I did something today and truthfully I am actually a little scared to type it out on here. We all make mistakes but it can be hard when the mistake is something you want. There are a lot of words to express how I feel yet I find myself speechless right now because I know what I have done. Today I did something that I never thought I would do, something I never thought would even be a thought in my mind. How do I pick myself back up from here? How do I fix this mistake when everyday the suspense of the mistake grows? I admit that I self harm, and it is not something I am ashamed of. Its frustrating and hard to explain and talk about sometimes, yes, but I am not ashamed of it. What I have done today, I am ashamed of and I deserve to be. I messed up and now I am stuck having to figure out how to pick up the pieces. Today I was 18 days with no self harm.
Today I disappointed myself in ways I can’t even explain. Today I self harmed however, that’s not what I am upset about. I am upset because I self harmed at someone else’s house, I let others down instead of just myself. I thought about making a different choice but in the end I made the decision not to stay safe. How do I come back from something like this? I really messed up. Damn.
I’ve never understood why I am more scared to be called a disappointment than worthless. Maybe because being worthless only impacts me, whereas being a disappointment can hurt others. After all, I care a lot more about others than I do myself, which is something I am still trying to balance out.
I have gone two months and two weeks without self harm. Being able to say that I have gone this far with no self harm makes me beyond proud of myself. That doesn’t mean that I don’t want to though. The urge to self harm gets stronger and stronger each night and every night I have a anxiety attack because I’m scared one night I will cut and it will be the worst I have ever done. I’m not scared that I will do it to the point something bad could happen, but I do worry that someday I will cut and I will actually need stitches. I think i’m even more scared of feeling like a disappointment in my own eyes than cutting too deep on accident. I don’t want to disappoint myself and have to said that I didn’t make it three months. I just want to continue feeling proud.
I have felt like a disappointment my entire life, so I guess that’s probably why I am so scared to be seen as a disappointment now. I want to go as long as I possibly can without feeling like a disappointment, because it feels pretty dang good being proud of myself.
On a completely different topic, this memory keeps coming up and I don’t really know why. I don’t think it would bother me as much, except that it is the memory of the first time I attempted suicide. I’ve never really forgotten it but it usually doesn’t keep coming up. The memory sucks, but what its also making me remember is some of the things that happened when I was with my grandma. Both good and bad. I remember when I was younger and my grandma would get home from delivering news papers and she would sit on the front porch waiting for me to get there. We would usually sit outside for a few hours, and I actually enjoyed that most of the time. I had a iPod when I was in junior high and I remember getting to grandmas house and sitting on the front porch with her, and we were both listening to all of the birds that were in the tree in the front yard. Grandma got the idea that maybe if we played Lady Gaga as loud as we could, maybe the birds would chirp to it. It still makes me laugh remembering that, it was one of those times that I forgot everything that was bothering me and could just laugh. I wish it was always like that, but most of the time it wasn’t. Most of the time, there was screaming and fear. I wish I could go back and change it, because when she was nice, I loved spending time with her. I have moments where it still seems like it isn’t real that grandma passed three years ago. There are times when it feel like what happened when I was younger wasn’t real either. It feels like it wasn’t real and wasn’t that bad the majority of the time to be honest. I wish I could understand how bad things really were when I was younger, so the times when I feel like I can actually understand what happened clearly are somewhat nice to have.
This week has been, well…. interesting. It wasn’t necessarily bad, I guess I just struggled a lot this week. I don’t know quite what is going on though. This week I haven’t been very numb (at least I don’t think), but I still have been really suicidal. I’m not sure why that is, and it’s not like my week was bad either, actually, it was pretty good for the most part, so I don’t know what could have triggered this to happen. It’s frustrating though, because right when you think that things are going good, they get bad again. Is this gonna always be what it’s like? I have never wanted to live, heck, I wished that I was never born, so why would I want to live like this? I don’t. I don’t know who to say my feelings right now other than being completely honest, I don’t want to live. I want to attempt suicide. That’s never something that someone wants to admit, but it’s something that I have to be completely honest about. On Monday night me and Rebecca watched the movie Irreplaceable You. It was an amazing story, but very sad. It was filled with cancer and death, and showed you everything that happened along the way. After watching it I was in tears, and this is what I sent to a close friend of mine:
“I don’t want to die. I really don’t want to die because I don’t want to hurt the people who have supported me and loved me. I don’t want to be gone I don’t want to fucking die. Yet I’m scared I will because I’m scared that I will end up doing something or fucking up and dying because of suicide or a car accident or anything. I don’t fuckin want depression to win and I’m scared it will. I really don’t want to die 😭”
Her response was immediate concern, followed by her asking if she could drive me to the hospital. As you can guess, my answer was no. I am not going to the hospital because I am strong and I need to deal with this. Why could I deal with this for 18 years of my life and get through but now that I’m feeling it again after feeling somewhat okay for a while, is it that I am struggling so badly. What is wrong with me? Everyone gives me the normal answer of “there is nothing wrong with you hun” however, I see much different. I sit in bed every night trying to fight the fact that I just want to attempt suicide, or self harm at a minimum. I sit in bed at night and try to understand my own brain which is somewhat impossible to understand. Does everyone see the world like this? Does everyone feel like their own self is being covered by the screams of their mental illnesses? Does anyone understand any of this? I feel like I’m speaking
I’ve tried to type at least four times since my last post but, not matter what I type it doesn’t feel real. Now I’m here, typing, and trying to find the words to describe how I feel even though I don’t know if there are any. Truthfully, I don’t feel like… me. I feel like this person trapped inside of this body and brain and can’t escape no matter how hard I try. I feel like I’m a soul thats trapped inside a world that doesn’t even feel real. I try hard to figure out what is me thinking and what is the depression however, I am not always able to do that. I keep looking for an exact answer on what will fix this but there is no exact answers to this. There is no step by step guide to follow that will cure depression in under ten minutes and give me my brain back. There isn’t a immediate way to change who you are as a person and truthfully, that’s all I really want. I want to be someone I can’t be and everyday I get crushed a little more when I realize all over again that no matter how hard I work at this, I will never be a different person. I will always be me and I don’t understand why that hurts so bad. Maybe it’s because I don’t want to be here at all, no matter what person I am. Maybe it’s because living is something that I didn’t get an option in and I don’t have a way out.
