Chapter 1: Peachy Keen
Most stories tend to start with things being normal, however, for this one, it is honestly a clusterfuck of bullshit with a little bit of normalcy thrown in to give me the illusion of stability. Even when I was only nine, I remember fun and family activities were never really with just her and us- it was always with somebody else there to motivate her. I sort of had to raise Katie and Kylie on my own at some points. She took care of us technically speaking; she didn’t starve us or anything, she just wasn’t available for the emotional side of being a parent. The parts that kids grow up to remember, unfortunately for us.
One of the best examples of her neglectful care for us was around that time… Me being around age… eight? Nine? It all blurs together at some points, but the point is I was young.
My mom always takes naps, they last a whole ten minutes sometimes, but she’s always tired, maybe she’s sick. Whenever she’s sleeping, she says I get to play house with my sisters and pretend I’m the mom. My favorite is when she drives to the store for candy for us because then I make the rules for extra long. I get to make them lunch and play outside. Sometimes she lets me read them stories before their nap time, which is mommy’s relaxing time, so I get the whole rest of the house to myself. I get to make all the rules, dad never lets me do that. He doesn’t know, mommy said it’s our secret. I hate when she doesn’t get her naps in because then she’s grumpy. She went away for a whole week and she hasn’t taken a nap or been grumpy since she got back, maybe the doctors did surgery and fixed her. She’s even taking us to the park while dad’s at work tomorrow.
It’s been a week now, mommy was going to take us swimming but she said her head hurt too much, and the next day we were supposed to play in the woods but she needed to take a nap, and it was almost time for dinner when she woke up. Dad couldn’t know she was napping again, or he’d make her go away for a long time she said. She tells me I’m a good secret keeper. Maybe tomorrow she will let us go swimming.
Mommy’s been back home for two weeks and her medicine already stopped working, I wish it worked for longer cause I miss when mommy was fun. Mommy loves when I play house with my little sisters, but sometimes I get tired of it. I have to listen to her anyway. She’s better than dad because she doesn’t have any stupid rules. All dad ever does is work, we only get to play with him for a little bit after work and on the weekends.
It wasn’t something that stopped, her shitty “parenting” if you can even call it that, never improved. I was 12 years old popping Klonopin like candy, with her permission of course. Not only was she okay with me taking drugs, but she also fueled my addiction with her prescription. At least she was generous with her pills, however, she had plenty enough to share. She got a script of 90 a month from one doctor and 60 a month from another. She was good at pretending to have illnesses for drugs, and trust me, it’s extremely escalated since then. I don’t know who else she gave them away to, but when she ran out she always found a way to get more. Pills were more important to her than us having new clothes, and undergarments. She cared more about pills than saving money to do fun stuff with my sisters and me. She only ever wanted to be high, and she was so good at hiding it. She had our whole family fooled for years. She lived and still does live a life of lies. She sucks the life out of everyone she’s near. She sucked the life out of me. She had me becoming friends with kids who dealt drugs, It was a messy situation all around, I hung around people much older than me, I did drugs with men almost twice my age, however, usually Nicole was around for that part. At least she didn’t leave me alone with strange men, before the age of 13, I guess that was the cut-off. She decided I was mature enough, old enough, to hang out with men 8 years older than me. Luckily I had someone to protect me. Anthony tried to at least, to help me become my best. He wasn’t much better off than me in regards to a mother and he had a terrible drug problem. We experienced the same things in different ways. It felt like everything I went through, he did before me. Our lives were nowhere near identical. He grew up with his grandfather who fucked him out of his childhood, quite literally. I was addicted to Xanax, but that was nowhere near strong enough for his need to forget. Heroin was his kryptonite, he couldn’t get enough of it, but no matter how high he was, or how dope sick he was because he couldn’t find any, he made sure I was okay, he told me he loved me. Every day, that was the first thing I would hear him say. Our entire lives were straight ahead of us. He was poetic and artistic, and everything he said to me sounded like a quote from a book. He wanted his story heard, and he wanted me to be the one to hear it. It feels like I’m now responsible for telling the world. He never wanted anyone to know him, just who he was. He wasn’t all happy, and nice, he was a total asshole sometimes, I’m not sure that he was even aware. The love we had was one I’ll never forget though.
I’ve dropped my bottle and there’s broken glass on the ground now. I guess that’s what I get for being lost in these thoughts. It cut my leg but I can’t feel it. The glass reminds me of him. It reminds me of the night all of us got drunk and they were smashing glass bottles on the concrete. He screams “whoever runs through it gets $20 and this” as he’s holding a ½ empty bottle of rum. And some other guy told him he’d give home $100.00 to do it. So he runs through the things, falls, and has glass stuck from his feet to his knees. I’ll never forget that smell, blood, and vodka. I spent damn near two hours pulling glass out of his legs and feet and bandaging them up.
Chapter 2: July Summer 2017
Today had to have been the best day of my life. Anthony took me to our spot, and we talked for hours, about nothing and everything, as always. We’re getting sober together. We’re going to do it. We promised. Today marks 1 day clean. Weed is an exception because fuck quitting that. I would do anything to make this man happy. I’ve known for a long time that he loves me, but today made me realize how much I truly love him too. I’m happy with him. My life is chaotic right now, but he’s my calm. He’s my peace. I can’t wait for the day we never have to leave each other again.
August 11 summer 2017
We’ve been sober for a month today. I want to go to this back to school party but Anthony is being a little bitch about it. I’ll convince him to go.
August 12 summer 2017
He died. On purpose. I made him go to the party and he overdosed. I thought he was just drunk. We cuddled on the porch swing until he fell over into my lap. He laid in my lap for 20 minutes before I knew. He had no pulse. He left a note in my back pocket. I can’t bring myself to look at it. I want to get rid of it.
My god damn room is a mess. Today marks 3 years since I lost the love of my life. I’m already drunk and it’s only 10 a.m. and of course, I, the drug addict, would take pills on a day like today. He would be so disappointed, but it’s finally come the time I read his suicide note, it’s finally the day, I’ve worked up the courage, I can do it. I need to do it. I must lock my door again, I can’t have another interruption. The door could’ve become unlocked. It’s locked, I’ve re-locked it twice now. I never imagined sitting on my bed, reading his note, his last words, whilst I’m a high and drunk mess. You’ll have that though, one of the greatest things Nicole ever taught me was to mask my feelings with drugs. I owe it to him. To read his last words. His voice still deserves to be heard.
Katrina,
I’m so sorry. I can’t keep doing this. I still kneel in the shower, and put my face down, letting the water puddle in my hands as if they could grow big enough to protect me from myself. The pain hits me randomly, it’s like I know I have lungs and I must be able to breathe, but I can’t, the air refuses to come. To this day, I get flashbacks, and I hate the feeling. It’s not normal. These are things you can’t forget. You want to rot because it’s better than being beat than being hurt. I have trouble believing anyone when they tell me they love me, but it’s easier with you. You told me I was your happiness and I gave you butterflies. My depression, my struggle, and my addiction gave you the determination to fight to make me happy. I’m sorry, but things are getting bad again. I should have never begun putting you through my pain. I don’t want help, I don’t want you to kill yourself fighting to save me, and I know you would if I didn’t stop you. You may not see it, and I doubt you will agree, but I’m doing what’s best. You have given me the greatest possible love, you have so much going for you, and you’re still so full of life, don’t lose that. Stay clean for me. I can’t fight anymore. Maybe that makes me a coward, but being a coward to the world is better than the pain that never leaves me, I’m tired of living in my hell. My eyes are full of tears writing this, and I can barely read. I owe my temporary feelings of joy to you. Anyone who knows me knows that if someone out there was going to save me, it would have been you. I can’t go on showering you in my pain, I can see the hurt in your eyes when you look at me. I hurt you because I’m so hurt I don’t know how to breathe anymore. If I die tonight, know that it’s for the best. Know that I haven’t truly been alive in a long time, that’s if I ever was at all. Don’t ruin yourself over me. Tell yourself what we had wasn’t real. Repeat to yourself that I never really loved you until you believe it. I treated you like a project, I manipulated you. Fool yourself into hating me. Because you’re going to see me in every single person. You’ll see some piece of me In everyone you meet. I know you, you’re going to look for me, whether you know you are or not, you’re going to seek me. If all of the words you said were true, you’re never going to give up looking for someone like me, you won’t find him. Find someone better. Find someone who fulfills you. You deserve a man who gives you the world even when he is falling apart. You deserve a love that doesn’t end, I want you to have those feelings again. I’m begging you not to look for me, I’m gone. I’m sorry that you’re never going to stop seeing pieces of me. Look for the good qualities, but I’m sure you’ll find the bad ones too. You’ll find my sense of humor in every funny movie, and all the chick flicks will remind you of our love. You’ll find my eyes in the face of a stranger and you’ll see my smile on little kids playing at the park. I’ll always be here for you whether I’m physically present or not. I was never sober. I told you I was because I knew if I got you started I could live with myself for leaving.
In reading this I thought I’d feel relieved, possibly ready to let the last of him go. But now I’m lost, more so than before. Now I’m angry, not with him, but with the world. You can’t hate someone for killing themselves, but you can hate the world for making them do it. You can hate the god or goddess or gods or goddesses you do or don’t believe in for letting it happen. I want to hate him, but I can’t because he’s not here, he took away my power to hate him, and so now I hate everything else. I hate everyone else. He wasn’t lying when he said I would see him in everyone. I see his good qualities somewhere in everyone, I see his bad qualities in every bad person but, I see him in everyone. It’s like when he died he became the universe, the universe swallowed him whole and he left a part of him in everyone. He picked who got his best qualities as if he knew I would find them. I do see his smile on the little kids playing at the park. I see his eyes in the only other man I’ve ever truly loved, they’re not the same, but the feelings in them are similar. I find his humor in every comedy. Sometimes I think maybe what he said was true, that he’d always be there for me whether physically present or not, because sometimes, on some of my worst days, I feel him. For just a minute, I can let myself pretend he isn’t gone. I can let myself pretend he never left this earth. Then my whole world comes crashing right back down. He swore to me he was sober. He promised. I think he only lied so I would be okay. I resent him for telling me to hate him. Because I can’t hate him, I want to so badly, but It’s impossible. Any pain he put me through was nothing compared to how he felt.
