Life past suicide attempts
Even as I'm writing this, I hesitate to write it. It is not one of those things I like to talk about and not many if any people even know about it. But a part of me realizes it is a story that must be told if not for myself, than maybe to help someone else.
Growing up I had a difficult childhood. Though there are bits and pieces of fleeting happy memories, most of my childhood is a blur of misery and heartache. I know abuse, neglect, hunger, thirst, filth, sadness and despair at levels even many adults couldn't endure. These are sadly some of my earliest memories. My parents separated which made things much worse and shortly after I would go live with my father and they would divorce. Life with my father did not improve my circumstances any. My father left all the parenting to my step-mother, a woman who had never had children of her own and had her own demons. To say she didn't make my life easy is to understate just how bad my home life was. I was miserable and lonely. I missed my mom, I missed my friends, I missed my house. I was an honor roll student but I had few friends and was bullied and teased a lot.
Elementary and junior high years were bad but by the time I reached high school my life was a living hell. All outward appearances my family was a typical happy middle class family, but for me life had gone from bad to worse. It seemed as though my step-mother had developed a contempt for me. My circle of friends grew smaller and I withdrew from the outside world. Besides work and school I never left home. I hated my life, I hated myself, I hated the world. At 15, I tried to hang myself twice, once with a coat hanger and once with a belt, both giving way before I could die. I tried to cut my wrist but I punked out barely nicking the skin and a therapist at school called my dad who came to get me. Rather than get help for me I was accused of being an attention whore and life got even worse at home. I was no longer given privacy, my door had to remain unlocked and my books backpack clothes shoes and room were rummaged through everyday. I had nowhere to run no one to talk to and I prayed each day that I would just not wake up anymore.
At 17 at the start of my senior year of high school I was raped. The assault left me physically emotionally and mentally traumatized. But again if I was expecting support at home, that isn't what happened. Instead I was called a liar and a whore. I lost friends and my father couldn't look me in my face or speak to me. If ever I wanted to die it was now. I was so alone and so lost in a world that didn't love me. Couldn't anyone see I'm hurting? Doesn't anyone care? I was too much of a coward to cut my wrist so I began clawing at my legs every night. I would cry and cry and dig and dig at my upper thighs hoping the physical pain in my legs would make the pain in my heart stop. I'd dig my nails into the palms of my hands until the deep crescent moons would be visible for days. Only physical pain would make my heart stop hurting but eventually I became numb to even that pain. I had died inside.
At 20 after my mom and step-mother had died, my life spiraled out of control. I lost my job, my boyfriend robbed me, I lost my apartment, my money and all my friends. I moved back home with my dad who I hadn't really spoken to and with whom I had a strained and difficult relationship. I was miserable and alone. I had no one and nothing. My hope for an escape from my miserable existence was gone. Everyday I prayed for death. I didn't eat or shower or move from the bed for days. I spoke to no one and wanted nothing. I tried to see a psychiatrist who prescribed anti-anxiety and anti-depressants but I never felt better. One day I swallowd a bottle of pills, but I woke up after 24 hours angry that God hadn't let me die. I made a feeble attempt at cutting my wrist before calling a crisis center who had me hospitalized.
In my fragile emotional condition in the hospital, I met a man there who'd become my boyfriend. I'd spend two years being physically and verbally abused becoming even more self harming and alone. Again I tried swallowing a bottle of pills, but these pills left me physically violently ill for more than a week. Despite all my attempts, it was obvious I wasn't meant to die. I wasn't happy but I knew I had to do something different.
It would take many more years and a lot of therapy for me to finally get to a better place. I am not cured and by no means am I happy everyday, but my mom's suicide left me with more questions than answers and an unresolved fear of abandonment that has been hard for me to let go. While my life isn't perfect and I still have to fight those depressed feelings, I know killing myself won't solve anything and I cannot let my pain cloud that. I don't want my family to suffer like I have. It is a constant ongoing battle working with a therapist, taking supplements, meditating and working out that help keep me from sinking to deep into despair. I struggle everyday to focus on the positive and keep moving forward, but so much good has been achieved in my life and if I focus on those and my next goals and keep working in therapy I'll be ok.
For those suffering depression, who think they are alone in the world, who think they have no one to talk to and no one cares, you're not alone. There are so many people out here suffering just like you. It's ok to admit when the feelings overwhelm you, it's ok to ask for help. Talk to a friend, a neighbor, a loved one. Call the Suicide Prevention Hotline at 1-800-273-8255. Please don't suffer needlessly. You are beautiful, you are loved. Your life does matter.
