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Sing Me To Sleep

by PerchanceToDream

I’m not sure when or how it started. Just the feeling of cracking. Like when your windshield gets hit and cracks start to spider web out further. Another thing hits and the web cracks further. And then another and another until it just breaks completely. I thought about that windshield and how it must hurt, to have those cracks, to be hit so hard like that.

Now I realize that I am that windshield.

My mother cheated on my dad and left him for my (now) step-dad when I was 6. The divorce, which was messy and grisly, was finalized a year later. I had to watch the pain my dad went through to try and win my mother back fruitlessly. I didn’t like it, but my older siblings told me to shut up and think about mom and dad’s happiness.

And that’s what I did for the rest of my life. I kept everything to myself to save people from the truth of how I felt. Ignorance is bliss.

I kept quiet about my mother’s remarriage. I didn’t tell my dad how much it bothered me that his gf moved in our house. I tried to not take it personally when she called me names, discredited my accomplishments and yell at me. I pushed down my anger when her daughter would steal my things and my dad wouldn’t do anything about it. . .

No one really knew what was going on. I’d put on a show for friends and such. They thought my life was great, they loved my mother. She was the master of pretending to have a perfect life. She constantly criticized though. I didn’t do well enough, had to be better. In early teens, I was told how I’d be so pretty if I didn’t have acne. She’d tell me I needed a nose job. I need to wear more makeup. It wasn’t good enough to just be me.

I wasn’t the daughter she wanted. I didn’t play sports. I wasn’t a cheerleader. I wasn’t outgoing, I was introverted and shy.

When I was 12, my step-dad’s job transferred him to France. And I had to make a decision to go live with them or stay with my dad in America. I couldn’t bare the thought of living with my dad all the time, with his gf who hated me, her daughter who constantly stole my things and tried to get me to sneak out at night and drink and smoke. And my dad didn’t do anything with me anymore. He used to be a great dad. He’d take us to the library for hours, read to me at night, play catch. After the divorce, all of that stopped. After his gf, it was like I was invisible.

I went to live in France with my mother, step-dad and new half-sister. I never felt so alone. I didn’t speak the language, my english-speaking school was an hour away. I began to make some friends. Then one night I was tricked into going to a party. I was told it was a slumber party, girls only. It wasn’t.

The entire school looked like it was there. There was alcohol, pot, people snorting things, injecting needles. It was crowded and hot and loud. I was 13. I went upstairs to get away from everything. My parents were an hour away and it was late. I didn’t want to bother them or get yelled out for being a pest. Someone came up behind me and molested me. He tried to take my clothes off, I felt his hand go up my skirt where he touched me. I screamed and flailed until I finally made contact on him and was able to get away. I ran out of the house down the street to school, got in the tunnel on the playground and called my mother to pick me up. While I waited an hour, I cried and hugged myself.

I didn’t tell her what happened. I told no one.

We moved back when I was 16. Senior year of high school I got a boyfriend. Freshman year of college he date raped me.

My dad married his gf without telling anyone. When I expressed my feelings about it, he stopped talking to me. I haven’t seen or spoken to him since I was 18. I’m 22 now. He chose his gf over me.

I had the job of my dreams and was able to forget everything and felt happy. Until I was terminated.

I acted like I was okay with everything. I wasn’t.

No one noticed though. Or cared.

I was dying on the inside. It was like a claw in my chest cavity, racking up my insides with its searing and fiery talons; tearing, squeezing, hacking, ripping, shredding my heart. Blood pooling inside me until I drown, oxygen barred from entering my thirsty lungs. I would cry for no pretence, no reason. I just felt pain. A pain that was so vigorous and endless it made me numb.

My thoughts became darker. I began to hate myself for being so weak. I thought about how it wouldn’t matter if I died. How I was just a burden anyway. It’d be better if I didn’t exist. No one would really care or miss me anyway.

