Friday, September 12, 2014

Where My Demons Hide

Some people judge depression and anxiety as a phase, and for some I believe it can be. However, I battle with something much stronger than a "phase". From my earliest memory at the age of four, until now, I've struggled with the thoughts in my head, and the way things around me make me feel.

I was born into what I would consider a very confused and unhappy family, one that subjected me to things that most shouldn't have to witness, especially starting at such a young age. 

-alcohol.verbal-mental-emotional-physical abuse.drugs.having significant others chosen over me. feeling unwanted. feeling hated. abandon. neglect. bribery. . my list could go on-

I'm gonna try to start way back at the beginning, forgive me if I ramble or lose you. 

We'll start with my Father:

At a very young age, I was subjected to violence, alcohol, and so much more simply from my father. My earliest memory is coming out onto the porch just in time to see him hit my mom. He was a very unhappy man when I was younger... At age 5 or six, I was questioned for his arrest after abandoning me in an apartment with my Mimi, who was having a severe allergic reaction. . . I vividly remember being in my white RUGRATS pajamas, standing with my mom while an African American police officer questioned me about my "daddy". Meanwhile, they had him propped against a police car, taking a breath-a-lizer test. My dad went to jail for a little while, and once he got out he started dating again. I remember locking myself in the bathroom when him and his girlfriend's would fight... I didn't really see him often at that point anyway... he was kind of in and out of my life. But then he met, Susan, the woman he later married. They both drank way more than they should have. They fought worse than anyone I've ever seen. Throwing beer bottles, threatening, having the cops called.. I remember locking myself in their bedroom to call my step sister to warn her not to come over because Dad had pulled a knife out and went outside with it... Through all of this, and so much more, somehow I always found it in my heart to forgive my dad... still to this day I have SO much hurt and anxiety over the things he has done, and continues to do. 

Next is my mother:

Mom dated a lot. Her men came first, that was a rule my sister and I knew well. I remember always wondering what made her boyfriends more lovable than me. . . Mom's first boyfriend that I can remember, Joe, was the first man to hit me. He smacked me hard enough, that the print was still there when I went to dad's for my Christmas exchange with him. Dad flipped, and it almost progressed into a fight after a few threats... Joe always wanted me to call him daddy but, I refused, which of course pissed him off. . . Luckily, one winter, he left mom for another woman..The guy to follow, Dave, became the first person that I grew to HATE. He was an alcoholic who hated kids... He would write my mom notes begging her to give me up for adoption. He HATED me, and he made sure I knew it. When I was ten, He came into my room and told me I needed to make a decision, either I accepted him as my father, or I got out of his house. Neither of which happened, of course. .. My sister tried her best to shelter me from him, I spent most of my nights sleeping in her bed, out of fear. We're talking about a man who would down a thirty pack in one night, a man who called me "that fucking kid", a man who told me he wanted to "punch my brains out against a brick wall" because I wouldn't hug him. . . a man who wouldn't allow me to watch tv upstairs... That man became the reason that I had to be in my room by four o'clock, and mom would open my door and hand me my plate of dinner... I ate alone.. would return my plate to the step and text her that I was done. At that time, my room was the refurnished basement, I spent many night curled up in a ball listening to his drunken complaint about everything about me. . . That's when I first turned to journaling. . . I began journaling about how unwanted and unloved I felt... those entries turned into entries that begged God to end my life because I couldn't find the strength to do so. . . Nobody should be made feel that way... especially not a 13 year old. . . but no one had a clue how I felt. . No one seemed to care quite honestly. Mom didn't quite know how to handle me, or what to do... she wanted to be loved. She began to buy me whatever I wanted thinking that would make me happy. . . people began to call me spoiled. .  but they had no idea that I would've traded everything my mother had bought me for just one "I'm proud of you". . I never have felt good enough for her. . . She took her frustration out on me, calling me a " bitch" and a "mistake". . . My self hatred grew more with those words than anyone would ever know. I put up with that environment and abuse from age 7 until I was 17. Mom finally found a new man to move on to. Luckily though, since then, our chapter has gotten a little better, and more so after Mar was born. However, the mental damage is still there.

Then there is my ex:

At first everything seemed perfect, but that's how it usually is, right? It didn't take long for things to take a turn. The emotional abuse I endured drove me over the edge.Then the cheating began.. I became constantly anxious, found even more flaws in myself, I didn't want to eat, I weighed myself obsessively, and I revolved my whole world around him. I was constantly worrying about who he was texting, who he was really hanging out with, if he was cheating again. . . I could no longer turn the anxiety off. I had no friends, and I felt I had no where to turn. I found myself in a place of wanting to die again. 

 Unfortunately, at that weak point, I got even weaker.. I lost the only person I held on for, my Mimi. I became numb, I hated everyone and everything, with the exception of my boyfriend at the time. That is when I finally had enough of the pain, enough of the anger.. I wanted to live and be a better me.. I went and talked to my doctor, who prescribed me the medicine I still take today.

I got better for a little while, was able to push it all to the back of my mind, and the medicine could give me a fake "happy". I was covering my problems, not dealing with them. Don't get me wrong, the medicine is and was a big help, but it does not solve the issues that are still there. The feelings that I still need to come to terms with. Everytime things get stressful, I'm overwhelmed and flooded by everything. Every thought and feeling; all that hatred; all that failure. The constant worrying, and fear. I'm overtaken by my mine. I obsess, and I have no control over it. I make plans, and lists for EVERYTHING, obsessively. I have a mind that I can't turn off,I can't sleep, and I don't KNOW HOW to relax. I just can't...

Though with all of this, even though I have no idea where to begin after this, I took a huge step. . . I finally got in touch with a therapist. 

For those of you reading this,
If you feel this way, you are not alone. 
If you don't understand, don't judge. 
If you don't know what it is truly like to have a mental disorder of any kind, do NOT treat a person like it's something they can just turn off, they can't. . .  It's not silly, it's not funny, it's not for attention. .  it is serious. Getting help through medication, therapy, or both is nothing to be ashamed of, and it's certainly nothing to be made fun of.

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