Growing up I had a difficult childhood. Though there are bits and pieces of fleeting happy memories, most of my childhood is a blur of misery and heartache. I know abuse, neglect, hunger, thirst, filth, sadness and despair at levels even many adults couldn't endure. These are sadly some of my earliest memories. My parents separated which made things much worse and shortly after I would go live with my father and they would divorce. Life with my father did not improve my circumstances any. My father left all the parenting to my step-mother, a woman who had never had children of her own and had her own demons. To say she didn't make my life easy is to understate just how bad my home life was. I was miserable and lonely. I missed my mom, I missed my friends, I missed my house. I was an honor roll student but I had few friends and was bullied and teased a lot.
Elementary and junior high years were bad but by the time I reached high school my life was a living hell. All outward appearances my family was a typical happy middle class family, but for me life had gone from bad to worse. It seemed as though my step-mother had developed a contempt for me. My circle of friends grew smaller and I withdrew from the outside world. Besides work and school I never left home. I hated my life, I hated myself, I hated the world. At 15, I tried to hang myself twice, once with a coat hanger and once with a belt, both giving way before I could die. I tried to cut my wrist but I punked out barely nicking the skin and a therapist at school called my dad who came to get me. Rather than get help for me I was accused of being an attention whore and life got even worse at home. I was no longer given privacy, my door had to remain unlocked and my books backpack clothes shoes and room were rummaged through everyday. I had nowhere to run no one to talk to and I prayed each day that I would just not wake up anymore.
At 17 at the start of my senior year of high school I was raped. The assault left me physically emotionally and mentally traumatized. But again if I was expecting support at home, that isn't what happened. Instead I was called a liar and a whore. I lost friends and my father couldn't look me in my face or speak to me. If ever I wanted to die it was now. I was so alone and so lost in a world that didn't love me. Couldn't anyone see I'm hurting? Doesn't anyone care? I was too much of a coward to cut my wrist so I began clawing at my legs every night. I would cry and cry and dig and dig at my upper thighs hoping the physical pain in my legs would make the pain in my heart stop. I'd dig my nails into the palms of my hands until the deep crescent moons would be visible for days. Only physical pain would make my heart stop hurting but eventually I became numb to even that pain. I had died inside.
At 20 after my mom and step-mother had died, my life spiraled out of control. I lost my job, my boyfriend robbed me, I lost my apartment, my money and all my friends. I moved back home with my dad who I hadn't really spoken to and with whom I had a strained and difficult relationship. I was miserable and alone. I had no one and nothing. My hope for an escape from my miserable existence was gone. Everyday I prayed for death. I didn't eat or shower or move from the bed for days. I spoke to no one and wanted nothing. I tried to see a psychiatrist who prescribed anti-anxiety and anti-depressants but I never felt better. One day I swallowd a bottle of pills, but I woke up after 24 hours angry that God hadn't let me die. I made a feeble attempt at cutting my wrist before calling a crisis center who had me hospitalized.
In my fragile emotional condition in the hospital, I met a man there who'd become my boyfriend. I'd spend two years being physically and verbally abused becoming even more self harming and alone. Again I tried swallowing a bottle of pills, but these pills left me physically violently ill for more than a week. Despite all my attempts, it was obvious I wasn't meant to die. I wasn't happy but I knew I had to do something different.
It would take many more years and a lot of therapy for me to finally get to a better place. I am not cured and by no means am I happy everyday, but my mom's suicide left me with more questions than answers and an unresolved fear of abandonment that has been hard for me to let go. While my life isn't perfect and I still have to fight those depressed feelings, I know killing myself won't solve anything and I cannot let my pain cloud that. I don't want my family to suffer like I have. It is a constant ongoing battle working with a therapist, taking supplements, meditating and working out that help keep me from sinking to deep into despair. I struggle everyday to focus on the positive and keep moving forward, but so much good has been achieved in my life and if I focus on those and my next goals and keep working in therapy I'll be ok.
For those suffering depression, who think they are alone in the world, who think they have no one to talk to and no one cares, you're not alone. There are so many people out here suffering just like you. It's ok to admit when the feelings overwhelm you, it's ok to ask for help. Talk to a friend, a neighbor, a loved one. Call the Suicide Prevention Hotline at 1-800-273-8255. Please don't suffer needlessly. You are beautiful, you are loved. Your life does matter.
Comments
Post a Comment