That’s enough about him for now, as we’re going to have to re-open that discussion later. Peach vodka sounds fantastic right now, I’ll have a whipped pinnacle and peach smoothie. I could not have possibly made it any stronger than it is. Thank god for mind-altering substances, because quite frankly, I would be dead without them.
Nicole, if you’re reading this, how did you do what you did? How were you content with yourself in the way you raised my sisters and me? Did you plan it all, or did you just go with the flow and lie when necessary? You never left a bruise, hell, you never even hit us. You scarred us permanently though, my sisters may not see it yet, but I do. Instead of giving us scars that would heal physically and show your crimes, you gave us invisible ones. The ones that people will deny us having for the rest of our lives. The ones that will always haunt us when we see you. You gave us scars that we can’t get covered up with a pretty tattoo. You may not have hurt them as badly as me, but they don’t deserve your games. I don’t want them to experience even half of what I did.
Her games have left me empty, shallow, broken, and confused. I’m not confused about what she did or who she is, I’m confused about why. Why wasn’t I good enough to deserve her love and compassion? What did I do so wrong? Why was I the one chosen to take on her role and try to fix my own life, and protect myself from someone who was supposed to protect and love me? I was forced to grow up so she could go backward. She wanted to live vicariously through me as if she wanted to become me. Everything I did, she did too. All the drugs I did, she just had to try, sometimes do them with me. Nothing was too far for her. She never told my dad though, “don’t let your father find out” she would constantly imbed that into my head, it got to the point where I had become two people. One for my mother and one for my father. I remember breaking down one day, crying to myself because I felt like no one knew me and I didn’t know who I was, and it was at that moment that I lost my sense of self. I’ll probably never know who I am, or why. I have no clue who I want to be. I don’t know how to become someone for myself, I’ve learned to feel as if I must adapt to everyone else.
Nicole told me everything and I mean everything. You may think, “oh that’s not so bad, she’s being open.” Perhaps there are some things you should never tell your children. Some people should never be parents.
She loved to tell me how she was going to be so lost and sad when her “babies”(children all over the age of 10) leave her(by this she meant to grow up and go to school). How she liked sleeping around with all kinds of different men because it was fun and she was good at manipulating them. She told me about her sexual experiences and I wish she wouldn’t have sometimes. She told me all kinds of things about her sex life, even asked for my commentary on the experience. Then later she changed many of her stories and said she was raped which had made me feel responsible if that’s what had happened because I knew so maybe I should have known. She told me about the men she was dating and even introduced me to some, made sure I knew them well. Her 38-year-old boyfriend talked dirty to me, and the 36-year-old boyfriend did drugs with me, while we were living with him. He was a big mess, but not abusive. However, as soon as she got tired of him she claimed he beat her. She claimed he was abusive so that everyone would pity her. But, she was a liar. He never hurt her. I would have seen it, I would have known. Once again, she had made me question my entire life.
I know about everyone she hates though there aren’t many. Now whether it was authentic or a horrible attempt at making me feel sympathy for her, I truly didn’t know. I hate knowing everything and having been forced to be her diary, being forced to let her live through me, but she changed me to be what her idea of a kid was. It wasn’t a kid at all. She refused to fix any of her problems, no matter how hard I tried to help her, she just wanted to be responsibility-free forever, and I got in the way of that, so she made me her excuse to act like a child. She forced herself to puke and bragged about it. Talking about how much weight she could lose and how quickly. It gave me my sort of eating disorder of feeling strong or like I achieved something by how much I was able to puke up. Still to this day, it’s some stupid competition in my head. Drugs are her favorite, they were then too. At Least then it was just Benzos, weed, and hallucinogens. I was the only one who knew, that was stressful, keeping that secret. She constantly made me be someone I wasn’t, and she forced me to be someone else for my dad. But I never did know who I was. There was “party secret keeper” me and there was “the most innocent child to exist” me, but I never knew who “me” was without being forced to put on an act one way or another.
Chapter 3: The worst of you
You broke my heart, but I should have known it was coming. It was too often that I looked into your pretty green-blue ocean eyes just to find them glazed over in a drug-induced haze. The last month with you made up for the years of torture. The torture of not knowing where you were or who you were with. Watching you burst into nothing but rage because you couldn’t find your next fix. I never wanted anything but to save you. And when you offered to be sober so long as I was, of course, I took you upon it. I thought you meant it, though I always had my doubts. 3 am is when most of our story was told. You called me every morning at 3, without a doubt, I could always expect that.
July 21st, 2017.
Time 3:00 am
I wake up in your arms and lay there silently as I’m sure you dream peaceful dreams that match the calm state of your face, I still see the shadow of mental exhaustion under your eyes. I breathe slowly, as to not disrupt your sweet dreams. I love you.
July 22nd, 2017
Time 3:00 am
You open your beautiful ocean blue-green eyes to start the beginning of your new adventure. Our fingers intertwined, our eyes locked as if we couldn’t look away. I couldn’t ask for a better feeling. I love you.
July 23rd, 2017
Time 3:00 am
The scent of chocolate fills the room. It happens to be your favorite drink, surprisingly, hot chocolate, a drink no one would expect someone like you to like. A half-smile spreads across your face, the smile that tells me at this moment you’re happy. I love you.
July 24th, 2017
Time 3:00 am
I hold you close, but maybe not close enough, feeling the warmth and comfort of your body against mine made me happy though. You make me feel complete. I love you.
July 25th, 2017
Time 3:00 am
You wake me up with a small forehead kiss. You seem to be happy today. That makes me smile. I love you.
July 26th, 2017
Time 3:00 am
The ring sits perfectly on my finger. With it, I promise you I’ll be okay, and I’ll follow our dreams. You have to leave soon, but I don’t want you to leave. I never do. I love you.
August 5th, 2017
Time 3:00 am
You’re restlessly tossing and turning, I’m sure you haven’t slept yet, you’re still withdrawing. I lean over and put my arm across you and place my body against yours. I worry because I wake up to the sound of you crying every time we sleep together. I try to pull you into me and you rest your head on my chest and quietly sob, pretending you’re just sleeping so I won’t notice. You’re stuck in this terrible life. I’m sorry. I love you.
August 6th, 2017
Time 3:00 am
Laying on the couch. I could see you staring at the wall, I felt you caressing my hand, softly. You kiss my cheek softly and then give me a warm smile. I see the pain in your eyes. It shatters my soul more every single second I look at you. You have to leave again soon. I want you to stay with me. I love you.
August 7th, 2017
Time 3:00 am
You look like you’ve been crying for hours. I’m afraid you’re not okay again. I know you won’t tell me. I love you
August 8th, 2017
Time 3:00 am
you tell me that you don’t want to get out of bed today. You tell me that you love me and that you’re gonna be okay. I should know better but I believe you because I want to. I love you.
August 9th, 2017
Time 3:00 am
You look like you’re on drugs again, but you won’t tell me that. Your face is pale and you’re always shivering. I love you.
August 10th, 2017
Time 3:00 am
I have yet to see you smile. You look at me over video chat and I know that you’re fighting it, you can’t wait to congratulate me on one month of sobriety, and I can’t wait to congratulate you. In-person. Your kisses are always soft but lately, they have a chill to them. The warmth from you has disappeared, I’m worried that you want drugs again. You told me “I’ll always be here for you whether I’m physically present or not.” That makes me feel better. Maybe a party will cheer you up, I have a surprise planned for you tonight. I love you.
August 11, 2017
Time 6:00 am
You died at 1:53 am
I tried to wake you up but you didn’t stir. The party went silent. The pain in my chest is excruciating. I shook you and your rubber-banded bag fell to the floor. I hugged you harder as if it could bring you back. There wass nothing I could do but cry. 15 minutes later I dialed 9-1-1 but I couldn’t speak, I cried so hard that no sound could even come out anymore. The sobs were so quiet they were loud. The ambulance got there, they put you on a stretcher. At first, I refused to let go of you, holding onto your hand, hugging your body with mine as if I could give you the life in me. It was so cold. D.O.A. I love you… The bed feels empty with you gone. The couch feels too big without you next to me. And the porch swing looks like a grave. I can’t go to the party house anymore. My hands feel cold without yours in them. I cried all night. The tears stopped coming out after a while, but I still sobbed. Your scent fills my nose and I cry more. I could have saved you. I’m empty without you. I should have known better. Your last words haunt me. I’m not sober anymore, I’m sorry. The note you left, I don’t think I can ever read it. I love you.
August 3rd, 2018
Time 3:00 am
I had a dream about you. You looked so happy, your wings matched your darkness. But Seeing your smile, your real one, made me feel good, so good that you are no longer only a dark spot in my memory.
August 5th, 2018
Time 3:00 am
I made your favorite, hot chocolate, and a bacon peanut butter sandwich. I wish you had a grave, but they turned you to ash and put you god knows where. Even though you aren’t here, the universe still reminds me of you. Even though I know you won’t be waking up this time. I love you.
August 10th, 2018
Time 3:00 am
I went to our spot today. I cried when I got home, I hurt so bad. I miss you more than anything. I love you. It’s almost been a year.
August 11th, 2018
Time 3:00 am
The first anniversary of losing you. I refuse to accept that you’re gone. Just tell me you’re coming for me. Tell me you’re in some 3rd world country just hiding out like we always talked about, and you’re gonna come find me when I’m 18. I want this to all be a bad dream.
August 12th, 2018
Time 3:00 am
It’s getting too hard to sleep. I slept in one of your t-shirts. It smelled just like your favorite cologne. I held it just like I would have held you. I love you. I miss you.
August 13th, 2018
Time 3:00 am
Your mom called to make sure I was okay, your parents are back in New England now. They miss you, it hurt to hear her cry. I guess she did love you in her way. I love you.
August 14th, 2018
Time 3:00 am
I’m going crazy without you. This isn’t allowed to be real. I miss you. I miss your smell. I want you back. I love you.
August 15th, 2018
Time 3:00 am
I visited our spot again yesterday. Remember what you told me? “I’ll always be here for you whether I’m physically present or not”. Those words haunt me, you spoke them the day before you left me forever. I should have known. I wish I knew. Maybe then I could have saved you. I love you.
August 16th, 2018
Time 3:00 am
I can’t stand being without you anymore. I love you.
August 11th, 2019
Time 3:00 am
It’s been two years. I miss you more than I ever thought was humanly possible. Please come back. I think I’m in love again. It scares me, but I know you’d like him.
