Despite where I've been, I've never been shy on what has happened or what/how I have dealt with occurrences in my past and present. Yet, being open can be misinterpreted as playing the victim; wanting sympathy handed to me. I have, and will, always tell my story in hopes that it will help someone conquer their fears and embrace their past. If it hadn't been for my past, I might not be the strong, determined woman I am now.
I have not quite been diagnosed with any one disorder for certain, except for PTSD (Post Traumatic Stress Disorder). I say this because I was so highly medicated as a teenager, which created awful side effects and presented itself as a myriad of disorders.
To be able to understand where I have been and what I deal with, I first have to give a bit of background on myself, which might seem extensive (and I apologize in advance) but is the only way I can think that anyone can truly grasp my perspective.
As a young child, I can't remember any problems with my life until about 3rd or 4th grade. I was a happy camper, no big problems; I just didn't see my mother often and I didn't know my father, never met him. When I was about 9, I didn't clean my room to my mother's liking and she told me to pack my bags I was going to an orphanage because she didn't want me anymore. She didn't hold to that, but it was a dramatic turning point in my life, but I just didn't know it yet. She was on a plethora of medications, mostly narcotics, for a back problem that would eventually put her out of regular work for the rest of the time that I had known her. She became more aggressive and just plain fucking mean as the days passed. She started dating a man who gave me the creeps and told me he was moving in with us after her first surgery on her back, and I refused. She told me I had no fucking say and to just shut up.
After this first boyfriend moved in, I was emotionally neglected more and more every day. This boyfriend's son loved to beat me up, and it soon became a family pastime. Mom, boyfriend, boyfriend's son would all take turns. Then the boyfriend's son started to molest me, and I didn't say anything to anyone hoping I was just mistaken by what was going on; health class taught me differently my 5th grade year. Finally I started to protest when he was doing it in front of my mother and his father (mom's boyfriend), my mother would watch in a pill stupor and just laugh, then egg him on. They would just throw me down on the stairs and lay on top of me so I couldn't breathe, whip me with whatever item was closest and most painful, or just throw things at me repeatedly.
One of my birthdays, we headed down to South Carolina to enjoy the beach in the summer. I don't remember anything happy, it was all erased when I watched my mom's boyfriend beat her senseless and bloody, threatening to kill me if I called the cops. Mom and I packed up and left, the entire trip back to the DC metro area was filled with how fucking stupid I was and how this was all my fault. I was not the daughter anyone would want and I was so useless and I have ruined my mother's entire life. It was shortly after this that I started cutting myself.
I can't say why I started cutting, or why I didn't stop, but it gave me control. All the words of how ugly, stupid, useless I was or how no one would ever want me or love me because it was impossible was reflected on my skin. Perhaps it was one last ditch effort to get my mother's attention and affection.
When we moved several counties over into my grandparents' home at the end of my 7th grade year due to a classmate making death threats to me, I think that is truly when shit hit the fan. I don't know what happened, if my mom was jealous with my closeness with my grandparents who had me while she worked when I was younger, or who would listen to me and tell me stories; but I just lost myself completely down a deep black hole. I would then attempt suicide over 50 times in various ways, be hospitalized 24 times in mental health institutions, sever my relationships with friends and family who didn't want to hear me or couldn't understand me. The family part was the hardest, my mother is a fan-fucking-tastic manipulator, she can practically make you think the grass isn't green, if it benefits her somehow. The schools, the police officers, the friend's parents... they all refused to believe my stories of molestation and abusive turmoil that I had endured up to that point because my mother would have some fancy story on how I was unwell in the head. The police officers even told me, "She is your mother, she can beat you any way she wants as long as I don't see bruises right now and she says that it was an appropriate punishment" and "there's no physical proof of the molestation, so we can't do anything about it, plus your mom says you're lying." I felt more alone and more depressed than ever, leading to more therapists. I had one that told me, "How does it feel to know that you have ruined your mother's life and that you're a loser?" I no longer had faith in humanity or the justice system anymore. But I always ran back to my mother because I just longed for her approval and affection, hoping she'd give it to me one day.
