Here is my story… it is intended for those who feel lost and alone, hopefully providing that glimmer of light where it appears as though there is only darkness..
I was a perfect little girl. Really. Obedient to the core, I loved my parents with all of my heart and spent every day trying to please them. As their only daughter, I could see the dysfunctionality of their relationship and wanted to make it better, wanted to be the glue that held it together. Most of all, I didn’t want either of them to leave me. So I did everything a parent hopes for their kid. I had excellent grades, played 3 sports, never spoke up, talked back, or got in trouble. To my teachers, I was the model student.
It didn’t matter. When I was 7, my swim coach took me into the locker room and molested me. Scared, I tried to tell my mother I didn’t want to go back, but she forced me. She thought he was handsome and wanted his attention, so she pried my arms from around her waist and made me go back for months until we couldn’t afford to pay for the classes anymore.
By 8, my father’s rage began moving to the surface. First he would yell at me uncontrollably. Then, one day, I left my dolls out on the floor and couldn’t pick them up quick enough for him. He dragged me out of the house by my hair, pulling out clumps of it in his hands. I spent hours on the front porch alone and crying. My neighbors saw me. They just blinked and walked back in the house. After that, the beatings were regular, just a part of life. I was whipped, slapped, kicked, punched, scratched, and smothered. Chased around the house, he would corner me in the kitchen where I would lie in a ball, trying to protect my face. I remember the whooshing sound and crack of his shoes on my head as he screamed how awful of a daughter I was. I think that is what a person remembers most; the words. My bruises and cuts always healed, but his words carried so much weight, I can still hear them in my sleep. “You’re a *****, whore, tramp, slut, worthless, wish you would die….”
But I kept on. I had near perfect grades in high school, played all varsity sports, part of every honor society that existed, did volunteer work, received scholarships and awards. Didn’t matter. After one year of college at a top school in the country, the depression and post traumatic stress finally kicked in, and I collapsed. I moved back home, and my mother promised me she would get us away from my dad. I gave her 3,000 dollars and all of my trust. A few days later I came home to find that she had packed up and left, using the money to rent herself an apartment an hour and a half away and pay a lawyer to start divorce proceedings.
I wanted to die. I was alone with my dad, and I knew he would come for me. He did one day, as I was doing something he disapproved of. Funny thing is when I saw him pick up the bat and walk towards me, I didn’t even run. I thought that I would die and that would be the end of so much pain. As he held it up against my throat and squeezed, I was ready to let go. I really was. But a part of me inside, that survivor in me, wouldn’t let him, and I began to scream, making so much noise that he stopped.
Months later, I attempted suicide with a razor to the wrists. I couldn’t cut deep enough. Something inside of me still held me back, told me to hold on. I didn’t even know what I was holding on for, but I did. The process was slow, I won’t lie. I spent day after day after month in bed, trying to sleep my life away if I couldn’t die. I took the medications and saw the therapists, but I thought nothing was working. What I didn’t know was the fact that I was still alive and breathing was proof that something was, in fact, working. It was just a little seed, a little thought…but it never went away. I started to move a little. I got out of bed. Ate something. Read a little. Walked outside a little. It was like little steps at a time leading me towards something I thought could not exist.
This is what happened.
I got a job at a local gym. I made friends with some of the personal trainers there and after I had saved enough money, they went with me to my house to help me gather my things and get the hell out of there. My dad didn’t touch me. He was too scared. It’s funny how quickly those who prey on the weak can become cowards. I found an apartment and then found a better job. I began to pay attention to my health and found a support group to air my feelings. It felt good to realize that I was not alone. I took my medications, but instead of doing so blindly, I was active in asking my doctor what they were for and was honest when I felt they weren’t working. In other words, I advocated for myself. I read about depression and post traumatic stress disorder just so I felt informed. I started to believe, very slowly, that none of this was my fault. I had worth. I knew that the God I had learned about as a child had not abandoned me. He was what kept me alive.
Please don’t mistake me for a preacher or someone who is going to push my beliefs on you. Just know this: I should have been dead a long time ago, either by my dad’s or my own hands. Yet, here I am, finally about to graduate from a top college and head to graduate school on scholarship.
I had that razor to my wrists and as I was cutting, something held me back. It was a small voice, but it was there. It was God. Now that part of me is strong, and I defend myself with confidence and ease.
I don’t want to die. I want to survive. I want to thrive.
You can too.
1 comment
Hey there:
Thanks so much for your post. I can’t wait for those who truly need this message to get it. You truly are a survivor and a strong individual. HOW ADMIRABLE! Your story will touch the lives of everyone and anyone who reads it. I hope and pray to God that he continue to strengthen you and hold your hand through every situation you are facing and probably will face in the future. You are a living testimony that “that which don’t kill you can only make you stronger:). I will always keep you in my prayers. See you at the top my dear!!! Even though all is well with you now, if you ever find that you need someone to talk to or listen to you, you can contact me at angeloflight91@hotmail.com. again, thanks for posting this inspiring message. May peace and grace follow you:)