I went back and forwards whether to post this or not and decided it was time. Seventeen years ago I was destroyed. 16 days shy of the first anniversary of my Mom's death A part of me was ripped away and I stayed quiet for the longest time. Over the years Only a handful of people have been told the story. I kept it to myself out of fear. I let it eat at me and let it destroy me. I remember when my step mom found out. She took me to beaver damn and we both cried. That was several years later. I was never sure whether she believed it or not because after that day we never spoke of it again. But I never forgot. I never will. No matter how hard I try to erase it it's always in the back of my mind. The darkness, the feeling of the cold blade on my neck, the threatening words spoken, and the pain and horror I felt throughout the whole ordeal as I was stripped of what little dignity I had left. Afterwards I was left scared, hurt, and most of all dead inside. I didn't say anything, I became shut-in emotionally, I stopped doing school work. Of course everyone assumed and blamed it on me acting out over losing my mom. This wasn't the case. I became promiscuous and rebellious. I was so emotionally scarred that I constantly wanted to hurt or die. Eventually I began cutting. No one knew. They only know when they see the scars. I guess I was pretty good at hiding it. A little more time passed. I was a teenager and I was horrible. I had no self worth. I just didn't care. One night I ran away. I went to a close friends and was found the next day. The night I returned home I was so distraught and torn inside I made my first suicide attempt over everything. Suicide is something I have learned I am really bad at. I grabbed a bunch of pills from the medicine cabinet and swallowed them. Tears streaming down my face I sat on my bedroom floor among a pile of clothes and fell into a deep sleep. When I begin to fade out I thought that was it. I thought the hurt and pain and thoughts would stop. I don't know how long I was out for but eventually I came to and my parents were calling me to dinner. They had no idea. I do remember that dinner because it was spaghetti. I sat down and starred at my food. For a long time. Too long. Eventually they asked me if I was high. I said no there is something in my food. There wasn't. What ever I took (I'm guessing adderall or something. I had no idea what I grabbed at the time) I remember looking into my bowl and seeing worms. I was extremely high on what ever I took. That was my first attempt to end my life and I was so bad at it that no one knew. I guess really though it makes me lucky? I don't know I don't see it that way. (I am over trying and happier now but still) More time passed but still I remained broken. Life continued to go by and half the time proved to be too much for me. Several times I slumped into serious bouts of depression. I was on medicine for a while but it made things worse or didn't help. I stopped taking it around the time I found myself attempting to hang myself in a closet. Another poor attempt because apparently my old apartment had poorly designed fixtures that were not weight bearing. More time has passed and I still think about that night. It's still there haunting me. Between that, other bad events as a child, losing my mom, and my constant health struggles I find my self frequently battling depression. I mask it as society thinks I should. There is so much more to the story of my life that made me this emotionally scarred. Maybe one day I will put it all out there but for now I feel it's finally time for me to open up at least this door and tell everyone why i hurt the way I do. You never heal from being pushed to the ground and told with a knife pressed against your throat while they have their way to "just be quiet and not say a word or I will kill your entire family" .How the fuck does anyone heal from that? How do you forget? How is it not always at the back of your mind? How do you not let depression consume you? How do you continue every day like nothing happened? How the hell do you ever play manhunt the same again? You don't. You are never the same again. It always hurts. 17 years later and I can still smell the Hawaiian air, taste the dirt on my lips, sense everything as if it were happening at that moment. I know this is a truly sensitive topic. Probably not one you wanted to read or expected to but I assure you it is not something I want to relive each day either but I do. I fight it off most days but on my hardest days it pushes back and I can't close the door on it. I don't want pity from anyone, I just want people to understand why. Why I am consumed by everything often.
I was terrified to post this. How can I look people in the eye after opening up about this? All I will be able to see is pity in their eyes and I'll know they know. I just can't keep it locked away anymore. It's time. 17 years is enough.