I had ran away countless times, jumped out of (slow) moving cars, anything I could do to get away from the hatred she took out on me. A few days before Christmas of 2002, I had left home after her telling me she was taking away Christmas because I cut my hair and just being simply vile; I was scared of her, at any minute she could snap. I attempted to call my aunt, just to let her know I was alright but wasn't able to handle anymore of my mother. As I briskly walked across the 8 lane highway, at a stop light, the light turned green and a car going 20-30 miles over the speed limit (approx. 65-75 mph) struck me. I was catapulted into the air and onto the asphalt head, legs, head legs, etc. This is such a huge part of my PTSD, the trauma sank in much later. I tried to get up in the middle of the intersection while I was almost ran over by several cars. I faded in and out of consciousness and later awoke to see my mother and her crocodile tears telling multiple people of how I was out of control, etc. I had fractured the ball in my hip socket, tore my MCL and my PCL in my right knee, separated and shattered my pelvis, not to mention the extensive nerve damage the impact had on me. I was in a wheelchair on and off for a year, crutches for two, and nothing was ever repaired like it should have been. I was left with a pelvis that would constantly, and to this day, fracture from sitting down too hard in a chair or a knee that pops out of socket and needs to be shoved back in. Now my spine is deteriorating from all the harsh problems I've endured from the accident alone, and that does absolutely nothing for my self-worth or self-esteem.
As I got older, I found myself in bad situations and bad relationships. I was left to live on the streets, torn between the two people I truly have always called my parents (my maternal grandparents) and my mother. Living on the streets for years, I was raped 8 times by three men in a 6 month time span, and I just loathed myself that much more. I didn't feel like what I felt was depression, and in fact I still don't sometimes, because I was just in such a shitty situation.... wouldn't anyone feel this way?
I fell for the wrong man, and immediately thought I needed to marry him. He was abusive and lazy and finally after years of being with him, and living on the streets, I left to be on my own. I ended up getting pregnant (after thinking I wasn't able to have children) and was with a man who wouldn't let me eat, took all of my cash, beat me trying to give me a miscarriage... Finally, I had to crawl back to my mother. She took all of my money and controlled everything I did and ate and who my friends were.. despite that I was 21. This continued on through another abusive relationship where I ended up in the hospital with a sprained neck, wrist and knee. We finally moved to Utah, I thought "gee this will be it, a fresh new start with my mom." I was never more wrong. I was controlled even more, abused even more and I was so broken and destroyed I hated myself I didn't think I was a good enough mother for my daughter. I wanted to kill myself so my daughter didn't have to deal with my crying every night any more. Again, who wouldn't hate life if they were in my shoes right? Everyone said "well, just get out of the situation!" But I had no idea where to go with no friends, no money, a toddler and no home, thousands of miles away from the home I knew so well, Virginia.
One day I finally had enough I decided to try and talk to my mother instead of letting her verbally attack me in front of my daughter. I started walking away from the conversation and she kept talking while she was in the bathroom, I came back and asked her what she said and she said, "Never mind just forget it leave me alone." Knowing her,if I had, she would have thrown a fit saying I walked away from the conversation so I stayed asking her to talk to me, she came out and I wouldn't move until she agreed to talk to me she raised her arms to hit me, my daughter right next to me so I pushed her instinctively... she started beating me until I was black, blue, swollen and bloody. I was able to push her off of me once, and I punched her with my non dominant hand to get her to stop. My daughter was still next to me.. she pushed her.. The police said I was at fault when they finally came because of the fact that I didn't walk away, even though I was the one injured and she wasn't. I started it according to them, and my daughter was fine to stay with her. She has since convinced my family to have nothing to do with me (and always has).
I have gone from that, and living on the streets trying to make something of my life, to now and living in my very first 2 bedroom apartment, going back to college, working full time at a steady job I've had for a year and a half, I finally own my own things, have my own money... but I'm still so sad without my family. I still think, I can't be depressed, this is normal to be sad.. I struggle, I know it's part the PTSD, too. The flashbacks and the anxiety and fear, from everything.
The days that are the hardest are when I need a friend or a family member and I have no one, or when I need a "mom day" to myself to just recoup, or a babysitter, or just company. It's just nice sometimes to not feel alone. It's hard to get over depression when the wounds are still fresh and you're still so alone.
I can't even imagine all the things you have experienced. But through it all you have a fighter spirit in you and are here for a reason, You just have to find that reason. I am so proud of you to hear that you are doing so well! Just know friends come in time. And sometimes when you're healing its best to just work on you before you bring other people in. Hopefully through this blog you can find support here too because there is no judgment. We all want to be here for one reason or another and I just hope you know that you are a vital part of that.
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