Have it, lived with it for upteenth amount of years, and only now starting to realize that the depression is but a mere symptom of a larger self-esteem to disciplinary to compulsiveness disorder.
I want a true medical diagnosis besides that of which is a blanket statement ofĀ āmood disorderā as my symptoms fit descriptions of too many disorders and no doctor has yet to commit to just one. It was bi-polar depression at first;Ā āitās what we believe but are not sure ofā but still declined for me to be tested for it; then itās full fledged bi-polar disorder, moving to OCD, schizophrenia, mania, until everyone decided to leave my mental health in the air with the simple blanket statement ofĀ āyou definitely have A mood disorderā but weāre also not going to run any tests to be sure. Have a nice day! Donāt kill yourself next time!
Pfft. Then the American Health Care System prescribed me medications that hurt more than helped due to the lack-of research and decisiveness of my health.Ā
I donāt take those medications any longer and I donāt plan to. Itās been happening for as long as I can remember, when I tell my stories I always start at the climax of the events, this is the shortened but full version, I moved to the United States when I was 4 about to turn 5. Prior, I lived on a farm with my motherās boss; whom I believe to this day she was sleeping with. She met my step-father in the Philippians, the true nature I donāt believe Iāve been truthfully told, via newspaper ad stating she was a young woman looking for a husband. My father wrote to her after seeing the ad and took her on some dates. He moved back to the states and they wrote letters to each other; he would send her money and she would send back gifts she made for him. I was told they fell in-love.
Meanwhile, I was being raised by my 7 uncles and my momās best friend Z, who Iāve only ever known as my auntie, a Hawaiian islander who came to the Philippians to study nursing. She would show me dancing and my uncles showed me how to work with concrete and clay. I had an uncle that would take me to the bathroom with him. My mother told me when I was 12 she saw me come out of the bathroom with him andĀ āknew instantlyā I would be aĀ ābad child.ā He was never reprimanded by my family; only by God when he died of a heart attack because of the devastating hurricane. I found solace and peace when my mother left to attend his funeral and visit her family for 6mo.Ā
When I first moved to the states, I wanted to be one of the American Girls I would see on TV and movies. Short skirts, tank tops, ripped leggings, a cellphone, over sized sunglasses, with long, straight, blonde hair, and blue eyes. I wanted glitter on everything and pink streaks through it all. My parents; didnāt want that for me, at first. Because I liked to play in dirt, a trait a child would pick up growing up on a farm with no toys, and attracted many boys as friends; I was a tomboy. My mom cut my hair short and bought me only boyās clothing. I wasnāt allowed to play with my friendās outside of school. NO.Ā
I was meant to clean the house when I got home, do my homework, and help my mother with whatever she wanted help with. I felt trapped all the time. I remember asking to have play dates and my parentās always saying no. My mom would hide me away in her room if I convinced one of my friendās parents to come over and ask my parents to let me play.
I wore overalls, baggy pants, collared shirts, capri shorts (the colored plaid ones), and sneakers up until I was about 7 years old. During this time, if I didnāt clean up my mother would beat me until I couldnāt scream anymore. If we went out in public and I didnāt stay by her side she would hold my shirt close to my neck and slowly pull it closed until my breath was shaky and I was too lightheaded to run away. I would try to tell her how I felt and she would yell at me until I didnāt want to talk anymore. I learned that speaking up is only going to end wrong for me no matter the situation, if she was involved. She would pinch me if I said anything to embarrass her in front of my fatherās high society friends. I would be pinched if I said anything to irritate her in public regardless of who was around. It was always away from the eyes of the public.
She made me fear my home life. She made me fear telling the truth. She made me fear being myself. I was lucky enough to remember my auntie Z;Ā āSomeone might throw water on your fire, but never let it extinguish your flame. Burn brighter than the Sun. You are a Goddess by your own rightsā and understood that even she is not enough to break me. I knew at a young age that individualism is so important, as it is what allows each human to keep living on, pushing past, and moving forward. I knew to never get stuck in a cycle I didnāt create for myself.
