For years, I've been struggling with crippling depression and severe PTSD. I didn't always know that's what it was. I just thought it was who I was. Growing up a victim of Sexual, Physical, Emotional and Mental abuse, I had developed defenses over the years that helped me protect myself from the cruel world.
My heart was closed off, I was numb and felt worthless. I felt an empty void that I couldn't understand. I was angry, hurt, and bitter. Lacking the basic needs a child received of Love, Compassion and Care. I acted out. I was reckless. I didn't believe I would live to see the age of 21.
Along the way, I damaged some friendships, burned some bridges, and did things I was not proud of. I didn't understand that I had more to offer to people than sex. Since sex was all I had ever known. The people in my life who sworn to protect me used trust as the vessel to betray me. Shattering any true understanding of what the word could ever mean. So when people showed any interest in me, I thought that the only thing I had to offer was exactly that. It was how I thought you got people to like you. And made them stay. See in my mind, I was always reminded how dirty I was. How damaged I was. No one could ever truly love me. I didn't deserve it. How could I? I mean, from the moment I was a little girl my life was a living hell. Countless nights of crying and screaming only to be drowned out by the loud clapping sounds of thunder and hard falling rain and my body aching and the taste of residual alcohol lingered on my lips and breath after he was done with me. Only to then be forced to take a hot bath and scrubbed hard in attempt to dissolve any sign of the crimes committed against me. The taste of tooth paste still makes me gag when I brush my teeth because I remember him brushing my teeth and tongue forcefully to remove all signs of alcohol on my breath that transfered as he stuck his slimy hot tongue in my mouth. And the smell of bleach still brings me back to laying in my bed at night quietly crying myself at night, as the sheets and bed smelled of chemicals used to erase the signs of my innocence being robbed and ripped from me. Even though no one else knew this. I always felt like everyone knew. Like they could see it. I was ashamed. I carried a guilt and a weight so heavy that wasn't mine to bare. I didn't know that then.
A part of me has always felt like I was being punished for past life sins. I was dealt a shitty hand of cards in this game called life, and I had no option but to play it through. So many times I thought about folding, ending the pain and despair. If this is what the rest of my life was going to be like, then I didn't want it. It wasn't fair. People would tell me I was such an amazing person but I didn't feel like it.
Somehow I managed to keep going on. Added to my misery was unexpected teen pregnancy. Why me? I understood that my actions led me here, although I was on Birth control. But some how my body defied science, and I happened to be that 1% that would get pregnant despite doing everything right. Now I was to be a lost and confused teen mom. Already scared I did what any pregnant daughter would do and reached out to my mom. Rather than realizing how scared I was, she yelled and hit me, called me names and kicked me out of my house. What was I supposed to do. I had just started my senior year of high school. Thank God for a good friend who allowed me to stay at his house and sleep in his bed for three days while I attempted to figure out what I was going to do about this hurricane I call life. Although pro-choice. I didn't believe in abortions for myself. This was something I would have to go through with.
You ever hear a story, and think man that would be the plot to some really fucked up Lifetime movie. But only this time it wasn't a movie it was real life, My Life! You know when you think the world has beaten you down enough, it surprises you with more shit. Like an abusive relationship. Being manipulated, tormented, used and made to feel less than the scum on the bottom of your shoe. I had no voice. Which was already not there to begin with, and its amazing to see how much lower you can go when you've thought you had hit bottom. Ten years. Ten years of my life is what I gave. You always hear people talking about, why don't women just leave their abusers, why do they stay, how could they still love them. I wish there was a simple answer to that. I wish I had the courage to walk away sooner, I wish I knew then what I know now. These people are like parasites. They borrough their way into your life and being, isolate you slowly from you family, they start small and then continue to expand the boundaries in which they take over your life. They convince you all the things they are doing is your fault. That your wrong. That if you were better this wouldn't be an issue. But it was never true. Because there was always an issue. They get in your head, into your psyche and you start to believe it. They target broken people because we are already weak. They take a fragile person and use their weaknesses against them. You are blindsided. They wait til you're so madly in love you can't help but keep trying to give them another chance. They are "sorry". And they convince you that no one else is going to want you. You feel like your only option is here. It's better than alone right? I didn't want to be alone. What if this what love was about. I mean everyone who said they loved me, hurt me. Is this what that means?? Oh, but now two kids in, who is ever going to want me?
The drugs and the alcohol numbed the pain. I escaped. In those moments I was free, free from the reality that was my life. One misfortune after another, each with it's own set of fucked up scars. I thank God I never crossed over into hard drugs. Marijuana was my drug of choice. It calmed the crying little girl in my head. I eventually got to a place when I did walk away. I guess almost being choked to death by your lover while your children watched and screamed and cried was my breaking point. I couldn't do it anymore. I didn't care that I was damaged goods. I didn't care that no one would love me. All I knew is that I had two boys I needed to raise to be better. I couldn't do to them what I went through. I couldn't subject them to years of witnessing domestic violence and portraying some false illusion of what a relationship is supposed to be. That wasn't love, or kindness. That was abuse. And I would be no better than my mother if I stayed any longer.
I know I can't change the things that were done to me. I can't take back the parts of my life in which my behavior caused pain. I accept that as much hell as it was, it helped build me into the woman I am today. I learned the true meaning of resilience. I learned the meaning of strength and courage. I didn't let the bad consume me. I chose happiness. I chose to fight for tomorrow. I chose my children. I'm not perfect nor do I ever expect to be. But I am a better version of myself today than I was yesterday. I am reclaiming my life. I am no longer going to be a victim of my past. I will continue to do my best to work through my trauma. I will not let it define me. It is a part of my history but it is not my full story. I am more than that.
I understand what I had to do to survive. Because that's what I was doing, surviving not living. I am more than the pain and the hurt. I accept my part in the pain I caused others in my journey while dealing with my agony. I hope that they can one day forgive me too. But I need to forgive me. It wasn't all my fault. I need to love myself. I will love myself. I will heal myself. I will encourage myself. I Forgive Me.
