The Beginning of the End

On 14 May 2014, I died. This was my 9th attempt and first success. I didn’t want to come back. But, yet again, I was denied of what I wanted most of all: to be free of all the pain, suffering, bipolar/PTSD and abuse I’ve endured for over 30 years. People called me selfish. Maybe so, but when you’ve lost everything that mattered, everyone you loved, even though they didn’t love you, being abandoned, rejected, your brain fucking with you on a daily basis, and you fight every single day to get through it, death is the only way out. I’m done with shrinks, the stigma, being a pharmaceutical Guinea pig, and the judgmental comments and stares. I never asked to be this way.

Bipolar disorder aside, the main person who singlehandedly destroyed any chance of a decent life is my father. He started beating me at age 8. He would come home from work, and his anger and frustration with his job was directed at me. If I even looked at him the wrong way, I was punched in the face, slapped, kicked, thrown into doors and whipped with his leather belt or an extension cord until I bled. My brother and sister were never touched. I became my dad’s personal punching bag. He was the pillar of the community, and he said if I told anyone, even mother, no one would believe me. I learned to hide the bruises, the welts, the scratches.  As I went through puberty, his comments became disturbing and sexual. He would go through my underwear drawer, smell my panties and made comments about how big my tits were becoming. He would walk by and either grab my ass or slap it, saying how nice it was. I was so petrified with fear, I froze. Im fact, he was the reason I attempted my first suicide. It was the only way to escape his abuse. It didn’t work, he got angry, and I had to keep my mouth shut and lie about why I swallowed all of those pills. The abuse, at least physically, ended when I was thrown out of my home at age 17, about a month after my suicide attempt. The emotional and psychological abuse hasn’t stopped. I tried so hard to win his approval and his love, but it’s no use. Because of him, most of my relationships have been abusive and/or failed because he said I was worthless and didn’t deserve to be happy. What did I do to deserve this? Exist?

The one person who loved me no matter what, who protected me from my father’s, brother’s and sister’s constant insults, who was proud of me regardless how many times I screwed up, is gone. My mother died 27 Aug 2014. I knew even before she died, things would get worse, and my family would turn their backs on me, shut me out and ignore my existence because I’m different, or as they call me, ‘psycho bipolar *****’.

They never told me when my mother’s memorial was. They didn’t bother to ask nor include me im the memorial plans. When I confronted my father about being left out on purpose, he instantly because defensive, saying it wasn’t true, even though he knows it is. I asked him if I could sing at Mom’s memorial service, and he said no because it would mess up the plans already made, and he wasn’t going to rearrange anything. I was so hurt, I hung up on him. He called me 7 times, and I ignored him. The next morning, he called. I asked him what he wanted, and he asked why I didn’t answer my cell. ‘I was pissed off at you, and you know why.’ He got defensive and pissy, saying I was pissed over nothing. I was not going to apologize for my feelings. I started crying, which I’ve been doing a lot of since Mom died, and shit really hit the fan. He started yelling at me. ‘What in the Hell is wrong with you? Why are you crying again? Is that what you do every day now? It’s because you’re fucking nuts.’ I exploded. ‘Excuse me? Where in the fuck do you get off judging me? I’m crying because I JUST LOST MY MOTHER, AND IF YOU DON’T UNDERSTAND THAT, I DON’T KNOW WHAT TO TELL YOU. FUCK YOU DAD, I’M DONE WITH YOU!’ His last words to me were I’d never amount to shit, and I have been nothing but a huge disappointment. I hung up. I blocked his number. Later, I found out my brother blocked me on Facebook because of my father. So, I am ostracized and disowned from the family because I am who I am, and they are tired of me and my issues, so I was told. I dunno if I’m going to my mom’s service. They’d probably throw me out. I deserve to be there. I was the first born, and she was my mother too.

Now, that my mother is gone, and I am alone with no one to say ‘I love you’, to hold me in their arms and say everything will be okay. I don’t see the point in carrying on anymore. If I was brought back from the dead only to watch my mother waste away, I wish I would have stayed dead. In the past 4 months, my relationship with someone I love ended out of nowhere, my daughter left, I lost my life, my home, my belongings and now, I lost the one person who meant the world to me. I have no reason to continue going on without her. I’ve been through enough, and I’m tired of fighting for something I don’t want, which is the weight of all this pain.

I doubt anyone would notice I’m gone. I’ve disappeared without a trace many times before. The only reason I haven’t finished the job yet is I made a promise to my mother before she died. She loved being near the ocean, and she wanted me to go there in her place because she was unable to move nor walk anymore. She said to find as many sea shells as I can because she’s going to guide me to them. She wanted me to feel the breeze on my face, sand squishing between my toes, the sound of the waves, the sun on my skin for her. I said I would. ‘Mom, I’m sorry if I disappointed you.’ Mom smiled, grabbed my hand and said, ‘You never disappointed me. You made me so proud, and I’m glad you are my daughter. I love you, sweetheart. I always have, and I always will.’ She left me one last voicemail. She was having trouble breathing, but she had the strength to tell me how much she loved me. At least my family can’t take that away from me.

As soon as I can travel, I’m going to the Pacific Coast and carry out my mother’s final request to me. In the meantime, I’m going to start making my final plans. I have a letter to write, things to pack away, throw out, delete, a few people to see and party my ass off and enjoy the time I have left. I intend to die, and there will be no resuscitation. I am going to end it quickly and swiftly with as little of a mess as possible.

I’m at peace with my decision. I am not afraid of death. I will finally be free, and I’ll be with my Mom.