by Band Back Together | Sep 12, 2015 | Anger, Anxiety, Coping With Depression, Denial, Depression, Dermatillomania, Eating Disorders, Fear, Guilt, How To Help A Loved One Who Self-Injures, How To Help With Low Self-Esteem, Impulse Control Disorders, Major Depressive Disorder, Mental Illness Stigma, Self Injury, Self Loathing, Self-Esteem, Stress, Trauma, Trichotillomania |
Prankster, my heart goes out to you. I wish that I could wrap you up in a big hug so that you knew that you were loved. Because you are so loved. You are worth everything. I know that telling you that you need to stop won’t help and will further reinforce all that you do to yourself, so I won’t, but I am reading what you don’t say here, and it breaks my heart. You are worth saving. You can fight your dragon and you can win. Someday you will win.
We will be here waiting to celebrate when you do.
Much, much love,
Aunt Becky
I’m a sucker for it. And I could speculate about all the things that have caused it. My childhood wasn’t great. I’ve dealt with depression and all the shit it brings. I’m impulsive… but I have this feeling, deep down inside, that it’s just the way I’m wired.
The first time it happened I was 14, angry and frustrated and it just made sense. The scissors were right there… and just like that, an addiction was born. I was a cutter. I self-injured.
Of course, 14 year-olds aren’t the most logical thinkers, so I got ‘caught’. We did the whole therapy deal with a crappy counselor and I was expected to stop immediately, so I did.
But I wasn’t stupid. Since the age of 15, I’ve been dealing with an eating disorder. I’ve seen 2 shrinks since the first, and neither know about my eating disorder.
As with all addictions, I’ll never be cured. I never truly stopped, but my parents like to think I did, so I let them. I just got better at hiding it.
While I don’t cut nearly as often as I use to, I picked up a nice little friend, named trichotillomania (self-pulling of hair). It’s so great [sarcasm].
This would be one reason I think it’s instilled in me, I don’t want to give it up. It’s mine, all mine, and I don’t have to share it with anyone, which feels great.
So, maybe the day will come and I’ll be ready to give up the ghost. And if it does, I’ll come back, and I’ll let all of you know.
by Band Back Together | Aug 7, 2015 | Gastroesphogeal Reflux Disease, Irritable Bowel Syndrome, Self Injury |
It’s been a while since I’ve been back here, and thought I’d update.
The last year has been hell for me, but I am emerging as a different person. I spent last fall in and out of hospitals and self-harming constantly. Things came to a head when I moved to Florida briefly. I would cut multiple times a day.
I finally decided to come back to Texas. That, along with the medication changes have made a world of difference.
In April, I started having disturbing digestive symptoms. I finally found answers with a restrictive diet and prescription treatment for Irritable Bowel Syndrome (IBS) and severe Gastroesophageal Reflux Disease (GERD.)
I am now employed for the first time in eleven months, and that’s going well. I’m a very different person now. I no longer have a desire to cut, and I am more than four months clean.
by Band Back Together | Aug 3, 2015 | Date/Acquaintance Rape, Healing From A Rape or Sexual Asault, How To Cope With Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Intimate Partner Rape, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Rape/Sexual Assault, Self Injury, Teen Rape, Teen Self Injury |
In seventh grade, I became a cutter. My parents had a horrible relationship they blamed on me. I was the scapegoat for their tumultuous relationship because something my youth pastor reported brought child protective services brought them to our door.
I was bullied at school. I had no one to talk to. Eventually I lost all my friends. I always focused on academics so I graduated top of my class. That belied the truth. I may have been a star academically, I had 40 bracelets that I refused to take off that hid my cuts. I cut until twelfth grade.
My fitness teacher caught me with fresh cuts on my leg. I told her I was getting help and being who I am I didn’t want to lie, so I confided in an elementary school teacher I was close to. I was unstable and talking slowly to a counselor. I was dealing with a lot – my dad was now a drug addict. My mom was suicidal and depressed.
My family was struggling. So was I
At the end of tenth grade, I unintentionally went to my very first party. I told my boyfriend where I’d be. I walked over to my friend’s house under the assumption we were having a Girl’s Night. Her brother was becoming a bartender and wanted to practice making us drinks. I hadn’t touched alcohol before.
I thought I was safe. We had parental supervision. I trusted the girls I was with, I was close to home, people knew where I was. I took all the proper safety precautions.
I started drinking right after I arrived. I had two or three glasses and was starting to feel pretty tipsy when I learned they were inviting boys over. I thought, Okay cool, more people to join the party. Because I trusted my friends, I trusted they knew who they were inviting over. A little while later they said that she had met the guys online.
That should have been a red flag, but I was already too drunk to care.
They boys arrived and we began playing drinking games. I ran out of alcohol so this nice boy offered me a beer. I took it grateful for the refill. I started feeling really fuzzy and out of it.
This is here my memory becomes spotty. He had drugged my beer. We went outside to have a campfire. I remember her mom coming outside. She told the boy who’d given me the beer to take me upstairs because I was going to pass out.
My memory goes black until I was suddenly in the bedroom. He was over top of me kissing me. I pushed him off and muttered that I had a boyfriend. He continued and I started to get angry. Feeling my consciousness slipping away, I started to get anxious.
My drunk and drugged self picked up my cell phone and dialed the last number I had texted, the number of my good guy friends. Suddenly the guy above me took my phone, said he would take care of me and hung up.
My lifeline was gone and I knew what was happening next.
I started to thrash, fighting to stay conscious. He was holding me down, telling me to shut up. My eyes were closing and I was panicking. I could feel him removing my clothing but I could no longer move. And everything went black. I was still fighting the drug and I woke up a few times in between.
I remember the pain. I remember screaming for him to stop when I’d become conscious for a few moments.