August 12th, 2019
Time 3:00 am
No one gets that you weren’t the best thing in the universe, that you were an asshole sometimes, you weren’t always a good person. But you were good. You made life something more than it was and you showed me who I could be. You showed me who I am, in your own fucked up way that included you dying. And for that, I owe you.
August 3rd, 2020
Time 3:00 am
I’ve finally read the note you left me. I read it over and over. I’m crying so much writing this I can’t even see. Come back. I miss you. I love you.
August 5th, 2020
Time 3:00 am
Why did you have to go and do that? This all must be a fucking joke. I love you.
August 8th, 2020
Time 3:00 am
The day that marks 3 years since you left me is coming up quickly. I don’t want it to come. I don’t want it to happen. I don’t want to accept this. I miss our talks at our spot. I love you.
August 11th, 2020
Time 1:53 am
It’s been 3 years. Today is terrible. Come back. I love you.
I guess your anger is just as much a part of your story as your love. You loved me, that much everyone who knew you knew, but you had a funny way of showing it sometimes. The drugs clouded your memory, or at least you wanted me to think they did. Like the time you shot at someone who stole off of you. Your excuse was being high, but not until you knew how much it scared me. I’m not sure what you thought would happen had you shot him, but I don’t think you cared regardless. Maybe you always knew what you were doing, and you were too tired to control yourself. No matter what, a part of me will always be infatuated with you and a piece of my heart will always belong to you. Our story is one I can never forget, but as time goes on I see more flaws, I find more wrongdoings, and I learn to love you less.
Chapter 4
How have we gotten to this point? I woke up today in a great mood, but of course, Nicole couldn’t allow that. It’s been months since I spoke to her, but she’s pinned my best friend and his mother against me. She and her so-called husband say I told them I was going to turn them in. My best friend who deals drugs, and his mother who condones it and takes part. I know what you’re thinking, why the fuck are you, friends, with these people? Quite frankly, I don’t know, I guess I always have been. My best friend, Aaron, was the first guy I ever had a crush on. He was the only person who showed up to my 13th birthday party and he never did me wrong. He took my weed virginity, and he stuck up for me. He didn’t let kids bully me, though they sure tried. He didn’t back down, sometimes it felt like he was the only person on my side. If it weren’t for him my middle school experience would not have been nearly as mediocre as it was. At some points in life, he was all I had, and still, to this day, I can go to him with whatever and he does his best to help. Though, ever since Nicole started her bullshit and I told the police about her abuse, she has been trying to sway him to take her side. She’s good at doing that, she knows how to manipulate just about anyone. She had our entire family fooled for years, had them convinced she wasn’t a terrible person or on drugs.
I guess now is a good time to bring up Josh, the man who took my virginity, if you want to put it that nicely. By that I mean the 19-year-old who forcibly had sex with 13-year-old me, whilst I was high on pills in Victoria’s closet. Victoria was my BFF, we did everything together, mostly drugs. Sometimes random friends of friends would stay at her house, and one time we made a huge mistake. I still remember the feeling, being dragged from bed and onto the ground, through the closet doors. I can still hear how loud the sliding door shut. I remember how it felt, my clothes being ripped off of me, sloppily and just good enough for him to get to where he wanted. He clasped his hand around my throat to keep me pinned down as if I wasn’t already paralyzed by the pills he offered me. Surely I took them, I was too high to know better. I didn’t feel anything, but that was the torture of it. I knew what was happening, and I was unable to stop it. My body was motionless, but he got off on it. His evil grin and cold eyes are permanently ingrained in my brain, I’ll never forget his face because that’s all I could look at. I’ll never forget it because I’m forced to remember. Good thing I never felt it, I’m sure that would be a whole other nightmare. I’m sure you’re wondering how this relates to Nicole, but let me tell you, I told her about the invasion of my body, and she doubted me. I told her what happened and she told me I was wrong. She told me I wasn’t that high, I could have stopped it if I didn’t want it. She told me I wanted it. I the 13-year-old, of course, believed my mom, only to figure out it was sexual assault 2 years later. Nicole of course did absolutely nothing, as per usual. She could have saved me that night. I called her, I wanted to go home because I didn’t feel safe and I thought I was too high, she came and saw me, she told all the people there I was fine, even went as far as saying I was faking it. Maybe she’s the reason I got raped that night, maybe he took my silence as consent because he thought I was sober. Maybe he was rough because he thought my silence meant I liked it. Maybe I only imagined saying stop, perhaps it never came out of my mouth. Or perhaps my pleas to stop convinced him to continue. How could I know anyways? I was in a drug-fueled haze, maybe I remember wrong and I never said stop. I guess that’s the downfall of getting high, you never know what happened. Everything is foggy and the details are blurry. It’s like trying to remember a dream after you wake up, you wonder what happened and the longer you’re awake the blurrier the memory gets. The longer you’re sober, the blurrier your high adventures become. Just because I’ve been thinking about this long enough to write it down, anxiety is jolting through my veins. It starts at the back of my throat, pushing its way up from the inside out, a sting that becomes so much more. The line between what is fear and what is real is becoming blurrier by the second. It feels as if my words are stuck in my throat, stopping me from screaming, from letting my feelings out. This is my brain’s way of telling me my words aren’t worth much right now, quite frankly it’s not wrong. He tore my soul to pieces as my pleas ran through his mind as “convince me” “keep going” “I like it”. I can still see his cold, hungry eyes in my dreams sometimes. Imagining his face sends shivers down my spine as I continually play what he did to me over and over again as if something could change the more I think into it. He broke me, crushed my being, my soul, and outright stole my voice. I can’t possibly continue to look at myself in disgust over this man, because it is he who should rot, not me. I’m worth more than becoming the perfect victim, I choose to be a victor. Sometimes I don’t think I can do it, my motivation is wanting to be further in life than anyone who has ever hurt me, and I’m already there.
Chapter 5: The Man Who Loved Me Once
The man who loved me once, the one who broke my heart into pieces. Leo tore me to pieces, but I thought I was in love with him. It took a month in a psychiatric facility to conclude that he never loved me. I was 15 with a 21-year-old man. He convinced me it was okay along with Nicole constantly praising me for it. “Damn haha you are just like me”
February 3rd, 2018
I told him to stop, I told him no. I told him I didn’t want to do this. I begged and pleaded but that meant nothing to him. He didn’t stop, he didn’t understand “no”, my begs and pleads for him to stop rang through his ears as “convince me”. His right hand roamed my body, It made me shiver. His left hand went between covering my mouth to shut me up, and pushing me back up against the brick wall. He kissed my lips roughly to silence me, pushing me hard against the wall. His fingers scratched into my skin, making me squirm. I couldn’t move much though, the pills he put in my drink prevented me from doing that, what a lovely redo of the last man who hurt me. This one at least did not do it with people around, though it was dark, we were in a public place. He called me baby girl and told me “I am going to fuck you so good”. I showered 3 times today, and no one questioned it. I did not eat anything for a few days, and no one questioned it. Maybe you did not mean to hurt me, maybe you thought I liked it. I still love you.
February 27th, 2018
He hit me today, it’s not the first time. Hell, it is not even the second or third time, honestly, I have lost count. He loves me. He apologized and then we cuddled and watched a movie. He will change, I know I can fix him. He never means to hurt me. He is a good man and people do not want to try to understand. I have to cover the bruises, good thing it is winter and I can wear a hoodie every day. He makes me sad but he does not mean it. He loves me and I know it.
March 15th, 2018
Today he took me to meet his parents. I had to lie and say I was 18. I pretended I was in college. He made me. He just did not want his parents to give him shit like they always do. He said it was fine that we had an age difference. I trust him, I would do anything for him. I love him.
March 28th, 2018
Today he tried to drown me. It was my fault. I remember passing out and waking up with no clothes. I guess he put them in the dryer because they were wet. He wasn’t himself when he did it, I am sure there is just something going on mentally. I can fix him. I can help him. I know he loves me. I know he can get help, I want to help him.
April 3, 2018
I saw him today, our visit was cut short because Nicole wanted me to come home. She knows about him and me, she just missed me because I have been at friends’ houses and with Leo all week. He was pretty mean today, he grabbed me by the throat and I am beginning to think that he needs more help than I can give him. My throat is sore and it is bruised on the side. I will have to wear my hair down. He loves me so much that the pain is worth it. I do not want to lose him. The way he strokes my hair and holds me, while he is apologizing after he has done something that harmed me is so sweet. I love it when he buys me flowers and sometimes he is good for a while. The pain is worth it for the love.
April 8th, 2018
He raped me. He put a glass bottle inside of me, and my vagina bled. He got me drunk, and we started making out, then he fucked me, relentlessly, roughly. He bruised me. In between my legs. My dad picked me up, it was the worst experience of my life.My dad had no clue something happened. I still love him and I do not want to anymore. I am being punished for it because Nicole will not tell my dad she knew everything. I am being punished for being raped. I am broken. I need help.
April 24th, 2018
I spent nearly a month in a psychiatric facility, it has helped me a lot. My roommate was awesome. I had a nurse in there, a youngish, beautiful, and kind African American woman, she is the reason I am still alive. I am so grateful to have met that woman and another one of the therapists there. It has helped me so incredibly much. I hate that I am still being punished for being raped because I was not, not allowed there. I had permission. I did not do anything without my mom’s permission, yet she and my dad punished me for being raped. As in it was my fault. As if I did it to myself. How was I supposed to know any better with Nicole telling me it was okay? I have grown to hate my dad, I make sure he knows it and I feel no remorse for what I say. He sucks and I wish I was just with my mom. I still love Leo, but he never loved me, except once.
I have grown so much since then. I used to think so highly of Nicole. I thought it was awesome to have a mom that helps you sneak around and break rules. I thought so highly of her and I wanted to be exactly like her. I wanted to smoke and drink and be high all of the time because I thought it was so cool. I thought it was normal at that. I just could not realize that she was no good. My dad was the only one who wanted what was best for me, and still to this day he does. He was the one who saw how poorly I was doing and made an effort towards getting me better. He did not even know half of it and from the time he found out and forward, he gave me all of the acceptance and care and love I needed. I regret ever being so mean to him. I know you are wondering what the hell I said to him, so I will make a list.