I begged my father to let me join the afterschool program and that he would pick me up as late into the day as possible. I was lucky that he worked a 9-5 and often picked up overtime which would mean as many hours away from my house as it could be permitted. From 7am-8pm I was free, and I took advantage of that. I ditched elementary school all the time with friends and we would take cars and steal things from stores and talk about boys, sex, drama, and our parents. My friends hated my mother more than I did. I knew she was probably a product of something more sinister. I tried to explain to my friends about the other worlds, the realms that things exist and no longer exist, and how religion and how all spiritualistics worked. I tried to explain why everyone should be wanting to push for enlightenment above all else so that we may transcend the humanĀ ādeathā but become creators of those in the past, present, and future.
What 10-12 year old listens to a 7 year old anyway? I picked up tarot reading.
I was almost 8 years old when I found out my mother was pregnant with my brother. I was so happy. Finally someone else. Thatās when they started to switch. It wasnātĀ ālady-likeā of me to dress the way I dressed and to play the way I played. I started getting beat for sitting in chairs incorrectly, for eating my food incorrectly, for snoring when I slept, for sleeping wildly in a shared bed, for having nightmares and waking people up, for asking questions a young lady should never ask, and for thinking that I was not responsible for grown people who pay bills tasks. I was taught to cook breakfast, lunch, and dinner for myself and for the family if the family asks for it. I was taught to always clean up at the end of the day no matter how tired I am for at least 25 minutes. I was taught how to balance my motherās checkbook and how to count money and hide it.
If I didnāt, I was beat. If I didnāt do it fast enough, I was beat. If things went missing in the house, even if they didnāt belong to me and I had nothing to do with it, I was blamed... and then I was beat. She would take bamboo sticks to my legs and elbows, for proper posture, stance, and gait. I would endure hangers; plastic, wooden, and metal, even past the point of breaking them (which caused a lot of scarring on my thighs, stomach, and hips) if my speed and white-gloved-finger-sweep across the wood wasnāt up to par. I would get the belt, the paddle, and the whip if I didnāt understand the task given to me or if I didnāt do it properly. From 8 years old until 12 years old I was repeatedly asked to take care of my brother, cook, and clean or else I would get beat. My beatings were from 3/4 times a week to 3/4 times a day. It depended on the levels of stress she was under. Though she created it all to begin with, but Iāll digress.
I started sneaking out when I was 9. I would meet my friends and we would go off to one of their houses and talk. We all acted like we werenāt getting treated the same at home. Well, I know for a fact one of my closest friends at the time, a Gemini from Louisiana, knew exactly what I was going through. We had a heart to heart where she shared her personal traumas and I shared mine. We became really close.Ā
I started realizing my dad wasnāt one for confrontation. I realized he was so non-confrontational, I snuck out of school and went to my house with some friends and he came home early and saw us; he didnāt care as long as we stayed out of his way. Thatās when I started realizing the type of woman my mother was and how her raising me affected me. Sheād been manipulating him this whole time. She got whatever she wanted and I would get whatever I wanted if I went to him directly. I started getting closer to my dad and his side of the family because they were givers. My mother and I are takers.Ā Ā
She began to realize that I was smart. So she locked me away. She tried to keep me from my father. She created a false sexual assault allegation against him and moved me in with an elderly couple from church. She wanted me to lie to the police and tell them he had been touching me. I didnāt. It made her really mad so she stopped letting me go to the bathroom and would have me sit in her car until I had to piss or defecate myself. I pissed myself in the front yard of the elderly coupleās home while they watched. They got mad and kicked us out. I didnāt know at the time that a private investigator my dad hired to clear his reputation and prove his innocence was also watching. He had evidence to believe that it was actually my other parent that was abusing me.Ā
It was then that I held some power but my father showed the police all the things he bought me and all the pictures we took of us having a good time and they believed I had a great home life. I begged and pleaded with so many officers to look at the scars on my body because they are all because of my mother. My father is innocent, yes, but my mother is not please take her away or Iāll die!! My first suicide attempt was at 9 years old.
