a strong feeling of annoyance, displeasure, or hostility.“the colonel’s anger at his daughter’s disobedience”
Anger is something I am very uncomfortable with, and i’m sure I am not the only one. I grew up surrounded by anger, after all, you don’t hurt someone while being happy. I was used to anger, and that’s what scared me most. I expected anger. Imagine being a child, and everyday you were afraid that the anger inside your family was going to be directed towards you. I remember being around 11 years old and being scare when I was walking to my grandmas house after school, simply because I knew there was a large chance something bad was going to happen at some point in the day. The older I got the more I realized that there was something wrong. Isn’t every family like this? Isn’t every kid hurt like this? Isn’t this normal? I didn’t understand how some families weren’t like mine. Every year I grew older, the more I realized there was something wrong. I didn’t know what, I just had this feeling something wasn’t right.
I was a freshman in high school when I finally reached out for some help. By this point I was already depressed all the time, I was already affected by what had happened and was still going on. I remember going to one of the counselors and shaking so bad I could barely say “Can I talk to you?”. Looking from my perspective, I was incredibly anxious in high school, I just never knew it. I was so thankful to be talking to this counselor, I finally had someone I could safely vent to. What I didn’t realize was the maybe things were worse than I could ever see. This counselor knew something was wrong, and she saw me as the ticking time bomb I was. I was desperate for some kind of release of everything I was feeling, and I found it. This girl who was a two years older than me, she was my release. She cut everyday, and she showed me, and said it was amazing. I was a freshman, I thought what she was telling me was right. After all, once I started I finally felt a bit of relief that I didn’t have before. I was in a group of people who cut, drank, and did drugs everyday. I was lucky to be in another group too, otherwise I would have done what everyone else in the bad group did, and I might not have survived it.
What I regret most is also the thing I am most thankful for. I am so thankful that I spoke up to someone, finally giving me back a small piece of confidence I was never allowed to have before, and giving me the opportunity to reach out in the future. What I regret however, is speaking out to someone who never knew me before that moment. Who knows, maybe if I spoke to someone different who had already knew me, maybe I wouldn’t have been reported as a danger to myself on at least four separate occasions and had my parents called at least 12 times. I will never know if there was anything else I could have done, and there is nothing I can change. I remember shaking so bad in the office with this counselor that she waited to call my mom because she was scared I would faint due to not breathing. I was melting down in this counselors office and didn’t even fully understand why my parents were being called in the first place. I didn’t understand self harm was a bad thing.
My sophomore year I had a new counselor, which meant I had to start all over. I cried in the bathroom and finally walked into this new counselors office and asked the same thing I asked the other one, “Can I talk to you?”. She said yes and I told her everything I thought was relevant to my issues. I still hadn’t realized that self harm was where everything was falling apart, because I told her what I was doing and guess what she did, she called my mom. At this point, every time my mom got a called, she would scream at me later because of it. Everything was falling apart in my life, and I had never been taught healthy coping methods, because I stopped eating, I was self harming, I had suicidal thoughts every night. I would sit in bed and had a thick scarf that I would wrap around my throat and pull as tight as I could and hold it, praying that it would maybe kill me. I didn’t understand that eventually I would pass out and the scarf would become loose again allowing me to breathe, but at least by passing out I wouldn’t have to deal with the suicidal thoughts that occupied my mind every night. Nobody knew about this part, this is the first time I have every typed or said this.
As my sophomore year went on, everything got worse and eventually my counselor referred me to the social worker. This woman destroyed me inside. I remember talking to her and every time I came in, she would call my mom, even when I begged for her to not. I remember very clearly when she had said this to me, “Are you actually hurting yourself or are your just doing this for attention. Is this just a joke to you. Show me your cuts, because I don’t believe you are actually doing any of this to yourself.”. I stood up and showed her my cuts, and she called my mom. I asked if I could go to the bathroom and she said no because she had to watch me to make sure I wasn’t going to hurt myself more. Once my mom was there to pick me up, she let me go without her to the other side of the school to get to my mom, and I walked into the bathroom and threw up. Twice. I felt like I was suffocating and someone was repeatedly punching me in the stomach and chest. I was shaking so bad I could barely stand, and I was sure if I stood up I would faint. Eventually I composed myself and walked to my moms car. The entire car ride was silent. I was expecting her to drive me home, but she didn’t. She drove me to my cousins house. After that point I wasn’t alone until almost my junior year. That night when she got me and we went home, she screamed at me for faking it and having a perfect childhood so there was no reason I could have these issues. She mad me stand in front of bother her and my father, take off my clothes, and show them my entire body so they could see where and if I had hurt myself. This happened at least twice a week.
As this was going on, I prayed someone would see what was wrong and help me, but by the time someone had even noticed maybe there could be something wrong, my mom had called the school and told them they were no longer allowed to speak to me. I went into the counselors office and before I was all the way inside, I was told I had to leave and they could no longer speak to me. I kept self harming, I stopped eating more and more, and even counted the number of pills I had access to in order to see if it was enough to overdose. I started to eat semi-normal again half way through my senior year, but what didn’t stop was the self harm and suicidal thoughts. I wanted to be dead so bad, but I was too scared to hurt those around me to do it. I knew I was completely alone in this battle and nobody was going to help me. I came to college and and thought maybe I could start over, maybe my past would go away. What never went away was anger. It was in everyone and I knew that, and I was terrified I was going to be the one it was directed towards. This fear has never gone away, not even now.
Every little thing I do wrong, I am expecting to be yelled at or hurt, I am terrified it will happen again someday. I don’t handle anger well, probably party due to my fear of being angry, I don’t want to be like them. Whenever I feel threatened more than usual, I feel helpless and weak. I go back into being a nine year old child who has no control. I don’t even notice when it happens. How do I deal with anger without going into the mindset of a child? How do I even notice I am doing it? Why am I like this….?
How do I let myself feel anger towards my parents because of what they did to me when I can’t even get into a small argument without eventually crying. How is any of this fair. Why can’t I see myself as not damaged. I could have been different, but they were the ones who took care of me and they were the ones who did this to me. I want to be able to truly feel like I am good, and they took that from me. I feel awful for the small child who was hurt everyday and couldn’t save them self. I blame myself for not doing more to save myself, and I realize that i’m just thinking about this from a adult perspective, not from the perspective of a child who had no control of anything in their life. I blame myself for never having been good enough. I blame myself for still not being good enough now. I wish things could just be different.