-I hate you
-You are a terrible dad
-I will never speak to you again
-You are the reason I am so messed up
-I never want to see you again, you suck and I fucking hate you, don’t you dare tell me to watch my mouth, you don’t get to tell me what to do because you aren’t my dad anymore {then I called him by his first name}
-I do not want you in my life
I hate myself for the things I said to my dad. He is one of the kindest, most caring, and genuinely good human beings I know. He does everything he can to make sure my sisters and I can have what we want. He has a job therefore a steady income. He gets us any reasonable thing we want. I am so lucky to have a dad like him because not everyone gets a good dad, I love my dad. He and I finally have an amazing father, daughter relationship and I feel so much better. I wish I never said those hurtful awful things to him, I wish that Nicole never ingrained my brain with lies about him making him seem bad. Now my sisters are saying very similar but even meaner hurtful things to my dad. He does so well for them and they hate him because Nicole is good at brainwashing.
Dad, if you are reading this, I want you to know, it was never your fault for anything that happened. You could not have known, Nicole manipulates well. I love you and you are an awesome dad.
My mind is in a muddle. I can not seem to think straight for some reason. Nicole manipulated me so much I question my trauma. She told my dad and me that I faked being raped so I would not be in trouble. When I went to the party, she said it was real for a while, until it was no longer convenient for her to use. “My poor baby, I feel so bad seeing my daughter shower 5 times a day”. Then when it was not getting her attention anymore, she said I was lying.
I wish I knew what to do with the thoughts that are flooding my brain right now. Once you become happy, and you come to be at peace with yourself, you can be okay. However, your demons stick with you forever. Once an addict, always an addict, but that does not make you a bad person. It shows how strong you are when you get sober. Your demons follow you, but you can restrain them, you can imprison them and throw them into the back of your brain. That alone makes you a survivor. Being a victim of rape and having PTSD is just the same. It is hard to suppress the memories, and it is even harder to work through them, but it is possible, I know it is because I am doing it. Your demons follow you, you have to realize that they do not own you.
Nicole is part of the reason I am mentally ill. I hate her for that. I hate her for many things. I wish her the worst. However, I am not going to let her win. I do not hate her, I hate what she did, I hate the way she groomed me into her idea of a good daughter. I hate how she manipulated me into believing my dad was no good, and he drank too much and he ignored us on the weekends for shooting/hunting. I regret not letting my dad have a relationship with me for years. She is not winning this one. I hate everything she did, but I will leave it to someone else to hate her because I am sure other people do.
I have always been in love with Leo, but as time passes by, I realize that nothing he did was good or okay. He was only ever “nice” to manipulate me. I wish I had known then what I know now. I am slowly getting over him and trying to ignore the intrusive thoughts about him. He was like a drug, and I got addicted.
My current boyfriend is amazing, and I could not have asked for someone better.
Chapter 6: This Is Today
Hypomania can be nice, I was hypomanic for like a month, keyword fucking “was”. I’d like to clear the misconception that mania means you’re happy, it doesn’t. I can’t be confrontational right now because no matter what it’s about I’m approaching it like a fight even if you’re approaching it like a discussion. It’s one hell of a fucking high and if you’ve ever done hard drugs you know that it’s usually not good the whole time you’re on a binge after a week or so. You know it’s more intense the more you do and the less you can function. Mania is such an intense thing that it makes you feel like you are on drugs when you aren’t, and as someone who used to do a lot of them, that’s scary, because it brings back so many memories, and for me, that fuels the mania more, it is just feeding the fire. Okay, so imagine like a 2-month long drug binge or drinking (alcohol) binge with the given random withdrawals and mood swings, The comedowns, and the intense parts where you think you’re on top of the world and life could not possibly get better.. Okay? Now imagine having no control over when you feel like you’re coming down when you feel high or drunk when you feel hungover when you are high or drunk at all. Imagine 24/7 constant torture of not knowing what’s next. Don’t fucking romanticize mania, don’t romanticize this. Here I am, in my bathtub, with a bottle of cheap vodka that tastes more like the smell of hand sanitizer than any alcohol at all, and I’m on 2 bars of Xanax (I was coming up on a year sober). Here I am, hot water pouring onto my trembling body in hope that it will ease my trembling, it feels like I’ve been in here for days and it’s only been hours, yet all of my tears are gone. I’ve drained myself of tears and I can’t seem to cry anymore. It’s just a dull sob, heavy breathing, shaky hands, a blotchy face, and a trembling body. You think my symptoms would be numbed but I feel like they’re more lifelike now. I feel trapped within them, as if they own me, just like he owned me. I wish I could say he never did but for a while there I was stuck in his abyss. I haven’t slept in way too fucking long. Yes, I am on meds, no they are not working. I’m talking to my psychiatrist as soon as I can. Last night and these past few hours(it’s 3:48 a.m.) have been terrible, I’ve been up talking and pacing and shaking and crying all night in utter paranoia full of what I’m self-aware enough to know are only delusions, going from laughter to crying excessively to panic attacks that feel like the end of the world, to pouring my heart out to a girl I’ve been friends with for a week and telling her all of my trauma(shout out to you dude thank you) to trying to buy fucking animals(specifically a monkey) off of the Internet. Even though I only collectively have $6.00. Mania is embarrassing yourself publicly or even just within your household and not fucking remembering what you did or how you did it or why. Mania is bad life choices and excessive cleaning and exhaustion and impulsivity, for example: “wanna get drunk” yeah I’m drunk rn but sure why not. “Wanna have sex?” Yeah okay “ I don’t have a condom” that’s cool just pull out or don’t I don’t care. Mania is hurting the people you love because they can see how lost you are and how broken you are and how you can’t see that you need help. Mania is researching, stalking, fucking obsessively trying to find your abuser/rapist on the internet because you’re curious as to how he’s doing. Mania is trying to convince everyone around you that you’re fine because you want to be fine because you don’t want it to happen again until you’re so not fine you can’t avoid it anymore. Sometimes you just get stuck in fucking mania and you can’t get out. Sometimes you get hypomanic and start a book then as it progresses into mania you write more and more *cough* me *cough*.
Life has never exactly been easy, and I’ve always had difficulties concluding that nothing that’s happened is my fault, and truly it is not. However, blaming myself has always been easier than blaming everyone else. In complete honesty, Nicole ruined so much of my life and damaged my psyche. The way I view the world will never be innocent, my innocence is gone and I’m not sure I could get it back if I tried to. How much of my life would have been different had I not been an addict? What if Nicole never was abusive? What if I was never raped? What if I did fewer drugs? What if I never told my dad about Nicole? I could go on with the questions, but that probably won’t get us anywhere. It’s funny to think of who I could have become. Maybe I would be a sheltered little bitch with no sense of humor or sense of self. Maybe I would still to this day be a drug addict. The what if’s don’t matter, because they are simply that, what if’s. They don’t mean anything, but my past means everything. I don’t hold grudges against anyone for anything, I try not to hate, but I do strongly dislike Nicole. I do wish she wasn’t such a raging bitch. I wish she could just stop being a piece of shit. I wish my life wasn’t destroyed, yet I am beyond thankful for how beautifully broken I am.
I’ll have such loud intrusive thoughts that they feel like voices. It’s like there are two people in my head sometimes 3 or 4, constantly talking over one another, and then me trying to get them to stop long enough for me to hear myself think. I will also have snippets of words, phrases, phantom sounds, or music. I begin to hear whole words, phrases, even random sounds, and parts of songs. Sometimes I don’t even know the songs. “Just shut up, no one likes you”
“do it anyway, don’t be a pussy”
“they’ll think you’re crazy, be careful who you tell”
“secret secret secret”
“stop thinking about him”
“don’t stop thinking about it”
I’m sure the thoughts, the voices I’m hearing don’t sound all that terrible, but they are. You’re probably wondering why I let them bother me.
Just imagine constantly hearing the same things over and over and over and instead of letting the voice become a redundant muttering, it becomes more meaningful every time you hear it. They become more hurtful. They become louder with every waking breath. This form of existence is painful. The world wants me to be the same thing I want to be, but I don’t know if this is even me.
I struggle a lot with that. It makes me feel like I led two lives and honestly you’re one of the only people who heard about a lot of my “high adventures” I’ll call them, and I do apologize for telling you about me doing drugs and stuff, you were too young to be hearing about that(you aren’t too young now). However, because I am an addict I’ve made a lot of mistakes. And I did drugs to cope with my existence and how secret I had to keep anything that had to do with Nicole.
The voices in my head won’t shut up. They scream and yell, and go in circles taking turns talking, seeing who can be the loudest. My head is constantly racing. There is constantly something going on in my head. I just want it all to stop. The only things to drown them out are drugs. Maybe I will start taking benzos again, that calmed them last time.
I’ve experienced death a lot in my life. I’ve seen it happen. I’ve been in hospitals and watched it happen. I’ve seen people overdose. My best friend and boyfriend of 6 years died in front of me
and I sobbed into his chest for what felt like forever begging him to come back waiting for an ambulance to come. I watched a truck crash on Friday. He crashed into a tree so he wouldn’t hit the car in front of him, and the man was in horrible condition, bleeding from his head, nearly covered in blood, his head was stuck in the dashboard. Death is horrible and even having it happen right in front of me, even having held a dead person, and having seen people die, I still don’t understand why. I don’t get why people die and I don’t understand death. What I don’t get is why someone would take their own life, not having any understanding what death is and how it affects the people around them. I’m at peace with death and dying, but that’s all the hallucinogens I’ve done. It’s all of the trips I’ve gone on. It’s not normal to be okay with death. It’s just sad. Life is sad but death is even worse because once you die you’re gone forever. You don’t get a second chance, you don’t get to say goodbye, and you’ll never be able to see anyone you love again. You’ll never get to do anything again. You’re just gone, you become nothingness. It’s beautiful when you’re old and it’s your time, but it’s immensely sad when you’re young and you still have an entire life to live. Like I said Death is a hard topic and I’m very at peace with dying, I understand it. I just don’t understand why good people die when they have a whole life left to live. I hate seeing young people go. When old people die of natural causes it’s peaceful and usually painless so I can comprehend and deal with that. It’s just so hard seeing young good people go, especially when it’s on their own free will because they’re sad and broken or in a complete accident that shouldn’t have happened.