I began to romanticize death. Images of my skin being opened with a knife acting as the key to a door visited my mind. From that door, my velvety rosette blood blossoming through, flowering down my arms in streaming rivulettes, warm and glimmering the colour of love and life. Leaving trails like vines down my innocent, soft skin. How beautiful I’d look in a coffin. So still and tranquil. The idea of swallowing pills, how they’d release their magic, their loving and caressing potions coursing through my system like a mist; the way dye whorls and spirals in water like dancing smoke. A ballet in my body to transform me into an Eternal Sleeping Beauty.

It seems like a win-win for everyone if I die.

My mum can be rid of the daughter that isn’t the daughter she wanted. My dad doesn’t even care about me. Or if I’m alive. As for everyone else, they hardly know me. They won’t care really.


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Amakua2309 11/25/2012 - 7:43 am

Hello Perchancetodream

That is quite an analogy…you are the windshield. hmmm
I don’t know if you really are a windshield or not…but your writing is friggin’ amazing…too bad it was so haunting…sigh.

Sooo…you have abandonment issues eh? As well as being a victim of sexual assault? Don’t worry…it doesn’t have to be terminal…and people do care…just sometimes they can’t seem to get out of their own pain long enough to let you know.

Here if you want to talk

PerchanceToDream 11/25/2012 - 10:58 pm

Never thought about it as abandonment issues…more of trust issues, but I suppose they go hand in hand. “Don’t worry” seems somewhat understated seeing as I’m having suicidal thoughts again and cutting myself. Trust and/or abandonment issues, rape, attempt at suicide, cutting…I guess my writing should really speak for itself with how fucked up I am in my head, since it was “so haunting.” Sorry to make you sigh

radiokills 11/25/2012 - 12:13 pm

You have the choice to make yourself out of things that have happened to you, people in your life, the way you’ve been treated… but I think you understand that you deserve more than that, that you ARE more than that. I think anyone who heard about the guy at the party would run back there for you and give him a good kick in the nuts. Make sure assholes like that never procreate. He didn’t do it because you are weak and deserve to suffer. He did it because he is a shithead who thinks they can take whatever they want, from whoever they want. Those people don’t get far, don’t worry. I think the way your parents treat you isn’t a reflection at all of what they feel for you, it’s a reflection of what they feel about their own lives. Your dad’s life was torn when your mother left, and he hasn’t been the same since. It doesn’t mean he doesn’t love you, it means he has a lot of issues which prevent him from behaving “normally” (like he did when everything was okay)… and how he feels about you rarely has the opportunity to surface. When you told him how you felt about him and his girlfriend, he probably didn’t know about the way she and her daughter treated you. He just wanted to be happy again… and you said yourself your mom is the master of pretending things are okay. She’s obviously got issues herself. My mom does the same thing sometimes, she has 5 daughters and has a funny way of showing she loves us but I know she’d be there for me in a flash if I told her I needed her. She just needs me to talk to her for her to understand why she’s needed.
Don’t invite people into your life like your freshman boyfriend. One day you’ll cross paths with the right person and you’ll know it (little thing called happiness, it’s crazy but it DOES happen!) and until then take everything that comes your way, one at a time. shed the torment of the past. walk out of that shell that’s so crushing. you deserve better.

PerchanceToDream 11/25/2012 - 10:46 pm

Thanks, but it’s easier said than done. To shed the torment of the past. I constantly have nightmares of being raped or left behind. My mother has problems with rage and has tried to attack me; she’s shallow-minded and doesn’t possess the capacity to understand complicated emotions. Especially concerning depression and suicide. I’ve heard tell my step-dad how much she wishes she had a normal kid who wasn’t “mentally ill.” I’m a black mark on her otherwise perfect white linen. It’s “embarrassing to have a daughter that tried to commit suicide.” My dad knew exactly what was going on with how I was being treated, he just didn’t stand up for me. As far as “the right person” goes, who could ever love someone like me, the girl with scarred arms from cutting…

Engie 11/25/2012 - 11:39 pm

I wish I could give you a big hug. I know it’s probably not what you want to hear, but I’m so sorry to hear what happened to you. Your story is very moving.

