A bit of peace

Waking up the way I did, I would swear I was in hell if I believed in such a place. Everyone was so....standoffish or even mean. I was shocked that the adults I encountered, while I was waiting for transportation to some unbeknownst to me location, were even vicious. When I was being cleaned up after I regained consciousness, the nurse helping me did not talk to me and was scrubbing my arms so roughly. I begged for pain medicine and she ignored me. By the time transport arrived for my big trip I was so happy I did not even ask where I was going! I could not feel an inch of my body and it felt as if there were ice cubes behind my eyes. I do not remember my mother being there. Not that I blame her, she had other children to tend to and I was such a problem, however that small little lost girl buried deep within was just begging for someone....anyone to care.

I was sent to the children's psychiatric ward of the local hospital. Everything was a blur, but one warning stuck out as they confiscated my shoe laces and put bands on my ankles (my wrists were to lacerated for a band to be secured safely). The gentleman I met who introduced himself as Scott* brusquely told me in a no nonsense tone if I attempted "....anything out of line, you will be put in isolation, sedated and restrained. Period. We are not going beg and cajole you to behave." 

WOW. Where the hell am I??? 

I was then placed on what was called sight and sound. I basically had to stay within sight and touch distance of a staff member at ALL times (and I mean ALL). That first night I slept on a pallet in a hallway barely able to move because every movement brought excruciating pain. To this day I will never forget the pain I was in. My arms were bandaged from wrist to elbow and I still had not had a good enough look to see the damage, however with the amount of blood and plasma I was seeing through the bandages and my inability to move at the wrist was scaring me. 

As I lie there so many thoughts raced through my mind. How was my family? Did anyone care? Did anyone miss me? Did my daddy know, oh gosh was he gonna kill me. How could I do this to myself? How did I get carried away? I think that if I had not spoken up and let Scott know how I was feeling I would never have slept that first night. He called the nurse, who called the doctor and gave me something that knocked me out. For that I was grateful. Here I found a bit of peace. Not love or acceptance or even a bit of forgiveness but peace.

So for that first night a stranger gave me a bit of peace in the form of a pill. Not my mother with a hug, or my family with a call. But a stranger, a shadow of compassion; the first I had seen. 

*Name has been changed for privacy reasons.

Waking Up

"WHAT DID YOU DO?"
Was that my mother's voice? I think I heard her. Then I floated back into the lovely velvet black where I felt enveloped in a cool wave of......nothing. How can nothing feel so good. Even my thoughts are few and far between.
I do not know how long I was unconscious, however a searing pain began to pull me from my safe haven. I have met many people who have had near death experiences, some self inflected, and almost all of them swear they have seen or had some sort of religious or out of body experience. Mine was simply a feeling of peace and quiet one I had never experienced in my life. Now this pain, this hell fire was ripping me back to reality.
"We have another teenager who likes to hurt herself."
Those words are the first I heard as I opened my eyes, at least the first I comprehended. A nurse was standing over my fore arm pulling off some bandaging. Apparently because I hurt myself I did not deserve any explanation as to where I was, where my mother was, what was going on, or even what day or time it was. All I could think was, 'This nurse is so vicious! Why am I still alive?'
The next few hours in the emergency room passed in a blur and I was in and out of consciousness due to pain. Looking back now as an adult I am shocked and outraged at the way a child who was obviously at risk and crying out in need was treated. I was left alone restrained to the bed (because I was a risk) for quite sometime, my mouth dried to the point that I had blisters for weeks after and I bled all over myself. When they came in to draw my blood (I still do not know why this was necessary) the phlebotomist was rough and not only missed but when I cried because she hurt me, I was told to hush as I obviously did not care about how I treated myself. I was then left to cry alone. I was left in a private room, as a child from a poor family I do not know why I was put in a single room, but there I lie. Staring at the ceiling, was there a God? Where was he? Did he hate me? Did my family? Why couldn't I just stop breathing, all I brought was pain.
I could not tell you who told me that I would be held on the mandatory 72 hour psychiatric hold and then  more than likely be Baker Acted. Honestly all of it scared me and I shut down. I do not remember all of the information they were throwing at me. I was transported to the children's mental ward. Little did I know this is where my mother would leave me for a very very very long time.

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Thanks for Reading Friends. I realize for some people this may be hard and for others this may be familiar. I want to make sure that everyone who reads this understands I am writing this for many reasons. 1) everyone deserves some form of therapy and this is my choice. 2) I have taken these broken beginnings and built my life up and done amazing things. I want people to know that no matter how bad it gets it can always get better. It may take days, years, or even decades. Heck I am passing my third decade and am finally happy with who I am. It has been a long long road but it is possible. The moral of all this is please never give up. Read these words and know you are not alone.