A note to you, knowing you’ll never fucking read it:
You just wanted to be numb
You appeared in my life that day
But I had known you in many, many lives, and each one a different way
My heart broke for you because I knew you just wanted to escape your mind
It started with some pills;
But those got hard to find
You wore long sleeves in the summer and expected no one to notice the trails of bruises on your arms when we swam in the river
You wore hoodies in 80-degree weather and still, you would shiver;
It wasn’t hard to figure out, it didn’t take much skill
I begged you, baby please stop, heroin can kill
You refused to stop
Even on your worst days, you made sure I knew how much you loved me
Why did the end of our story have to be so tragic?
Your life was party till you drop and never stop
You died in my arms, I felt your heartbeat slow until I couldn’t feel it any longer
And I’m that moment my world came to an end
The pause in the time left a void in my soul
I won’t let them romanticize your addiction
I won’t let them romanticize your death
Not for slicing your skin open with your razor and swearing it was just the cat
Not for injecting drugs into your skin
Not for no one seeing your downfall, and how the shell of the person you could be would sleep for 16 hours a day for months on end
It’s so hard for me to not be overwhelmed with hate
Ending your life was a huge fucking mistake.
I would not want to live a life without pain, as easy as that would make things, and as much therapy as it would save me, the pain made me who I am. As much as I miss you, I think pain and suffering can teach the correct people valuable lessons, not everyone’s minds are strong enough to endure life-changing psychological pain, but those who are, we are the lucky ones. Whatever in your life is bad for you and all of the things that tear you down could very well be somebody else’s heaven and inspiration to do better and whatever in your life is good, whatever makes you happy could help create someone else’s hell, it could tear them down. Somebody will always have it worse and somebody will always have it better, than you. That is just how the world works. You can not compare your situation to mine, or your mothers or the man you saw begging for change on the street, because your situations are not the same, we are not the same, and no matter how similar our situations are, they are different because we are different. You can not compare two things that are different. As humans, we have very uniquely different upbringings and thought processes. This however is what makes us different.
Pain shaped me in the most beautifully fucked up way you can imagine. In saying that, do not get me wrong, I suffer to this day from the pain I have been through. I remember going through and feeling things I would never wish on anyone.
If you want me to be honest, I’m tired of not being loved and I don’t mean romantically because my boyfriend loves me in a way I couldn’t even explain if I tried. I’m tired of feeling alone when I’m not lonely. I’m tired of only being able to look back on life, having constant flashbacks of the two worst days of my life. Life was slowly beating me to death making me remember the worst things that have happened, yeah I’ve become a better person from everything, I’ve become a person who cares even more about people then I did before. I care even more about people then I should, I can give better advice than ever, but that is it. I am stronger now, but I would never wish this on anyone. I am missing pieces now. I’ve only become the nice girl again, people will say they care and love me but why do they all lie? How many people truly actually stay? And still, talk to me when I’m down and I need someone?. I’ve gone from being depressed to not giving a single fuck about myself, to now being self-aware of all of that and not knowing what to do with it half the time. So I put myself out there, and hang out with people, and make friends. But, why is this life?. I used to sit here and do nothing but think, and every so often I would cry and feel every single emotion all at once, which would lead to me being numb for a week at a time. Lately, though, I have been awake and energetic and constantly doing things.
I used to cry myself to sleep so much. It hurts knowing I’ve lost relationships and love and people because of how much I am. People stop talking to me and being there once they realize how much I am. I do not blame them. I do not wish any of them ill for having left me and my fucked up mind. I try not to wish bad things on anyone, and quite frankly I can not even wish bad on the people who have hurt me. No matter how hard I try to forget, I can not. My mind is constantly running and I can never get a break from the memories, and I’m tired of people talking down on me or saying there is something wrong with me for feeling this way when I can’t help but feel this way. I can’t stop the feelings I feel. Anyone who says that I am crazy is wrong. I am indeed normal for everything I have been through, my feelings are normal for everything I have been through, and so many people can not handle this. I will say again, that I do not blame anyone for their inability to handle the things I say and feel.
Everything always comes back to the heartache of the man who loved me once and the woman who gave birth to me, but we will get back to her later.
To him, if he is reading this:
I haven’t felt your touch in months, I can’t remember the last time I felt your love, it’s been far too long
I miss the taste of your lips, the feeling of your kiss
These feelings feel so wrong
You’re someone I always knew I’d miss
I miss the way you held me, the way you played with my hair
I miss the way you told me you loved me and our mid-night talks about how the world isn’t fair
Now I lay here all alone in my room
Our memories are rotting, wasting away in a tomb
I have this lust for you, this vampiric addiction
Baby, you’re my drug and I’ve been counting down the days until I can refill my imaginary prescription
But darling I am out of refills and thankfully you’ve gone missing
I don’t miss the way you put me down, taking away my dreams, and watching me waste away, just proving to me every time I talked you were barely even listening
Oh, honey, I was broken and you made fixing to your liking your mission
But your version of fixing was abusing me with my permission
I forgive you for all that you have done, but these are things I will never forget.
I am haunted by the things Leo said and did to me. I can not possibly stop thinking about it. He was the best, worst disaster that could have possibly happened to me. I want him to just be a memory of the past, yet I am forced to face the memories every day. I can’t stop remembering, I can’t seem to forget. However, he taught me valuable life lessons, and I have learned from the hell he put me through. I learned to always be myself no matter what, to not let anyone stop me. I learned to use dissociating to my advantage. So many things come from trauma, most of them not good, but the good you get is like a fucked up award for making it through all the bullshit.
Chapter 7: Imagine Abandoning your kid over Nothing
Nicole quite literally destroyed my life. In the worst way possible.
My teachers are a bunch of idiots. Mask mask mask mask mask. Yes I know I have to wear one. Thank you for reminding me.
I hate wearing a mask. Why, you may ask? Well Leo used to keep something over my mouth when he fucked me so his roommates couldn’t hear me say no. I absolutely love being reminded of that everytime I put a mask on. Sarcasm. It’s literally hell. I wish masks weren’t a trigger.
Nicole is a horrible person.
Ah, the memories that wearing a mask brings back to me. School is kind of hell for that reason in specific. Otherwise, it would be much more bearable. I would rather be sitting at home writing this, than in a class that’s getting me nowhere due to the fact that I would be doing the same thing online, from home, Without. A. Mask. On.
At this point, for all of you who have read this much of my book without stopping, I’m going to share some poetry. I am sure that this is the part half of you will skip, but here we are.
I wrote this when I was 14, I’ll never get what I meant by “maybe it’s the model”.
It could be the razor
It could be the pills
Maybe it’s the model
Could it be the nicotine?
Or maybe it’s the bottle
We will do anything to make our demons hide
We all want nothing but for our pain to subside
Almost always ignoring the rules to which we should abide
But what happens when it no longer works?
You’re too numb to feel the cuts, and your thighs are far too scared
The pills, they’re killing you
Can you feel your body start to shiver
The alcohol is getting too expensive, and it’s killing your liver
The model never did the job, she made you feel more worthless
The nicotine is killing you, and now you’re feeling nervous
These things, they slowly kill you
What’s up next on the queue?
None of them are working,
And you don’t know what to do
You find the rope and hang yourself
Your lips, they slowly turn blue
In the end, your demons won
And it was never you
I also write this at about 14, because I had a plan to kill myself. Of course Nicole didn’t care because she couldn’t get attention for it.
Your face has a frown, there’s blood dripping down,
You cut your leg, but it’s far too scarred to feel pain
You think about your wrists, you contemplate for hours
You decide just one,
But it feels so much better, so new
One, then two, you can’t get enough
You think of all you go through
Three, then four, you lock your door
Blood starts to drop from your wrists, down your hand, to the floor
Five, then six, you can’t get your fix
You’ve gone too far, but you can’t stop now
Seven, then eight, you remember the kids making fun of you for not being straight
Nine, then ten, you can’t wait to feel it again,
You pick up your pen and start writing your goodbye
Eleven, then twelve, you take the pills off your shelf,
You take them all and crumble your note into a ball,
Thirteen, then fourteen, you remember the world is too mean
Fifteen, then sixteen, It feels so good
The satisfaction of your hand turning blue,
Your death will be something new
Your head is spinning and you don’t know what to do
In the end, your demons won
It was never you
You pick up the pen and uncrumble the paper
Your death is near
Your hands are shaking, wrists bleeding,
You barely write out the words,
“I’m sorry”
But that’s nothing new,
Especially coming from you,
The satisfaction of your wrists turning blue
Your demons won,
It was never you.
Laying in my bed
Thinking to myself that I would rather be dead
Thoughts crowd my head as I begin to write
Goodbye, I print in my best handwriting
I won’t be here much longer
I wish that I could be stronger
Memories of my past flood me with sadness
What is this madness?
I don’t know how to keep pretending I’m okay
Too many things have made me this way
They’ll find my body cold, numb, and lifeless
The cost of happiness is too much, but death is priceless
No one will know what to do; I wonder what the people who’ve made me this way will say
I’m too weak, I can’t do it
Instead, I pull out my razor blade
God, I wish I would have never stayed
All my life, I’ve been nothing but betrayed
Why me? What did I do?
The answer to that question is up to you
I will never know
This is the reason I want to go
I cut, just once, I watch the blood begin to drip
Staring at my razor, my blood still on the tip
I want more, I crave it
I cut again, this is number two, I go deeper this time, watching more blood pour out
My demons, once again, begin to shout
They’re so loud, and there are too many, I no longer know what they’re talking about
I cut again, three, then four, and they’ve began to go silent
This must be a hint
I continue to split my skin into two, five then six
This is the only fix
I can’t stop cutting;
The satisfaction of hurting myself instead of letting someone else
The satisfaction of watching my blood pour out of me
How sad could one person possibly be?
My hands are shaking, my legs are covered in blood; I don’t know what I’ve become
I cut again, and again, and I don’t stop
I can no longer count how many there are
Death can’t be far
My head is a war ground
Not a second goes by without any sound
Cut after cut, the voices all begin to drown
I’ve got to the point in my life where I can’t get anymore down
My face has a frown
On my legs I watch as the blood drips down
I’ve reached a numb
I don’t feel happy, I don’t feel sad
I don’t feel anything, you see I cant feel bad;
But I know I should
I’d stop if I could
The poems matter, and are one of the reasons I was able to make it through today with only 3, yes only, panic attacks. Poetry has gotten me through so much, pretty much everything I have discussed so far and almost everything I will go on to tell you about in future chapters. My main goal in sharing those is to say, things do not just get better magically, and there really are not many ups and downs as far as life and what you go through in life, things are always going to happen. There will always be downs in life, but ups are not guaranteed, not for you, I or anyone. Everyone has gone through and is going through something, until they are not. I for one feel like 2021 is going to be my year. The year everything is finally over and done with. I have court before this year’s end to determine the fate of my birth-giver. Hopefully, she gets the help she NEEDS and the punishment she sure as hell deserves. I would almost go as far as saying she needs to be punished, actually, I am going there. She will not learn until she faces real world consequences. Her little high school boyfriend can not save her now. Mr. Police Officer. Being the only one who knows the truth, the real truth, apart from her, is tiring. I wonder when she is going to figure out that I know.
