Trigger Warning: This written piece contains details of abuse and attempted suicide.
I always knew something was wrong. I can’t explain how but I was sure that something was wrong. I wasn’t like everybody else. I could feel it. The things I felt inside did not seem normal. Was I born like this or did I become this? I was just out of place. First of all, I knew too much. Second, I was a child.
I grew up normal or so I thought at the time. nothing too extreme, just the usual parents not together but you get to see them both. A bit of bullying in school. Then becoming the bully, then eventually just being mature and a good person. The usuals. But behind the usuals there was a darkness. I was constantly sad and I did not know why. Ever since I was little. I always felt alone and afraid and there was so much deep-rooted confusion and sadness. When I was in Grade 5, I developed an eating disorder. I would throw up after every meal. Especially breakfast. Every single day. Like clockwork. I did not know why.
Then in grade 6 I had to move schools. It was difficult but I managed. Or I thought I did. I had the coolest friends and it was all fun. But then that’s when the cutting began. And I would sit on the toilet at home sobbing and slitting my wrists and my thighs. I did not know why. It made me feel better though. Then that stopped and I seemed to be getting back to normal.
And then Grade 11 came. I had been doing okay over the years. A few dark moments here and there but nothing that I couldn’t cry and get over. But then grade 11 came and quite frankly, that was the beginning of the end. It started with nightmares. I was familiar with these nightmares because I had always had them. It was the same thing. A person. And I was being touched inappropriately. Now in Grade 11, it was all completely clear. The nightmares, the person, the action. It was all right there. This wasn’t just a dream. It couldn’t have been. The way I was traumatized by it and the way it totally messed me up, something was totally wrong. Every night I had these dreams and I could feel myself being afraid and wanting to scream for help and then just darkness. I got numb then I got sick. Like my allergies would flare up and I would have this awful painful rash. I had these dreams for months. And I just knew. This was what was wrong with me. This was what was different. This was why I had perpetual darkness that I did not understand. And that shit messed me up.
And my life changed forever. You would think that knowing the truth would make things easier because now you can work on dealing with it. no. lie. It explained the darkness but it also brought other darker things to the forefront. Why me? What did I do to deserve it? what did I do wrong? How could I have prevented it? how come people didn’t know? How come people did not care to know? Honestly, how come nobody knew? Where was everyone as my five year old life was being destroyed?? For years. Years. My heart broke and I don’t know if that bit of it has recovered to this day. A million years later.
I tried to die many times after that. I slit wrists, took pills. Took a whole lot of pills. Nothing worked. I was still here. Feeling different and disgusting and ashamed. I couldn’t tell anyone I was trying to die. Not like they would understand anyway. I really wanted to die. I was stuck in this pit and I didn’t know how to get out. And it only got worse. Because my self worth and self confidence were so rooted in this thing that happened to me, I had none. So I kept the worst people around me. The abandonment and neglect issues were on blast. I needed to be wanted and I needed to be kept safe. And whoever presented that to me, in the littlest way, I stuck to them like glue. See now the problem is, you can’t go around thinking someone else will fix your mess because they too have their own mess. Now its all a giant ball of mess and being messed up there. And then unfortunately, sometimes, some incidents recur. And the worst thing that ever happened to me happened again. Three times. Or four. I lost count.
Damn. I actually lost count.
So there it was. My reality. This was my story. This would always be my story. But I didn’t want to be in the darkness anymore. I needed to live, hell I simply needed to breathe. I needed to stop my darkness so that I could help other people with theirs. Because I know darkness, I know what it does to you and I know the person it makes you become. So, practically crawling, I sought help. Still seeking it. Everyday is different, some days are better than others. I still go back into my darkness, but I’m better at getting out and keeping it at bay.
I came to terms with it. Everything. The first time it happened for the six years it did. The other times that it happened years later. I forgave myself for thinking I was to blame. Still working on totally forgiving the people, I go back and forth with that one. The biggest challenge for me was having to stop living in the “what if it didn’t happen.” Because I often wondered whether who I am today is who I would be if things were different, if the incidents didn’t happen. How different would my life be. But it did happen, and I can either stay in that or move and completely make something out of my life. Because what happened does not define who I am. And every day I learn new things about myself and I accept things about myself that I hadn’t before. I’m not what happened to me, that’s for sure. Even when it gets dark, I know as long as I have a pulse, I have purpose.
E.N. for Probably Asleep
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