When I was 2 years old my brother started to sexually abuse me. That lasted for many, many years. When I was 6 he raped me and then again when I was 12. I learned that saying “no” just got me into more trouble than going along with whatever was going to happen.
I started cutting at the ripe old age of 5 and continued until well into my 40’s. No one ever knew until I confessed to a therapist and she helped me to stop. Thank you DBT.
My first suicide attempt was in junior high. I walked into traffic on a busy highway. The cars went around me.
My entire family had a suicide plan. I thought that was normal. I still have one. There is always a plan B. So far, obviously I am still alive. I go to bed at night and pray to not awaken in the morning, but alas, I am too strong and I wake up. From the anorexia I have heart issues and I continue to think that one day I won’t wake up. So far, that hasn’t happened. I try to tell myself that there is a purpose to my life, that I am still alive for a reason. Let’s see, so I can lose my job, have to go back to relying on my family for financial support. So I can spend days in treatment for an eating disorder that is never going to end. So I can get a masters degree only to never use it even though it would help others as well as myself. So I can steal and cheat. So I can lose my friends and isolate myself from what is good in life. So I can contract with my psychiatrist every time I see them to stay alive until I see them again. What kind of life am I living, really. I am more of a burden to society than I am an asset, I’m afraid.
And yet, I am still here. Still too stubborn to die. Still waiting to see what is around the next corner. I still want to see the sunset, smell the flowers, see another spring, pet the animals and hold babies.
There is a glimmer of hope or I would be long gone from this world.
This is crudely written, but it had to come out fast or not at all.
Such is life.