Back to the whole mask bullshit. More so my PTSD in general… How much can talking really help when you can’t tell anyone the whole story? When it’s too hard to say what really happened? When it’s impossible to believe that you loved someone who never gave a fuck about you? When it’s unimaginable to think about what could have happened when you were drugged and passed out? The question as to why something hurt with no recollection of the night before? How do you cope with something that you can’t even completely remember? How can you take back something you never willingly gave in the first place? How can you cope with a loss you didn’t know about? How do you love yourself when no one loves you for anything but your body? How can you love someone correctly with no idea what real love feels like? How do you explain to the one person in the world that gives a fuck that you can’t keep pretending to be okay anymore?
So I’d say this shit sucks.
the suicide note an ex of mine sent before TRYING to commit before:
“Imma sorry, Im really fucking sorry and I cant do this I just can’t I can’t keep up with it. My entire fucking life is getting high and nobody gives a fuck and not one motherfucker knew I waznt okay and yeah you did and you helped me. But I can’t fight anymore. Don’t feel bad don’t blame yourself bc it wasn’t ur fault at all. U blame ur self 4 everything everyone does but don’t u dare blame ur self for this. U couldnt have saved me Bc no 1 could. U couldnt have known and ur not to blame. I miss the night we got high together n told each other the deepest shit n you cried in my arms. Bein able 2 consoleee u and hold u was probably the most intimate bs I done. Ion know what I woulda done if it weren’t 4 u. U need to keep ur head up honey ur worth the world. It has to be this way Bc there’s nothing left for me. The world is angry w it h me and were fighting, I lost. I been planning this for months n no one knew.”
He was not successful, in fact I am almost certain he mostly just wanted attention, as this was common for him. The thing I really greatly don’t understand is why everyone I love and everyone who loves me, dies. I don’t understand why I get these notes. I don’t understand why these men fall in love with me, when they can’t even begin to love themselves. Life always brings death, that’s just how it works. My question though is, why does whatever is out there let all these people go before their times? It just makes no sense to me. So many people that I’ve lost, that I’ve watched leave this earth well before their times, they had so much going. It is the most sad thing knowing that they wanted to kill their demons so badly they left.
I too have been in a position of wanting to die. I have a scar to prove it. I wish I didn’t. I have tried overdosing on pills on three occasions. I was almost successful in my last attempt. Nicole told everyone I was faking it and that I would be fine. I will never forget the DAYS after which I spent , puking, shaking, and feeling like I was dying. The funny thing about that is, once I could feel myself deteriorating, I didn’t want to die. I did everything I could just to keep living. It was in those moments that I realized I didn’t want to die, I wanted my demons to die. I so desperately wanted the memories to go away that I was willing to take my own life.
The worst of my memories is the man who loved me once. He loved me for a week. Maybe two weeks. He loved me for getting him out of a toxic relationship, so In turn he abused me? This makes no sense to me, but maybe he never knew what he was doing was wrong. When I’m laying on my bed and all the memories start flooding back in, clouding my head, I would stop at almost nothing to make it go away. I can still see him, passions pouring off his bottom lip, dripping down his teeth, a glistening poison. I remember thinking to myself what the fuck kind of chance could I possibly stand? He bewitched his bed, I damn near swear that to be true. He had enslaved me, I thought he was my true love. I thought it was my rapture, the end of my days, my final capture, every damn time he touched me without giving me a choice. Tears were falling down my face, I know he could hear how fast my heart would race. There’s no way any sane mane would think I enjoyed that cold embrace. He would whisper to me how good I tasted, how he missed my face. I knew I couldn’t put up a fight, I was forced to close my eyes right and make my brain travel to any other place. He would do what he wanted as he did everytime before. He was a master at orchestrating this horror. He was always sure not to leave any real evidence, ruining the chances of me really getting justice. Although, regardless I was too blinded by his “love” to see the warning signs. My body wasn’t even mine, he did whatever he pleased, and he took his time doing it. I don’t think he feels any remorse. He took my innocence before I even knew what innocent meant. He used my body and played my heart. I guess it’s hard to know who truly is a good person and who isn’t. He is the worst I have yet to find.
I wish things had gone differently, I wish he hadn’t permanently scarred my mind. That’s life though right? Trauma is damn near a necessity. It shouldn’t be, but I have never met anyone who didn’t have any type of trauma, I’ve met people with very minor traumas, but never anyone with none. Pain shapes you into who you are, in the best worst way possible. I would not want to live a life without pain, as easy as that would make things, and as much therapy as it would save me, pain made me who I am and I am sure lots of people feel the same way. I think pain and suffering can teach the correct people valuable lessons, not everyone’s minds are strong enough to endure life changing psychological pain, but those who are, we are the lucky ones. When you’ve been through as much as I have, or at least something as intense as I have, there’s almost no way you get through it and still have the same perception of the world you did before.
Diary entry from October 2017:
My thoughts on this entire mega fucked up night. I smoked a blunt with this guy, he said he was on a lot of coke, he was putting it in his mouth, he told us afterwards, so it got in the blunt and we had it too. He also had coke in the end of cigarettes, and he gave us both cigarettes. So we had coke multiple times. I really didn’t know coke was even in this equation. I found out when I said it tasted weird and I asked why I feel weird. So I had cocaine. And dxm, and weed. I have had such a bad night. I can only think and think and think, and I want to forget everything. I want to forget everyone and drop everything. I don’t want to have to pretend I’m happy for everyone else’s sake every single day. I don’t want to act like I’m okay when I’m not. I hate this. I hate that I’m on coke and idk if that’s why I’m thinking so much but I can’t stop thinking. I want my boyfriend, I want him forever and until the end of time. I never want to lose him. I couldn’t lose him because if i did I would lose myself. If I could have a life with him, that would make me so fucking happy. I wouldn’t care where we lived or what our car looked like, anywhere with him would be where I want to go in life. He is my happiness and maybe he’s not perfect to anyone else, but he is to me and seeing him hurt, I guess makes me kinda sad. Though, it makes me happy he trusts me to share that side of him with me. And i’m glad I know about it. I just wish that I could do more to help him. I wish I could fix things for him. I am completely in love with him. I’ve never thought this kind of love was real. I never thought I would find someone like him. He’s perfect. He makes me the happiest fucking person in this whole world. Me of all people. I get hit with only bad things, and the universe gave me one good thing, just one, and it’s him. He is my whole world and I could never do this without him. I want to get married to him and settle down and have a house and kids with him. I want to be able to come home after a long day of work and see him. I want him to come home from a long day of work and see me. I want to be able to raise kids with him. I want to be able to look into his eyes and tell him how much I love him, in person, every single day for the rest of my life because he deserves all of the love in the world he deserves love more than anyone else I know. And quite frankly I’ve fallen for him, very hard, and I am in love with him. He thinks so lowly of himself, and I don’t even get how. I need to think of emptiness, like a void, like I need to pretend there’s nothing in my head. So I’m writing out the words I wish I could have said. I’ll probably regret this a lot in the morning. I have so much on my mind and I’m trying my hardest to make it disappear. Everything around me feels so different, so weird. Everything feels more. I felt more alive and on top of the world and really fucking great at first, now I feel like I’m going down and down. I feel like nothing in this world is good and I don’t know how you’d find the good. The “good” people aren’t really good. They’re bad. They hurt the “bad” people. In society that’s all it is good and bad. Then you have criminals/prisoners. They seem to be what everyone says are the worst. But you don’t know every single one of their stories, you don’t know why he did coke or why she stole groceries or why he was taking Xanax. You don’t know whose world is upside down and whose isn’t. Everyone has a story, a reason. Maybe his cousin died, maybe he had a bad home life, and he didn’t have another way to cope. Maybe he needed an escape and that’s what he found first. Maybe her kids needed food and she didn’t have the money to feed them. Maybe he needed help and everyone refused to give it to him. Maybe it would have just taken one person that didn’t automatically assume things, one person that would just actually talk, and try to help. Yet the world is shitty and everyone gets labeled as a bad person for one mistake, just one wrong thing. One thing. One cut. One fight. One drug. One mistake. Being caught with the “wrong crowd”. You get labeled for being gay or trans. People hate you for being who you are. They hate you for thinking how you want to. You’re hated if you aren’t “normal”,and the world is fucked up and unfair. People set all these standards for everyone yet they can’t meet them themselves. But in the end everyone has to find some sort of happiness in their life and if he is my only happiness I’d live a good life. Not everyone is lucky enough to do that. And I am. Me of all people. I get hit with only bad things, and the universe gave me one good thing, just one, and it’s him. He is my whole world and I could never do this without him. I want to get married to him and settle down and have a house and kids with him. I want to be able to come home after a long day of work and see him. I want him to come home from a long day of work and see me. I want to be able to raise kids with him. I want to be able to look into his eyes and tell him how much I love him, in person, every single day for the rest of my life because he deserves all of the love in the world he deserves love more than anyone else I know. And quite frankly I’ve fallen for him, very hard, and I am in love with him. He thinks so lowly of himself, and I don’t even get how. I wish that I could just take all his pain away and give it to myself. I wish that he didn’t have to worry about me and my problems because I know he has his own. I never want to hurt him. I don’t ever want to make him mad at me again because that fight was really hard for me tbh. I thought I was going to lose him and it would have all been my fault. I am honestly pissed at myself for even that. And I’m so glad that he loves me like he does. He loves me in a way nobody else has. I don’t want to leave this world and I’m not going to kill myself. But these are my deepest thoughts I can think correctly now, they’re the thoughts that are always in my brain that I don’t straight up say. I wish that I could just say anything I want to any person I needed to but I can’t. I want to just message everyone and tell them how I feel. Not like a cute paragraph I’d write to my boyfriend, but like paragraphs about friends. I feel like I’m never clear enough with people and they don’t get I appreciate them. I hate the feelings I am feeling and coke isn’t for me. I can never do it again, and I don’t want to. But I’m so scared I will lose him to it. I’m scared he will leave just like every other good thing has. I need to not think the worst if things though, that’s something I’m really trying to work on. I quit therapy today because I thought I would be cool without it. But I just fucking accidentally did coke. So I think I know maybe I need it. But I’m done going anyways. I don’t know why I feel so sad. So badly. But I hate this feeling. I hate being this way. Always being this way and not being able to change it. That is hard on me, and I know that seeing me like I am is hard on the people I let see it. So I almost always regret letting them see this side of me. I know Jordan has a side of himself very much like this, and I don’t want him to have to worry about me too. I wish things were different. I don’t know why it’s always me who ends up with things being like this. I don’t know who to actually show myself to tbh. I can’t decide. I don’t want more people to leave, because that happens a lot, when I show someone who I really am. I most definitely hate it.