I started cutting myself. I died my hair and wore all black and joined the 2010 scene-kid scene. I wanted to fit in and belong. I started starving myself and forcing toothbrushes, school spoon-forks, and my fingers down my throat whenever I ate. I started to internalize all of the abuse. My second suicide attempt was 3 months after. I then turned 10 years old.
I attempted suicide 4 more times before I was sent to live in a group home for a year and a half. I wanted nothing more than to be home but all of the internalized trauma really did a number on me. I was acting out and rash and I would destroy things and become violent when angered. It was always toward my family, I never acted this way outside of it. Hm. Wonder why.
When I came back from the group home, my dad had my mom moved out and thatās when I found peace. I didnāt act out as much. I started middle school and for the first time ever I had community. I made life-long friends in middle school. This is where I like to say I truly began life. My trauma was a thing of the past. Until my mother decided she still had a say in my life and what I chose to do and I relapsed all over again.Ā
I started using drugs. I became a scholarly drug addict. I felt like I had something to prove but a whole lot of fucks not to give to anything else. It was humiliating, in retrospect. I started using heavy. My first OD was my sophomore year in highschool. My second OD was the summer before Junior year. My third OD was 2 months before Junior year ended. My last OD was February 14, 2019. I graduated highschool in May 2018.Ā
I moved out of the house when I turned 18 in 2017. I moved to the other half of California where I would be rid of my mother and her meddlesome ways. Through all that time, I still had forgiveness in my heart and gave her many chances to show me growth but all it showed me was her stagnation, inability to change, and her simple presence being nothing but a trigger for me. I still didnāt act out. As a direct result of my trauma, I can become extremely verbally abusive when aggravated and, when pushed passed the point of anger, extremely destructive. I tried to explain that to my abusers, whom continue to refuse to understand and continue to subject me to mental abuse on a daily basis since having to move back in with her after the trauma that was my ex.
When one of my life-long friends that I met in middleschool started unveiling the verbally abusive side of me, I had to sit her down and speak with her from my heart to let her know none of it is her fault. That it is a result of a trauma still left to be processed within me and to listen to my warning signs so she might not have to face the hurling bullet that is my mouth. Since that day, she understands and we have never faced a disagreement that turned sour ever again. It is simple once you understand the person.
In March of 2019, a month after declaring my personal war on drugs and staying clean, I fell in love with my ex. We were fine for a while. Then I started receiving boatloads of gaslighting and mental abuse on my psyche. I started acting out shortly after moving in with him. It was unsightly. It was embarrassing. I thought I had a lot more control over myself but I didnāt; I couldnāt have! We were getting into physical altercations and verbal abuse showdowns and it wasnāt doing either of us any good. We were both broken.Ā
I moved out and sought after more peace within myself. Thinking this whole time I had been the abusive one when (while it is still the case) my abuse was a direct result of the abuse I endured. It always has been. Though how I reacted is still not right, itās not right to pretend that I am the only person who needs to take the blame.
When a child acts out due to a bad home life, a teacher will recognize that and give the child an outlet to use at school. When an adult in a toxic relationship acts out, a good friend will recognize that and give the adult the advice or push or drive they need to free themselves and find a better outlet. I find that my trauma has a tendency to make me relieve the desperation and sadness that I once felt many years ago, on the same days that I was most desperate and most sad. I find that my trauma has a tendency to manifest in obsessive and compulsive thoughts. I find that my trauma has a tendency to be skeptical of all and every one and thing. I find that my trauma has shaped me to be the person I am today and while there are many things I will be taking and learning from my trauma; the homemaker, the tomboy, the forgiveness, and the perfectionist, there are still things I am working to be rid of; the skepticism, the compulsiveness, the abuser that is my tongue, and the violence.Ā
I make clear to anyone that comes into my life and wishes to be close with me that I have these things to work on and to heed my warning signs lest they wish to be caught in my hurricane. I hope that one day I donāt have to give a warning for myself anymore.Ā
