You are not alone

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Non-Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic


Before I ever had the chance to learn what life was about hate and anger were embedded into mine. You see, the pain was inflicted from the very start. I was never given the opportunity to see the beauty in the sunshine or the peace that could come from sitting on the beach listening to the waves. Before the storm came barreling down my path. Before the world has a chance to put such a tight grip around my throat, refusing to let go.


You would probably never think a baby would exhibit signs of stress induced anxieties, but I did. Born to drug addicted teen parents, the battle was already lost to me. By the age of one I began pulling my hair out, to the point my head had to be shaved. Bounced around from drug addicted parents to drug addicted sitters. A playpen with lighters inside; hiding in the closet so he couldn’t get us..
Abandoned. Unwanted. Unloved. That’s all I felt as a little girl.

Many may say I was “too young” to remember the bad times, and for many of those times they are right. I can’t tell you much about my childhood before 9 years old, partially because I was too young, but partially because I have blocked out those traumatic memories. You see, around age two, my mom realized she couldn’t give us the stable environment, two clean and sober parents, all the love a child deserves. She made the choice to sign her rights over, decided we belong in a new home with a family member she trusted. And just like that, a new home, a loving home - or so you’d hope. 
This was supposed to be the home full of love, laughter, peace - but this wasn’t a home. This is the house where my anger began. This is the house that built me..The house that broke me.

I’ve always been looked at as the “lucky one”. Too young to remember the bad times, and for a lot of those years they’re right. I can’t tell you a lot about my childhood not only because I was too young, but because I have blocked out those traumatic memories.
I don’t remember the visits from my mom, I don’t even remember when she stopped visiting all together. From stories I’ve been told, it was when her dad passed away. The pain was too much for her to bare and she let the drugs overtake her. The earliest memories I can recall are from around age nine. I wasn’t allowed to see my biological father, even though he lived less than a mile away. I know he wasn’t a part of my life, I know he had his own addictions, and I know he chose those addictions over his family.

I remember so vividly sneaking over there to see him one time, it’s the only memory I have of him. He wasn’t anything like the stories I had been told. He wasn’t angry, he wasn’t hateful, he didn’t push me away..I remember his smile, his hug, and for the longest time I could remember the sound of his voice - which has faded away over the years. I also remember so vividly the day he took his own life. It was just a few short months after I had gone to see him. I have blamed myself for his suicide from that day on. I live with the constant guilt that if I had just stayed away he would still be alive. This thought has flooded my mind countless times. I was only nine years old when his own burdens became too much for him to carry. Nine years old when his burdens became mine to carry. That is the first time I really felt my heart break. The first memory I have that has shaped me. That was the year I really became so angry, cold, and bitter to the world. 

You remember that home that was supposed to be full of love? It ended so quick. The mental and physical abuse were not lost on me. 
Cinderella, Cinderella do the dishes, sweep the floors, take the trash out by the door - normal chores, right? Except the nights I wasn’t allowed to eat dinner until it was done. It’s normal for kids to be spanked, right? Except when it’s a 250+ pound grown man spanking a 90 pound girl, bare bottom, as hard as he can. Where is my Fairy Godmother? The physical marks faded but the emotional scars never will.
It wasn’t all bad, every week I got do do horse riding lessons which I loved. I got to go to my best friends house which was a good escape for me. I will always love and cherish that family more than they know. But I remember having to walk home from my friends house one day for horse riding lessons, she lives probably half a mile away. I was one minute late and I still remember the sting of being spanked so hard by that same grown man mentioned above. Then was still made to go ride a horse after.
He wasn’t the only one inflicting pain though. Eventually the two trusted adults divorced and I moved with the female. I remember an argument with her, I remember so clearly her grabbing me by my throat and throwing me down onto the couch from a standing position. I was fourteen. I called the trusted father figure in my life and he said I “deserved it”. Alone in a home with a “parent” full of hate, alone in a new town, a new school. Growing more numb by the day. Fairy Godmother, where are you?

