Monday, January 10, 2011
“Like many others, I don’t know why I’m writing this. Maybe because I want someone to read, someone to know and understand what I did throughout my life. Why I did it and to help encourage people to get help, the help they need and deserve. This is going to be long, maybe not as long as I thought but long enough. And I’ll apologize for that, because I know you get sent lots of things. I love your blog and it has inspired me to give you mine as well.
My name is Val, I’m 21 years old and I love reading about other people. I love reading in general. I was never diagnosed with depression or bipolar but I know something is wrong. Especially when you want nothing more than to waste away and die. My story is not as heart wrenching as many... tragic enough, none the less
First of all, I’d like to say I am so heartbroken for everyone out there with a mental illness. I myself do not suffer from anorexia or bulimia, maybe I am starting there because I’m starting to poke at my fat, and I know I’m fat. I’m supposed to be 120 lbs but I am 147. I LOVE food. But I could never ever bring myself to purge it back up or to starve... simply because I grew up with a father that cooked great and ate even better. We were taught not to care too much about what others say or call you. But it’s hard... it’s so so hard when you do not like what you look at in the mirror.
I wish everyone the best, for treatment and recovery.
My sister started beating me when I was a child, maybe because she was mad that mom left us, maybe she thought it was her fault. No matter what it was, her anger always ALWAYS went towards me. She called me fat when I ate, so I started eating by myself and over eating at night.....I was up to 160 (I was almost more than my father) but I found comfort in food, it didn’t call me names, it didn’t make me hurt. It made me feel good and feel full. Whereas, I felt empty. 24/7. Forget about feeling lonely, because I thought I was better off alone. I never ever felt lonely.
The abuse had a lot to do with everything. Not to mention I felt extremely abandoned by my mother who left when I was just a year old. I tried putting my stepmother (god bless her beautiful soul) in her shoes and called her mother but she wouldn’t let me because "you only have one mother" please too, everyone, please please remember that. My mother was a manic depressant, she suffered from bipolar. Maybe because of the alcoholism, maybe... just maybe, the coke she could not let go of.
I always hated drugs, cigarettes and even alcohol. Simply because I watched everyone throw their lives away for it. My uncle who is dying because he couldn’t stop drinking...rather, he didn’t want to. It took his wife and 3 of his kids to leave. And now he’s stopped, he’s still dying. I couldn’t do that to myself, I have animals... beautiful nieces and nephews. And that’s the only thing that keeps me from blowing my head in on the wall behind me.
Until I turned 12..... I started smoking cigarettes. Then alcohol (god I loved that so much) I still smoke to this day (9 years) 13 came around, I really disliked my mother. Mainly because she left me, I felt like she didn’t want me. That she wanted the drugs, the booze more. I needed something.... I didn’t realize this at such an age, but I did, I wanted to get away from it all. I drank a whole bottle of Bacardi gold that night, was falling all over the place... but I loved the feeling. I really liked getting drunk.
14 came, virginity gone. I didn’t realize how wrong it felt until he got on me, and personally, it hurt, it felt wrong. He left me after abandonment. Another love lost...marijuana. That made me happy, like... ahh, I'm out of my right mind. That’s all I wanted, that’s it, to be out of my right mind. To be numb to all the pain... I still do. When I was 15, I was drinking heavily, eating too much and smoking waaay too much. Mainly alcohol, mainly.... until my mother hung herself a few days shy of her 40th birthday.
What a suckin year! By this time, I was taking ecstasy, oxycontin, alcohol, happy pills, pain pills. God I partied so hard, I loved it. I didn’t pay nothing because my friend was 'with' the dealer so he gave me some too, on request of my friend, his friend whatever. Drugs, all the E I wanted, was right in front of me, like a dispenser, waiting to be sniffed... just waiting, to be put up my nose so I could once again be out of my right mind.
My dad didn’t know what was going on. He thought I was just going over to see my sisters and nephew. But it wasn’t, had nothing to do with that. I wanted to get all sorts of messed up, all sorts... and so I did.
Until almost a year later, I realized what it was doing to my body. One day I could not get any, due to the guy finally got caught and jailed. I was shaking, sweating, paranoid... my body hurt. I wouldn’t eat, I was not hungry. All I wanted was another E pill. So I took my sisters oxycontin and sniffed 3-5 80's that night. Really, the first didn’t do anything, so I did another and another... up my nose they went.
All this time I was juggling this and stress at home, without a woman around and dad working, he needed someone to take care of the animals, turn on the pellet stove, clean, cook etc. I was watching my sister waste away. She was not eating, it took me a while to understand why she thought she was fat and how she got down to 86 pounds (can anyone tell me how? I think I know but I don’t want to believe that my sister had that kind of problem). This sister isn’t the one that beat me, she used to fight with the one that did. She was my saviour and it hurt me so so much to watch her be like that. She got into drugs too and to this day she still struggles with drug addiction.
I reached my 16th birthday and discovered cutting... it was like art to me, watching blood spatter and make a mess, and yes, I liked cleaning my own blood up too. I still struggle with this, as I love to inflict pain on myself. Even a split in my lip,I’ll split it again after just to feel it crack back open. To taste that blood is to taste the warm part of me. Because my heart is blocked by stone, and is very very cold.
Medusa, I am happy to tell you that I no longer struggle with drugs, but depression is an everyday struggle. I don’t want to take pills because I’m REALLY scared it will make it worse. And to the point where I won’t even care if others care if I do die. I don’t believe mine is as deep as others, as I could not bring myself to off myself. I couldn’t do that to my father. I want to die... trust me, I do but I remind myself of my dad, the only parent I have left. My cats (all 3 of them) and my dog. My nieces and nephews that need me. my brothers and sister (that seems to be dying in front of me and claims she’s not on it any more)
Mostly why I am writing this is because I need people to know you can’t let something go and expect it to get better. Mental illnesses do not go away, they get worse. That nagging voice will never shut up unless you make it. Get help... and please, if you think of dying, think of all the people and even your animals that love and need you. Even though our parents are plain rotten sometimes, they should be talked to too. And brought to a conscious level that something is wrong with their child.
Happy holidays every one, God bless everyone’s soul, I really really really wish you the best.
With best and warm regards
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