I have started this post a number of times and always find myself deleting everything. My words speak a story that sounds like a pathetic, whiny, “look at me” tale, however, that is not my intention. I simply want to be able to say what I need to say and say it in a way that is an accurate depiction of my thoughts and feelings without someone interrupting me or yelling at me saying, “Everythings going to be ok!” or “Why are you complaining so much?” If I have found myself here, obviously, everything is not ok. If I am complaining, then so be it. I have a right to feel upset by things in life.
Let me set the scene for you…In a small farming community, a family of four lives peacefully to the outside world. Our school had approximately 250 children attending school at any given time. My school had the best 7th/8th grade basketball teams in the conference. I was the star post on both teams and I played it to my advantage. I was known as the happy, well rounded, responsible player on the team. I worked hard. I played hard, and I always did my work on the bus to and from games. I was the star pupil who could balance it all. What no one knew was that I worked so hard to drown out my thoughts. Any second of free time was unvoluntarily spent watching a reel of everything that had ever gone wrong in my life. What they didn’t know, was how awful life at home had become.
My parents were fighting and threatening divorce. My father worked 13 hours a day and spent the other 11 hours yelling at us. He would constantly yell about how much money we cost him. He would yell about how fat I was and that I needed to stop eating so I could lose weight. He would yell at how long I would take in the shower when I didn’t need to because “all I do is sit on the couch and watch tv.” I recall a time where I was sick with the flu and I was camped out on the couch in the living room. My father was trying to sweep the floor. He looked over at me, asleep on the couch, and grabbed me by the collar to slam me against the wall. He broke my collarbone. I “fell down the stairs.” He told me that if I ever spoke about what happened, he’d strangle me.
My mother did the best that she could but when you lived most of your life with my father, things begin to rub off. My mother did everything she could to help us. But she too, had her own abuses. My older brother was another star, just as I was. Or rather, I guess in the scheme of things, I followed his footsteps. I hate my brother. Eight months after I lost the only real parental figure I had, my brother hit puberty. He decided that I was as my father said and treated me like a practice doll. I was 6 when my brother began to repeatedly rape me. It stopped when I turned 13. To this day, the only person who knows is myself. I’ve brought it up to him before as we are both adults now, and he denies it ever happened. Â What a wonderful family…
Currently, I am a ripe 20 years old. I can recall only two moments in time when I was truly happy. The first being the moment I was admitted to the hospital for the stomach flu and a broken collarbone. I’m sure many of you are wondering, “Why the hell would she be happy about that?” Let me explain. Through all of my pain, I could feel the drugs course through my veins and relieve any and all sensations. My broken bones never ached. My heart slowed to a normal beat. My thoughts slowed and my mind went to ease. I was numb and able to relax. I was being released. I slowly began to put weight onto my own two feet and went for my first step. Black out.
I was floating…no, suspended. I was suspended in an airy watery lake. There was no pain. No fear. I remember being exactly as I had ever wanted to be. I was happy and elated. I could move as I wished and I was not restricted by anything. I was weightless. For once, I was at peace. There was no one to dictate what I said or did. There was no one to take control over my body. Complete, uninhibited…peace. I was happy and at a final resting place…or so I thought.
I woke up on the floor, freezing, with my head craddled by large hands supported by a lap. My head hurt badly and I couldn’t form complete thoughts. What had just happened and where was I? What happened to my peace? I couldn’t move. I was being restricted and the nurses refused to let me move. I struggled and found that I was laying in a puddle of warm, sticky, gooey water. Oh, that’s blood. Â I don’t remember the next few days.
Fast forward, High School. Now, we all know that high school is the closest you’ll ever get to hell but my hell was hot. Over the years, I gained a lot of weight. I was forced to take two years off from basketball due to my injuries. I lost my status from my peers. My previous friends were now my enemies. Four years of incessant bullying incurred. I lost two friends to suicide and another to a car accident. I joined band  and choir because those were the only activities were status and mental ability didn’t matter. I made new friends but there was always an empty part of my soul. I lost so many people at that point in my life, I was ready to move on. I went home and waited for the cover of night. Night seemed to be my only solace. I grabbed an array of pills and took a swig of Father’s whiskey. It burned.
My stomach lurched and I passed out. Again, I found myself in the hospital. My mother found me screaming and writhing. She was faster than Death that night. Great, I couldn’t even kill myself properly. Wonderful. Fantastic. Now what?
As i’m sure you can tell, I am still alive and at 20 years old with many different negative life experiences I find myself wondering if it’s time for attempt number “z.” (Kudos if you understood the reference.) I’ve always experience depression and suspect that I have multiple anxiety disorders as well as PTSD. For the judgers out there, what i’ve described probably shouldn’t be enough to make someone want to kill themselves, but I’ve left out the more painful experiences. As i’m sure some of you have found, if anyone is even still reading, this post is very long. I wouldn’t want to read something this long but then again, i’m writing this for me. I’m sure someone out there would love to hear about the other various sexual assaults, depressive episodes, deaths and attempts but this is for me. I’m sure my life story is thrilling for some but in the end, our lives are our stories and they are to be enjoyed or lamented for ourselves.
So, farewell. Bon voyage! Adios! Or not…I guess only time will tell whether this is truly the end or if I find some saving grace. Until then, my sunrise or sunset awaits.