It’s never easy to think of suicide as just to end your life. It’s more than just slitting your wrist, popping pills, poisoning by gas fumes or running over a cliff.
my entire life, i’ve been nothing but a huge scar. You see a sweet girl one day, then you start to see what sort of pain is really hiding inside of my heart.
I am very anemic and my heart is very weak. I couldn’t breathe sometimes due to post-traumatic stress. I had 3 blood transfusions in the past and one day may need heart surgery. But I lived with this torn heart.
I was both molested and abused by both my father and many men growing up in school. Growing up in stuck up neighborhood, you think anyone would care what happened in your life? All you would hear is pity and gossip.
For many years, i despised men. I turned towards women as my comfort. I found them to be the source to my anxieties, but it wasn’t enough. I felt the empty shell full of malice and turmoil.
I tried to stop the pain so much that it was so hard. People one by one began to mock me. I was scolded many times. Sinned defying the word of God by being within the same sex. I swallowed tacks many times til my heart was full of holes and shriveled to nothing but the torn, shallow girl I feared myself to be. I couldn’t take this life of pain anymore.
I swallowed Vallum by the weeks worth and slept in a coma for 3 days and a half. Thought it would stop my heart but pumped the drugs out in time. My mother feared my future at stake. My father never turned a blind eye to me. I was nothing but a dirty dike to him.
But it’s not what I wanted. I feared my life would never allow myself to accept anything.
I took another overdose and for a while, it had nearly stopped my heart again. My grandmother who’s taken care of me since childhood never gave up on me and prayed. She held my hand and prayed for my life.
My heart stopped beating for almost 10 minutes in the hospital. I was concidered a goner but my grandmother never gave up. She placed a hand upon my cold flesh and prayed more. A gasp filled my lifeless body and I could breathe again. My heart began to beat again very quickly but I was furious. I wanted to die.
My grandmother told me that life isn’t easy. We have to struggle for our lives but when someone loves you so much that they’d spend their whole being upon your own body to save your life, then that’s when someone can truely say they love you.
I lived a life and took writing poetry and painting as a way to release my pain even if suicide crosses my mind.
My grandmother died on my high school graduation day May 27th, 2007 and I am 21 now still living with the same parents I was tortured with. I decided to live for my grandmother and find a life that suits me.