People think drugs are all fun and games, but they aren’t. I hate that I dated a drug addict(I know how hypocritical of me), and I hate that every time I was on something my feelings were amplified to the point I believed I loved him, for two reasons. One being, looking back I know I didn’t mean almost anything I said to him and two being I doubt he even remembered half the things he said to me. It’s a sad thing to think about really, but it’s true, it’s part of who made me, me.
Chapter 8: 54
The thought of a 54 year old man inside of me is repulsive. I told him to stop. I told him no. I told him I didn’t want to do this. I begged and pleaded, but that meant nothing to him. He didn’t stop, he refused to, he didn’t care that I didn’t want him. His right hand roamed my body and I can still remember how it made me shiver. His left hand went between covering my mouth and pushing me back up against the wall I wasn’t allowed to move from. He kissed my lips roughly to silence me, and as he pushed me harder against the wall, his fingers scratched into my skin, making me squirm. I couldn’t move too much though, the pills he put in my drink prevented me from that. He called me babygirl and told me how good he was going to fuck me. A 54 year old man should have never wanted anything to do with a 16 year old girl. But he did. The way he hurt me, and the way he made me feel repulses me still to this day. I haven’t been the same since, it will forever hold a place in my mind. I will never be the girl I once was. I’ve become a woman in the worst possible way. I went to a party, that’s how it all started. He never heard me say no, but I did. Why would no one let me just be a kid? They put pills in my drink until I could barely even think. I didn’t have any fun but they all did. Why could no one ever let me just be a kid? I should have known they had a plan, I should have left before it even began. I had a bruise from all the men there who participated in my assault, every place they hit. But fuck it.
Leo ruined me in a way, but the 54 year old man’s torturous exploration of my body is the single handed worst thing I have ever experienced. Leo tore my soul apart, my begs and pleads ran through his ears as “convince me my love”. Fear encompasses my body every time his hungry eyes are depicted in my melancholy dreams. My shakey words are from the shivers that his face sends down my spine when I continuously replay what I remember from the last time I saw him over and over again in my head. He broke my voice, and crushed my soul, he stole my confidence and I used to look at myself in disgust because of him. Now I know that it is filth that runs through his veins, it is him who should rot in the dirt, not me. I am worth so, so much more than men who should pay for their crimes.
Dirty:
Use me
Abuse me
Then tell them you refused me
Dirty dirty dirty
Rot in hell
My body was not for you to unveil
Touch me
Grab me
Then say you didn’t know I was 16
Who could have seen?
Remember when all of them took a turn?
You started that
Dirty dirty dirty
Why me?
I was so high and drunk I could barely see
What possessed you all to make you want to touch me?
I couldn’t walk
I could barely talk
Dirty dirty dirty
Rot in hell
What you did will forever haunt me
For months after, every feeling I had was black and white
I cut myself and kept it out of sight
I wish I could have put up more of a fight
Okay. I am straight up having a really hard time in particular right now. Like I’m really not vibing. I’m not really okay but I’m not gonna kill myself. I can’t stand being like this. I can’t stand that I’m bipolar. I can’t stand having issues period but it’s fine. I’m just over it you know? And I’m not stable right now at all. It’s called a mixed episode and it’s where you go manic and then not then manic then not. Sometimes the not is stable and sometimes it’s depressive. Depends. So far it’s been like stable depression. Mostly mania though. And none of it is fucking fun anymore. Imagine trying to do something but not being able to because you can hear the fan, or water dripping and that’s too distracting. Imagine that and then on top of that you already want to do multiple things at once so you’re cooking dinner, writing a book, listening to music and that’s still not enough stimulation and you have this inner agitation. Imagine always feeling like there’s a void that needs to be filled and you don’t know how to fill it.And it’s not like I’m angry or even frustrated, it’s just I feel like I’m missing something CONSTANTLY. I feel like I need to be doing something CONSTANTLY. I’ve literally been drugging myself to sleep at night with seroquel and I’m not even tired during the day. I’m tired of this. I’m losing it. It’s like a war that I’ll never fucking win and no ones ever gonna fucking get it. Anyways, I have been struggling a lot and I feel like I am going crazy. Not hallucinating or hearing things that much but like remembering false information. Like I will remember someone told me something about a person and when I ask the person about it it like never happened. Also struggling with telling everyone around me about EVERY personal issue I have. Not literally every person just like I have told friends more details about me recently and I don’t like it. Like the constant urge to fill the silence or talk, and I cannot shut up until I literally spill every last detail about my personal life, like deeply personal shit, to people. Like deep dark secrets about my family that I have never repeated in my life. You know like the thing I told you that I won’t ever repeat again. Also I am so empathetic, to the point where if someone else is feeling sad for example, I replicate their emotions for no reason. Like the whole “if you start crying, i will too” but 100 times worse. Like someone will just be feeling down and I will start bawling. My mind will not stop racing and won’t shut down and I’m shaking and I can’t relax. Even in the midst of a manic episode, death is always on my mind, it is a constant. I don’t mean my own death either, I mean the concept of death itself. I’ve experienced death a lot in my life. I’ve seen it happen. I’ve been in hospitals and watched it happen. I’ve seen people overdose.. I’m at peace with death and dying, but that’s all the hallucinogens I’ve done. It’s all of the tripping I’ve done. It’s not normal to be okay with death. It’s just sad. Life is sad but death is even worse because once you die you’re gone forever. You don’t get a second chance, you don’t get to say goodbye, and you’ll never be able to see anyone you love again. You’ll never get to do anything again. You’re just gone, you become nothingness. I do not believe that there is really any form of after life. I can foresee there being an astral realm, maybe.For my own sake, I don’t think there is anything after you die. I think it is the end of time, and nothing you did will matter anymore once you’re gone. It’s beautiful when you’re old and it’s your time, but it’s immensely sad when you’re young and you still have an entire life to live. Death is a hard topic and I’m very at peace with dying, I understand it. I just don’t understand why good people die when they have a whole life left to live. I hate seeing young people go. I can comprehend why someone wants to die, but not why they go through with it, just as I can comprehend why someone wants to do drugs, but not why they refuse help as an addict. When old people die of natural causes it’s peaceful and usually painless so I can comprehend and deal with that. This brings me to my next thing, addicts. Of course, I of all people shouldn’t judge anyone, but you know what? I do. I judge the people who judge addicts. I bet you thought I was going to be really hypocritical and say I judge addicts. I judge people who are offered help time after time, but enjoy the drugs too much and instead destroy their lives. I would hate myself if i were the mom who almost got her kids taken away, or the “cool mom” who lets KIDS smoke weed and drink in her house. The one who does not care what drugs you do as long as you are “safe”. Having had a mother like that, I am empathetic to every single person who had a mother like her and never realized how wrong it was. I am even more empathetic to those of you who know how wrong it was and have to live with the consequences. To any kid reading this, getting angry because you have a parent just like mine, my heart goes out to you too. The thing about Nicole in specific is she is a mentally abusive, manipulative, narcissistic bitch. She taught me from a young age that smoking weed is how you handle your problems, and it has taken me a year of not speaking to her to come to terms with the fact that it is not okay to do that. She taught me to lie, and how to do it well. I could lie my way out of any situation, but that too is wrong. She had always said things like “Don’t let your father find out Katrina, he will kill us both”, “You smell like weed, change your clothes before dad gets home”, and my favorite line of hers “you can’t come home like this, your father will know”. She was good at keeping me out of trouble, and in hindsight, she used to be my best friend. Imagine having a best friend for 15 years, then one day you cut all ties and can’t speak to them until the day you send them to prison. My goal in life is to be an amazing mother, and an even better wife. I feel as if i owe that to the world and if i can accomplish that in life, my life will have been successful. What I would give to be able to show people their worth. It would change their entire life. I have a knack for finding people that need help in one way or another. They find me, actually. Every time. I talk to a lot of people that believe that they are their past, past mistakes, past failed relationships, past addictions, the person they were when they were in high school because they live in the same town that treats them the same way, the person they were because mental illness took over them, then the person they became once they were medicated, their past, period. That is just not the case because you are not who you were, nor are you who you used to be. We grow and change as we get older, sometimes. We find new ways of thinking via new experiences. We depend on these experiences to learn and to grow. We can choose to learn, grow, and move forward with our lives, or we can choose to stay stuck in our ways. I wholeheartedly believe that there is good in every person I meet, no matter how bad they may seem, until they prove me wrong. I believe that everyone who makes small mistakes deserves a chance or two or 4 or whatever. It is very true that every person that comes into our lives, comes for a reason. We learn something from every person that we come across. There is a lesson everywhere, and in everyone, whether it is an easy or a hard one, or a funny or a sad one. We meet someone that we use almost all of our “lessons learned” on. This is the person that teaches us our worth. This is the person that shows us exactly what we are currently and what we may still not yet be capable of. This person is important because he or she is usually a complete mess. You want to help them. You try to help them. Maybe it works for a minute. Maybe it doesn’t do shit. But when you have had enough, everything comes together. Every lesson you’ve learned. You can see your own personal growth because you can see what you are absolutely not willing to tolerate from someone. You can see something is wrong even when you can’t tell what it is. You notice the patterns that you didn’t learn the last time. The moment that you realize what you are and are not willing, without a doubt, to tolerate, it hurts. It hurts because you also realize that you can’t help this person. You HAVE to let them go. There is no worse feeling than not being able to help, to be a shoulder to cry on, to be reassuring, to be what someone else needs because you know that it will drain you, completely. To have to say no because it’s too much for you is really hard. The person that taught me my worth is Nicole, in the worst possible way, she made me learn all of my lessons, and she taught me what life really is before i even had a job.