I made a few friends, but it wasn’t instantaneous. The first few weeks I felt so secluded. I went to school alone, rode the bus alone, and went home feeling more alone than ever. Until one day, a high school boy sat next to me on the bus. Me! As a fourteen year old girl, you think it’s so cool. I was a shy kid, so I just said “hi” and stared out the window. And then I felt it.
I felt a hand slowly sliding onto my leg, moving closer and closer to  my private area. He rubbed me from the outside of my jeans and I just sat there. Frozen. I couldn’t move - couldn’t even form the words to tell someone. I never said a word, just got off of the bus at my house and stayed quiet. Someone saw, someone spoke up for me because the next day I was told quietly that he would not be allowed back on the bus and that I was safe.
Safe? I may have been physically safe there but nothing could save me from myself. How could I just let that happen? Why didn’t I speak up? Say no? Defend myself? The numbness I felt intensified.
With no other way to escape my reality, I turned to alcohol. There wasn’t a day that entire year I didn’t have at least one drink. Some days one or two drinks eased the pain, but other days I drank sun up to sun down. Eventually the whiskey wasn’t cutting it and the self harm began.

It started small, a few cuts here and there on my ankles, in places that could be easily hidden. Until that wasn’t enough. My wrists were next and with every cut I just kept thinking, “a little deeper and I can be free of the pain”. Physically and mentally I had no safe space. I thought suicide would ease the pain.
The self harm and suicidal thoughts continued for years. When life became too much to handle on my own, or I just needed to feel something, out came the knife. I again started small, easily hidden places, then escalated up to my wrists with the same thoughts as before. “Just a little deeper.” “A little longer and you’ll hit the right spot.” My life felt like it was over before it began.

Eventually my mom returned home. Sober, with a job, a car..I welcomed her with open arms, no questions asked. I was just a girl who was so happy to have her mom. Something I had never had before. I moved in with her and my stepdad - I finally had a family.
My mom and I have had constant struggles with our relationship, I don’t think we will ever have a “normal” or “healthy” relationship. That’s the choice she made for us from the beginning though. But my step dad, that man has gone above and beyond. I don’t think I could ever put into words what he’s done for me.
He showed me what a father should be. He showed me a father doesn’t have to be angry, doesn’t have to hit..that a father can be kind and present. He wasn’t a stranger to me. You see, he met my mom when I was a little girl. Maybe two or three. She didn’t even tell him that she had two daughters. Once he learned about us, he took us in with open arms and treated us as his own. They were SO close to regaining custody of us, so close to giving me a life that could have led me down a path of happiness instead of hate. But she chose the drugs again.
All those years later, we were his kids again. He is my saving grace, my biggest supporter, and sometimes the biggest pain in my ass. Without him, I wouldn’t have lived to 18 years old. Without him, I wouldn’t be sitting here writing these words. Without him, I wouldn’t be sitting here listening to my two year old babbling away. I wouldn’t be engaged to a man who has put up with far more from me than he ever should have. For that, I will forever be grateful.

The hate and anger resurfaced off and on over the years. The numbness never *really* went away, I just hid it a little better. I’ve made a lot of bad choices in my life. A lot of mistakes. If I could take me back to when I was kid, I’d tell that little girl one day you’ll have people who love you. One day you’ll have people who only want to see you succeed. I wish I could tell that little girl that before it was too late. Before the scars are left. Before I learned to cover insecurities with anger.
I wish I could tell you the suicidal or self harm thoughts leave when you feel happy. But for me, they don’t. The anger and depression are always right on the surface. Watching, waiting for the perfect time to resurface. The fear of abandonment may be a struggle I carry throughout the rest of my life, but why? I have everything I could’ve ever dreamed of.
I have a fiancé who loves me, a perfect little boy so full of joy, a home..so why are these scars surfacing? The anxiety I feel, the fear of abandonment, the numbness are at an all time high. Everything makes me nervous. I feel so on edge, so quick to snap...I am proof that a lack of mental health help truly redefines your life in the most negative ways.

I have struggled throughout my life with depression, anxiety, anger, self-hate, self harm, suicidal thoughts, suicide attempts, anorexia, alcohol abuse, a feeling of worthlessness..With a recent diagnosis of major depressive disorder, generalized anxiety, and PTSD.
I wish I could say it hasn’t taken me twenty-five years to reach out for help,  but that just wouldn’t be true. I write all of this to hopefully help someone else realize that you aren’t alone in your struggles.
Whoever is struggling today - you are beautiful, you are loved, and you are worthy. You are worthy of a life full of happiness. You are worthy of a love so great it makes you want to continue your life.

I am beautiful. I am loved. I am worthy.

Reach out. Get help. Do what you need to do for your own mental help. But don’t take away all options with suicide.


Submitted: April 16, 2021

© Copyright 2021 anon124. All rights reserved.

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