Beginnings

Every story starts somewhere, here is mine.

My story is typical, parents divorced when I was young and I was raised with a younger sister by my mother. My father really did not try but can you blame him? My parents were young. The story continues with a little girl pining for attention and parents were too wrapped up in their own lives and arguing with each other too pay attention to her and her little sister. Heaven forbid the little sister were to commit some violation of parental rules, for then it was the eldest sisters fault. Thus was how my pre teen years unfolded. Now before my tenth year my mother got herself into some trouble with a (rumor has it married) man, 9 months later along came my beautiful littlest sister. So we became a family of four. I loved this sweet little angel but a darkness began to build inside me. A darkness I did not understand or recognize. Sometimes I would get angry and I could not control it. The baby never upset me, despite what my mother claims even to this day, however my other sister was another story. I do not understand the depression, resentment and anger that would swiftly overcome me. The moods would engulf me before I could catch my breath. It was almost as if I was outside my body watching these 'episodes'. I began to hurt myself. Just a little at a time. Falling on purpose, quickly turned into a real accident where I broke my ankle. The pain made me feel real, alive. After that I began cutting. **I have never discussed this outside of a closed therapy setting and somehow this is liberating to sit at my keyboard and type** Sometimes I would go months without hurting myself. Reliving the high feeling of feeling alive. Lying in bed at night, thinking "I bled, I am alive, I am NOT invisible!". Eventually it wouldn't be enough or I would be the subject of my mothers rage. The worst part was (and here I am jumping a bit ahead) my mother tells me I made these memories up. She says I was delusional and I hated her so much that I imagined these events. She would come home and the house would be a mess, she worked all day, we were latch key kids, and if she had a bad day she would take it out on me. It never failed. I would inevitably say or do or not do something that would set her off. She would back hand me or throw a shoe at me. Sometimes even worse she would tell me that I had upset the entire household and that everything was my fault. To this day I do not understand why a mother would do this to her child. I have a child and can not imagine hurting my child in such a way. I digress from my beginnings, back to it. Due to her behavior and my subsequent response, the darkness came more frequent for me. With the frequent depression, came the frequent cutting. The strangest part was that it became normal. It was normal for me to hide a razor blade in my books and CD cases. I would clean the cuts and keep them bandaged and cleaned regularly. Looking back as a thirteen year old girl, how did I hide this from the adults in my life? How did I hide this from my friends? Did anyone suspect? Did anyone care? If they did no one stepped forward, at least until it was too late. When I was fourteen my family moved to another city. My life was changing so fast. My mother had met another new man, she had already married and divorced in my baby sisters short life, it did not end well. Of course I was blamed for that as well. I had discovered boys and it was not a good thing, as I was developing faster physically than I could catch up emotionally. Unfortunately my mother let me spend the night at a family friends house, a family friend who had a son much older than me and allowed the teenagers to drink. I know, I know; recipe for disaster. When I was fourteen I lost my virginity. I was raped twice in one night by two men. Then reminded the next morning it was my fault, I wanted it. This was not a new phrase in my life. Everything was my fault, so why was this different? That day I went home and spent the day in bed. You know not a single person noticed? I thought  What if I just disappeared, would anyone notice?  The next day was a Monday and man was it a hot one here in the south. My little sisters were off to school and I received the customary "Don't miss your bus! I swear to God child!" and off my family went. I chose not to go to school. Instead I took an old family photo and a beautiful shiny new razor blade and sat on my family's back porch. I must have sat there for hours. The heat and humidity suffocating me. Just staring at the picture of my smiling parents and myself and little sister, Gosh we were little!!!! Somewhere in the neighborhood a dog barked, the sound was so loud I dropped the picture, it shattered on the ground. I started crying and could not stop. I don't know where the tears came from. I was a well of hot, salty tears and they were pouring out of me. Then they simply stopped.  Thats when I realized I was still holding the shiny razor blade. Before I registered what I was doing I watched that beautiful blade glide across my ivory flesh and filet the skin. Ruby liquid flowed down, but there was no pain. I could not stop cutting. I must have blacked out because the next thing I knew I was holding the picture and had bloody glass all over me, both of my wrists were simply torn flesh from wrist to elbow and I was light headed. The last thing I remember was closing my eyes hoping that the mess wasn't going to be too bad, maybe my mom would get home and clean up before my little sister got home. 

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Well dear readers thank you for taking the time to share my memories. I hope they have not offended you. If they have...stop reading! This is simply meant to be a form of therapy for me and to give hope to anyone out there who feels they are not being heard. If you are alone or feel you have no one to talk to email me. It may take me a little while to get back to you but I will try. This is only the beginning of this journey dearies. After I tell my story I have so much more to say. I want to hear what you have to say....tell me.....what do you hide behind your smile????