You have to be strong. Talk to someone you can trust. You’ve obviously had more than your fair share of people in your life who make you feel worthless, but you can rise above it.

Suicide might seem romantic, from casual contemplation, but it’s really not. I’ve been there. It’s messy, and horrible. I tried to overdose and hang myself once. I must have slipped out of the belt when I passed out. My flatmate and her friend found me and called an ambulance. When I woke up, there was vomit everywhere, including over my suicide note (which wasn’t much of a note, really, it just said “I’m tired”).

I couldn’t bear the smell of vodka for weeks after. Even the smell of toothpaste, which reminded me slightly of vodka was enough to make me physically ill.

I cut myself too. On my arms, and more recently, my ankles. My girlfriend told me on more than one occasion that she might leave me if I didn’t stop, which didn’t help my depression at all. But I know she really does care about me.

The right person doesn’t care about the scars on your arm. They will love you. Just you.

I have no doubt that such a person exists, because you really are special. You’ve been through a lot, but you’re strong and you have a good heart.

Be brave. Take care. Don’t give up.

PerchanceToDream 11/29/2012 - 12:48 am

Thank you for your kind words.

I wouldn’t really call my contemplation on suicide “casual.” I tried to overdose as well. It didn’t work. Ended up getting my stomach pumped. And waking up to the feeling of disappointment that it hadn’t worked, that I failed at ending my life.

Your girlfriend does care about you. She just doesn’t understand how cutting relaxes you, makes you feel better afterwards. My best friend has tried to make me promise to never do it again. He says it hurts him every time I do it. I could never promise him though. I don’t care for making promises I know I can’t keep, but he’s just worried. I know it’s not a healthy coping mechanism, but it does help and it’s better than suicide.

People look at me funny if they see my scars. Suddenly they look at me like I’m a lunatic. Sometimes I feel like I am. Not sure if there is a right person for a loon.

I don’t feel strong or special. I feel weak and pathetic and useless and unwanted.

I try not to give up, I try to remember the reactions of people closest to me when they found out I tried to kill myself. How they cared. How sad they were. But those memories grow dim and it’s become difficult to remember. I’m living by myself and I don’t know anyone here. I feel alone.

regret150 11/25/2012 - 11:51 pm

I have the same nightmares every night. So I know how it feels to be frustrated that not even in sleep do we get a break. I have been having suicidal thoughts all the time lately too. It is nothing to mess around with. I have bi polar so I go up and down. It makes life tough but my meds are being adjusted. Don’t you wish we could all just go to an island somewhere and live in a city where mentally ill people would live. I always feel more comfortable around other depressed people. We have a way of making each other feel better. Or I could just be having another delusion haha. I wish I could hug you too. Life deals people so much shit sometimes. It makes me question what is the point. But you are worth everything and deserve better.

PerchanceToDream 11/29/2012 - 1:00 am

Yes, I feel the same. I try to forget or put it past me at least, but it haunts my sleep. Then I don’t sleep for ages which seems to worsen my depression.

I feel out of place with people who are fine and don’t know what it’s like to have anything wrong with them mentally. They make me feel ashamed and broken because I have something wrong with the chemicals in my brain and have to take medication to sort it out, and they don’t. So when I meet new people, I feel like I have this secret I have to be careful about. I have to watch what I say and do so they won’t find out and judge me. It is nice to be around those who have similar problems or issues. Knowing someone understands…that they won’t judge. It’s nice. It doesn’t make you feel so alone. You might have a dark history and issues you’re trying to cope with, but at least you aren’t alone in it. It makes it better somehow.

You’re worth everything as well.

passenger 11/29/2012 - 1:42 am

same story always …surrounded with people and feeling alone. everything is our fault.we try to be nice or just to be “normal” and end up feeling worst. we look,we search a way to adapt but a small little thing sends us to the bottom.

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