it will save me tons of arguments. But I don’t seem to take the advice. Knowing it will be better in the long run.
But as the New Year is here I do want to change the way I say things or text things. I want to say things and approach situations with a more thoughtful approach. Cause words hurt in the end. And you can’t take back what is said. Gosh I know that from my own experience.
Plus I need to show my little one how to positively express herself. And to think before you speak. I have to be an example.
It takes much practice but I am sure with practice maybe this year I can bite my tongue and think before I speak or text.
It will save me tons of headache from unnecessary arguments.
I am probably going to be the first one in my family to actually talk about this so others can view this. I am probably the only one in my family who actually even talked about it at all. I know it effected us all differently and we have different ways to cope with it. But I am not necessarily over this. Or dealt with it at all.
Honestly even though it was so long ago this happened I still feel like it happened yesterday.
I am writing this one to help me get it out of my system and two so others won’t feel alone. I don’t have tips to give on how to overcome child molestation. And if this is something that you have gone through please be aware reading further might trigger some feelings for you. So I would stop reading now if you don’t think you can handle it.
But if you can handle it I want to take you on my journey of my young days when the Closet and hide a seek was what my grandpa did to play games with me and my cousins. But it’s not the game you are thinking of. There was more to it.
The first time my grandpa played hide and seek with me I actually thought he wanted to play the real game. I was excited. So as one of my cousins counted my grandpa would want to hide with me and he took me to the Closet. It was a tiny closet no more than two people could fit. There wasn’t much in there because you could easily push things to the side and go in. It was two white slide doors that we both would have to push together so you can hear it click.
He made me feel special
So when the Closet finally clicked my grandpa first touched my hair and told me how pretty I was. And how special I was. He told me that this will be our little secret. I smiled but still felt uncomfortable he told me it will all be okay this is part of the game. He then pulled me closer to him and kissed me. I still can feel the rough tickle of his beard. Which to me I never liked it always felt weird. As we kissed I can feel him rubbing me everywhere starting from my chest down. He would also lean into me so I could feel his dick touch my privates. There were times when we played when he would make me go down on him as he kept telling me how special I was. I knew this was wrong but I was scared to even tell. No one would believe me I always thought. This went on a lot.
The sad part is I kind of liked it. I thought it was ok. And I kept his secret.
There were multiple times he did stuff to me and we were not in the Closet. Parents were not home and he was watching us. My other cousins would sit in the living room and wait there turn to go into his bedroom. This is usually when the clothes came off. He never had actual intercourse with me I don’t know about my other cousins. But this is where a lot of humping with his penis against my vagina happened and a lot of me going down on him while he touched and kissed me everywhere. Was it sad that I felt like I liked it back then. I even became jealous when he would bring my cousins in the room. I know I feel sick looking back and disgusted in myself for even feeling that way.
I would always lie if someone almost caught us I would say I was helping him find things. Or we are just playing a game. They actually believed me. This went on for 6 years from what my memory can remember. And the day he died I felt relieved that it was over but a part of me was going to miss his kind words. And the way he always made me feel special. But special in his kind of way. Which at the time I knew in my gut it was wrong but always questioned myself as how wrong was it.
I wish I would have told on him so he could of had consequences. But there was hardly anyone I trusted to talk to so I kept so much to myself. I never even thought I had to deal with this until almost a year ago. When I saw myself in this young girl. This young quiet scared girl who kept to herself. Then it all came flooding back in waves. Now it’s always on my mind. And I know I need to work on it and heal. Cause my heart is broken. And it’s painful these memories. It’s like I can feel everything he did.
I can’t describe how angry it makes me that my grandpa can do this to me and a few of my other cousins. But I can’t keep quiet no longer. I hope my story people can relate to and I am hoping someone will feel less alone reading this. I have a long journey but I hope in the end he doesn’t control me like he has a hold on me now.
Food was my comfort starting at a young age. I even stole my moms money at times just so I can sneak some food in my backpack before school. Sometimes I would use my moms card at the store for what she wanted and go back and grab a bunch of junk and hide it away so I can snack on it later without my mom finding out. Eventually she did. She didn’t care too much of what I was eating and more about the money. Little did she know the chips and junk helped me get through my troubles. When my mom made food even the frozen ones that I loved even more like pizza, chicken nuggets, French fries, and sooo much more I would always have more than a child should have. Food made me happy.