I always used to have hope that maybe someday things would be different, and now that I look back I’m not sure if I was hoping for things to be different in the way that I could finally live my life the way I wanted, or things to be different in the form of no longer living. I wish I could go back into the head of that little girl that was lost at point A and tell her that someday she would be in college and majoring in something she would later dream of doing, and maybe she wouldn’t have wanted to have such a different life, maybe she would have never started to self harm or starve herself. Maybe she would have been “okay”. Truth is, I know that no matter what I could have said to that little girl, it wouldn’t have made a difference. I always see the world in black and white except when I was young I didn’t see any color other than black. The black that could suck you in and hold you in its grasp and you had to accept the fact your were trapped.
I feel like I’m in a building after a tornado, and people searched the area for survivors, but missed me. Me. Alone. Trapped until sheets of concrete and broken glass. I’m hurt, broken, scared, and lost… so, so lost. This is what I feel like in this world, but instead of helping the person who is hurt, broken, and scared, they simply say “Stay strong”. I’m 20 years old and have been staying strong my entire life. If I had physical wounds nobody would think twice about helping me but with this they just say strong over and over as if that helps me in the slightest. Sometimes they don’t even say anything at all. If it’s isn’t physically seen then guess it doesn’t matter. Maybe I don’t matter then? I have worked to make something of myself and then I still get stuck in the ruble from a tornado that went through but nobody cares because the don’t see my physically injured. So many people don’t believe in mental illness and when you struggling and nobody close to you believes, suddenly that are trapped in the ruble with no escape other than yourself. It’s hard to save yourself when you know you are completely alone and feel like you can breathe. What then? You know you don’t have any other option to fight because otherwise you will die down there, because of all the ruble stacked on top of you.
I continue to try and make sense of what happened to me, as if understanding what happened will make it better. Nothing will make what my family did to me okay, but I deserve to love the rest of my life, even when I lost 18 years of it. I have always been somewhat quiet about certain events that happened throughout the years, while some I only remember tiny bits.
Throughout the many years I was with my grandma, there were multiple occasions that things became sexual. I don’t remember many times fully, only pieces of them. There is only one memory that I remember from start to finish. Its easy for me to block out some of the memories simply by telling myself they didn’t happen, which sometimes I do to protect myself from them. It’s frustrating trying to make sense of what happened when truthfully there is no sense to it. There was no reason I deserved it, and I didn’t understand what was actually going on back then.
I remember my grandma sitting in corner of the living room in a large chair that was beige with colored lines throughout it, as if the entire outside of the chair was made with thin yarn. She sat there as I vacuumed and when I finished I put the vacuum away, unaware I had missed a spot in front of the couch. She looked at me and told me that I had missed it purposely because i’m lazy and don’t care, when in reality I truly just didn’t notice. I tried to explain that it was a accident and I would vacuum it, but no matter what I said it would not be the answer she wanted. She told me to come towards her, with the motion many people do with their finger gesturing you to come to them. I knew immediately what was going to happen but I always hoped that maybe I would be wrong, maybe I wouldn’t be hurt. I was hesitant to go closer like she was asking just in case should was going to hit me. The longer I stood away from her, the more she became aggravated, which added to a already bad situation. Finally she started yelling at me “Get over here, now!” and at that point fear started to creep in because I knew exactly what was going to happen now. I slowly took baby steps closer to her, praying she would take mercy on me, even though that never happened. When I was within two feet of her she reached out and grabbed my wrists, gripping so hard that later I had bruises. She pulled me the rest of the way to her. To the right of the chair when looking at it, there were two white laundry baskets stacked with folded clothes. She pulled me across her lap, hitting my face on the top laundry basket. She pulled down my pants and started spanking me. Usually I was lucky and she only did it three times, but this time she kept going. I think she stopped after around ten times. I thought she would just let me go and that would be the end of it, but not this time. She continued to hold me down, and I didn’t know why because this was the first time she didn’t just let go. A few seconds later I felt why, and I was frozen from shock yet crying from pain. I was in fifth or sixth grade, and never felt this kind of pain before. She wasn’t using a object, only her hand. This was my second time ever feeling this, and two fingers was way to much, and she knew that, but she did it anyway. I could feel them causing incredible pressure and pain caused by her nails. She was do “a sexual motion” as ill put it. At one point the pain started to switch to feeling good, as she was “rubbing” me as she was doing it. It felt good but I didn’t understand why I couldn’t just stop myself. Once I climaxed she stopped and pushed me off of her on the floor. I quickly pulled my pants back up and went away from her. She acted like nothing happened and went to the kitchen to do dishes. I just sat on the floor, crying, from the remaining pain and knowing I was powerless.