Nicole never hit me, she never forced me to have sex with her or starved me, but her abuse left internal scars I dont think i will ever be able to repair. She continuously corrupted me until she did not have to anymore. She spun a web of lies about everyone in my family, everyone who I am close to, and she convinced me of things that just were not true. She did the same to Kylie and Katie. Sadly, they still are trapped under her spell, and can not seem to come to the realization that she is doing so much more harm to them than she is good. I wish they could see the bad, or even just fucking see that she is not a good mother.
I see her in my dreams, I hallucinate her everywhere when the mania takes over me. She haunts me, and I don’t know how to rid her of my mind. She could very well be the leading cause of this manic episode that I have been experiencing for months now. I wish I had a mother. I wish the woman who gave birth to me did not hate me. I wish things were normal. I wish I did not have to testify against the woman who brought me into this world in court. Life never gives you what you want though.
I swear if the fucking bird does not stop chirping, Im going to kill it, not that i could actually do that, seeing as it doesnt exist. I can not take the *chirp* *chirp* *chirp* any fucking more, birds used to be so peaceful. I never thoroughly enjoyed them, but waking up to them was nice sometimes. At this very moment I can not stand birds. I also keep seeing geometric shapes everywhere, and it reminds me of being on acid, which is not really that great, because hallucinations are only nice when my brain is numb, and right now my brain is very far from numb. Maybe I could make the shapes into a game, or start drawing them out.
Anyways, fucking Nicole, she showed up in my dreams, I hallucinated her, and someone fucking mentioned her to me, because she still owes my drug dealing friend a fuck ton of weed money, as does her husband. Her and her piece of shit junkie husband are sadly not divorced, but she hates him so much so that she lives with him. On the contrary she posts about how much she can not stand him, and it is repulsive. How can you marry someone just to later say how much you hate them? How can you marry a man then go on to abuse the shit out of him? So help me god if I find out that she abused the man I call my father, I will really never forgive her. I wonder if the man she drove around with in high school abused her. If she’s reading this, she will know that means I know her dirty little secret. Perhaps later I’ll disclose her dirty little secret.
Why marry someone you do not intend to stay with forever? I don’t understand how you can be so conniving and manipulative. I wish that things were different and these weren’t things that I had to think, but they are. She married my dad, just so she could cheat on him? Just so she could ruin his life and their children? Why do it? And now she’s married to a junkie douche bag, even though she hates him and boasts about how much she does. It makes no sense. She’s never made sense though and trying to make sense of her will make me lose my mind, it has before and I know it will again.
I can see myself marrying the man I’m with right now. I can’t wait for the day he asks me to be his wife forever. He completes me and I try my damn hardest to complete him. When I look at Evan, I see my future. I see everything I have ever wanted.In comparison to literally every other person I have been with, he is the best, he is perfect, and he is irreplaceable. He saved me from myself, and got me back onto a good path. He showed me life does not have to be getting high and drunk. He showed me that I can be me without being high out of my mind. For that alone, I will forever be grateful, because if it weren’t for him, I would not be who I am today.I would be much worse off. He brings color into my black and white mind. He brings light into my darkness quite literally. I am forever thankful for him loving me and helping me. He is the shoulder I cry on, and I am his. It is incredible being in a relationship where I get as much as I give and vice versa. I am crazy, stupid, in love with this man, and I can not wait for the future with him. Things started looking up when he came into my life.
A year ago today I would be asking these questions… How much can talking really help when you can’t tell anyone the whole story? When it’s too hard to say what really happened? When it’s impossible to believe that you loved someone who never gave a fuck about you? When it’s unimaginable to think about what could have happened when you were drugged and passed out? The question as to why something hurt with no recollection of the night before? How do you cope with something that you can’t even completely remember? How can you take back something you never willingly gave in the first place? How can you cope with a loss you didn’t know about? How do you love yourself when no one loves you for anything but your body? How can you love someone correctly with no idea what real love feels like? How do you explain to the one person in the world that gives a fuck that you can’t keep pretending to be okay anymore?
If you want me to be honest, I’m tired of not being loved and I don’t mean romantically because my boyfriend loves me in a way I couldn’t even explain if I tried. I’m tired of feeling alone when I’m not lonely. I’m tired of only being able to look back on life, having constant flashbacks of the two worst days of my life. Life’s slowly beating me to death making me remember the worst things that have happened, yeah I’ve become a better person from everything, I’ve become a person who cares even more about people then I did before, I care even more about people then I should, I can give better advice than ever, but that is it. That’s all I’ve only become the nice girl again, that’s it, one who no one could give a fuck about other than to walk on or use, or to be friends with until they’re tired of me, that’s all I’ll ever be and it hurts, it hurts knowing that people will say they care and love me but why do they all lie? How many people really truly actually stay? And still talk to me when I’m down and I need someone. It hurts knowing I’ve lost relationships and love and people because of how much I am. People stop talking to me and being there once they realize how much I really am. My mind is constantly running and I can never get a break from the memories, and I’m tired of people talking down on me or saying there is something wrong with me for feeling this way, when I can’t help but feel this way. I can’t stop the feelings I feel. Anyone who knows the whole truth looks at me like I’m crazy. For weeks at a time I hear and see things, but I am still me.They look at me so differently, and it kills me. And even at that, my mom has abandoned me. She no longer cares about me or what I do. So I live with that too. I need to start thinking of her as a person who means nothing, a toxic person that I walked away frome, that I chose to leave. I need to just pretend i made the decision for her to stop talking to me, for her to leave my life, and try to turn everyone against me. Her life is going to be hell once she realizes she has real consequences for the things she said and did and condoned. I wish things were easier.
Chapter 9: The Beginning Of The Real Me
2 years ago today:
Dear diary,
I sliced the fuck out of my side last night. I’m not suicidal and I’m not gonna kill my self or try, but I’m not okay. And seroquel is causing me more problems than it’s helping me and I’m trying to ease myself off of it but it’s difficult because I’m in such a high dose my body just doesn’t wanna sleep without it. And my mom is killing me. She’s going back and forth with crazy and crazier (big Paul and daemon(the dude who raped her and has killed people)). And my parents are fighting all of the time. And ptsd is kicking my ass. And my anxiety is horrible right now. My sister is smoking weed and I honestly don’t want her to cause she likes it too much and she’s too little, it’s gonna ruin her brain. And my ex messaged me and I had a whole mental breakdown over that. Like I’m just a mess and I can’t tell my boyfriend, which bothers me. Because if he doesn’t have his phone and he’s worrying this much about me it’s gonna kill him. I need him to stay so I’m not telling him. And I feel shitty for that but I know it’s the right thing.
—end of entry—
I used to believe every single thing Nicole told me, and honestly I wonder if this man is real. I know he is a real man, but i wonder if Daemon really exists. I feel as if that was most definitely a fake name. And if anyone really did rape my ex mother, I am certain he did, hell he talked to me sexually, but maybe that was all part of the act. Now this is if he and her ever truly met, and honestly, i would not put it past her to lie about that either. I wonder how many times she told me that she was meeting up with a dude and they did just that, met up, had a few drinks or smoked a blunt, and went their separate ways.Every damn time she had some elaborate lie, he raped her, or he tied her up, or he was crazy. I simply can not believe that, her words mean nothing to me, especially now. No one deserves to go through that, feeling as if their body does not belong to them. Who the fuck knows with the men she brings around, real mature of her, huh? Having an emotionally unavailable mother is not anything like what you would think. It is being yelled at for crying, it is being forced to talk to men for her to fix what she messed up. It is never really knowing what to expect and when, don’t get me started on the inconsistency. Being allowed to sneak out and do drugs, and drink, hang out with boys, and go to parties with her help really fucked me up. Now, living with my only stable parent, it is all so confusing. Where are the boundaries? What should I and should I not talk about? At this point, nearing my 18th birthday, there really is no way for my dad to “parent” me, because I am so far gone, so used to having no rules. I follow my own rules, my life is based on my morals and what I believe is right, as it always has been. My dad tries so hard to be a good dad, and he is, yet I am still so lost. Nicole never let me do things for myself as far as making appointments and getting rides to and from work, so now that I need to do those things for myself it is hard. She was always so on top of doing things like that, not because she was a good mom, but because she could get attention. “My poor kid has to go to therapy” was one of her favorite lines, as if therapy is such a bad thing, and as if I was okay with every soul in existence knowing I needed therapy. There is no shame in therapy, but there is embarrassment in everyone you know, knowing what is wrong with you, and why. I think because of that, it took me so much longer to come to terms with my mental illness. When i spent time in the psychiatric facility, she told fucking everyone she could, because it was a good excuse to get attention. How shitty is that, using your kids biggest struggles for your personal gain? So often, people take their mothers for granted, good mothers, and that kills me, because I would give anything to have a good mom. What I really hate is the fact she turned me against family that wanted nothing but good for me. She convinced me all these people had all of these things wrong with them, and they were bad, but we will get into that later.
My time in the psychiatric facility was quite the adventure. My roommate, Ellis, was equally as addicted to drugs as I was. We snorted her adderall, and tattooed ourselves with a sharpened spoon, which she used the razor she snuck in to do. Obviously, eventually some bitch told on her for having a razor, and we sadly were no longer roommates. We grew pretty close, and I tried my best to be a somewhat good example for her. The kid is younger than me by two years, and she had so much baggage, she reminded me greatly of who I was when I was her age, and it made me sad. I met an amazing nurse there who is the reason I am here today. She took time out of her day to talk to me, even when I could tell they were busy. She made such a huge impact, and I could never thank her enough. She reminded me so much of someone i never met if that makes any sense at all. That woman did so much good for me, I wish I could personally thank her. Other than that, most of my time there is a really huge blur. I was very heavily medicated, which at the time I most definitely needed to be. Going from living in a mental health facility to living in the real world was a huge, huge change. The world is funny like that, things come and go, just like people, but you can change so much so quickly and it’s scary. One minute everything is handed to you, the next, you are all on your own.
Realistic Fiction
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