Eating is never simple for me. A constant struggle everyday.
When I got older it just got worse. I noticed I never could have normal portions of anything it’s always in abundance. Like I can’t have one cookie I eat the entire box and more if I could. Food to me is not viewed as fuel it’s viewed as a nice pleasure to escape anything that’s going on.
Food is my addiction.
But then there comes the guilt. Then right after the guilt it goes back to some more food. So then the guilty feeling is replaced with a happy place even if it is short.
I think a food addiction is so hard to get under control for many reasons. One food is used to celebrate almost about anything. Birthdays, holidays, get togethers, and many other occasions. And second food is fricken everywhere. TV loves to show how good fast food is. And in the stores you can’t escape the junk cause it’s right when you walk in. Buy one bag of chips get 2. Ugh really??
Then when I try to eat better the constant cravings of things that make me escape my life I can’t have. Cause I can’t have just one portion of anything that is unhealthy. It is usually the whole thing or none at all. It’s just how my brain works with food sadly.
Every day I have a battle in my head about food.
I hope one day I can have a relationship with food that is not so black and white. But right now my mind is not there yet. I don’t know if it ever will be.
I can still feel how numb my body went and how tired my eyelids felt. I thought that this time it was over I would close my eyes and never awake. Little did I know how scary it would feel.
I woke up with the same thoughts I felt for months that I wanted to end my life. It was a strong feeling that never went away. Every minute it was hard to be anything but in my pain. I felt there was nothing to live for even though the reality is there was and is a lot to live for.
Sometimes in my darkest pain I can’t see the light at the end of the tunnel. I still can’t but I know once I work on my internal demons. I will be able to make use of what caused me so much hurt.
The problem was no matter who I expressed my feelings to nothing and no one could help me get out of my funk. I was there. I was in it. And there was no way out. It was an addiction that I wanted a fix for. A fix to end all my pain. A permanent fix. Once I made up my mind to take those pills that morning there was no stopping me. No matter what!
With my boyfriend trying to stop me. I wouldn’t let him sadly. And with as much force as I could I continued with my plan. That’s when 9-1-1 was called. I hated him for that at the time.
The ambulance arrived and knocked on the door with so much force you would think someone was murdering us. My boyfriend answered the door and the fear set into me. There was no escaping now.
They took me outside on my front porch. As I sat down they asked sooo many questions one after another. And all I thought was when will it just stop. As I answered the questions everything in my body all of a sudden felt heavy. I was sweating and my heart rate was high. I could feel my heart beating outside my chest. I knew I was feeling weaker. I wanted to close my eyes. Soon after the paramedic grabbed my arm and helped me walk to the ambulance and helped me in.
The fear set in now. The regret rushed in. The fear of never seeing my daughter again. Little did I know the wanting to die went away and all I wanted was to change back time and never take those darn pills.
The paramedic took my blood pressure and handed me a plastic bag to puke in just Incase. He asked me more questions but all I could tell him at this point was I don’t know. I wanted to sleep but I fought it. My body was heavy. I was dizzy. I was scared. I thought I was going to die. I thought that it was the end. I would never see anyone again.
FEAR is all I felt. Everything else was numb.
I ended up puking and having charcoal and IV fluid. All I wanted was to call my boyfriend and cry and tell him how sorry I was. I did get to call him after awhile but until that phone call all I felt was regret and fear. I wanted another chance but feared my body wouldn’t give me one. But as time kept on ticking, my heart was still beating, and my eyes was still open. Even though my body was heavy. The room was still spinning. Machines hooked up to me. Doctors and nurses all in the room. I was still able to pick up the phone and call my boyfriend and cry to tell him how sorry I was.
I got to hug both my boyfriend and my daughter that day. Which once I was in the ambulance I thought it was over for me. I was blessed with another chance.
Things could have turned differently that day. But I am proud I am still alive to tell my story. The thing is suicide is not the answer. Death won’t solve any problems and will only create more. Doesn’t say that life gets better cause I no longer choose suicide. It just says I am willing to fight for my happiness. It may take months it may take years for a smile not to be fake. For my heart to be healed of the past. For true happiness. But until that day I am fighting every damn day. The battle isn’t over. And suicide was not the answer for me. And I am proud to say it still is not.