The next time I woke up, I was in a bathtub. It took a second to realize I was in the wrong place and that everyone else was sleeping. I was in a lot of pain where I shouldn’t have been. I noticed I was only wearing my shirt and shorts. No undergarments. I was still pretty out of it and stumbled to back to bed where I fell asleep until morning. Waking up when the sun broke through the curtain, I sat up. I was still in pain.
Moments later, what happened hit me. I just sat up staring at the wall until the other girls came upstairs.
I muttered “I was… raped.”
“No you weren’t,” they claimed. “You asked for it. You lead him on. His buddies were only trying to get him a kill. He only had two”
“Did he use a condom?” I asked, my heart breaking. I couldn’t believe they were denying it. At least ONE of them had to have heard my screams. He didn’t use a condom but he told them he had told them he pulled out before he came.
I didn’t care.
Tears streamed down my face as they denied I had been raped.
Still crying, I called my boyfriend and asked him to come and get me. When I got in his van, he knew something was wrong – I was withdrawn and quiet.
When we got to his house, we sat on his bed and he wanted to cuddle. I kept moving away. I didn’t want him to touch me. I felt disgusting. I began to cry again and I realized I couldn’t hide it.
I told him everything. He got up and took what looked like aspirin. I asked him if we could go to my house so I could shower. He said that he was afraid that I wouldn’t want to have sex with him.
On the way home, he pulled over to a parking lot and made me have sex with him – so that some guy wouldn’t be the last one inside of me.
I thought he loved me, and here he was forcing me to have sex with him.
I had given him my virginity only weeks before.
We finally got to my house. He kept swerving all over the road, freaking me out. When we got home, I immediately showered. I felt horrible and dirty. Thanks to him, I couldn’t even get medical help.
When I got out, he was asleep on my bed. I didn’t think anything of it. Over lunch, I told my best friend – who lived with me – a little bit of what happened. She hugged me and told me she was there for me.
Suddenly I realized my boyfriend still hadn’t gotten up which was extremely unusual. When I remembered all the pills he took, I ran to my room. Frantically, I tried to shake him awake but he wouldn’t get up. When he finally awoke, he couldn’t talk. He was slurring his words so badly. He couldn’t walk.
And I couldn’t hide it from my mom. I told her he may have take a lot of a pills. I called my neighbour, a paramedic, who I thought could help. He determined that my boyfriend had overdosed on anti-anxiety drugs. He told me to let him sleep it off, make sure he didn’t drive, as well as monitor his pulse and breathing.
He woke up six hours later and had to pee. He could walk a bit better. I was watching TV when I realized he’d been gone for a while. I decided to check on him. He said he was fine and would be out in two minutes. I sensed something was wrong. I knocked again. He asked for a sweater. I gave him one of my dad’s old ones. He pulled me into the bathroom.
Everything was covered in blood. He had slit his wrists and hands open multiple times. I grabbed a first aid kit. I was trained in this. I treated his injuries and told my mom he reopened some cuts from work. I told my best friend to watch him and tell me if he went into the bathroom while I called the paramedic back.
As I was talking to him, my best friend came and told me he was looking for me. He was angry as hell because he couldn’t find his keys, which I had hidden. He came outside looking for me. I hid, afraid he would hurt me. He finally went back inside and my best friend came out again. She reported that he’d locked himself in the bathroom and she could hear water running. I told the paramedic I had to go and called 911. The operator stayed on the line as he ran around outside looking for me with a razor blade before he retreated to the bathroom.
Police officers and an ambulance showed up. They went inside and dragged him out, covered in blood. I went with him to the hospital in the back of a police car. He was examined and his injuries treated. The next morning, the day before school was to start, he told my mom that he did it because of his crappy relationship with his parents.
She offered to let him stay with us.
Three months later he broke up with me. and then got back together with me, and then used me as a fuck buddy because he knew I was in love with him.
He’d always wanted was anal sex but I refused. One day at lunch, he said he wanted to hook up so we went to my house. No one was home. He wanted to do it doggy-style – and I said okay.
He went towards the wrong place. I yelled no so he covered my mouth. He shoved himself inside me and it was one of the worst pains I’ve ever experienced. I screamed under his hand, knowing no one could hear me. I cried and screamed and begged him to stop, but he wouldn’t. I was silent as I cleaned myself up and went back to school, and sat in my philosophy class.
I didn’t even realize he had anally raped me until months later.
I couldn’t believe it had happened a second time. Some of my friends knew about the rapes, including the girls at the party. They went around the high school, telling anyone who would listen that I wasn’t raped. I’d lied because I didn’t want to be accused of cheating.
This betrayal hurt more than anything. I knew what had happened and it wasn’t consensual. I talked to a school counselor once, but I didn’t feel like talking much about it – I’d been trying to forget about it. I’d been working with for two years trying to help a suicidal friend, who had incidentally, ended up in jail for shooting threats. She’d seen me at my worst. But I made her promise she wouldn’t ask me about the rape or talk about it unless I wanted to.
I promised that elementary school teacher that I would never cut again. He saved my life. He’f meet with me before I school when something had happened and just let me vent. He kept me alive. I will never have more gratitude for anyone.
All it takes is one person.
I eventually told him about the rapes and all of the shit I’d been through. He supported me through all of it. Despite the shitstorm, I graduated second in my high school class.
Now, I’m a year and almost five months clean. I’m in second year university. But the rapes still haunt me. I wake up crying. I have intense flashbacks and nightmares.
I don’t know what to do.
Now, I’m in a healthy, successful relationship. We live together. He knows about my struggles, but I feel like I shouldn’t put him through dealing with my emotions. I’m stuck. Every time I go to get counseling, I cancel last minute.
I don’t know what to do.
I feel like no one understands.
by Band Back Together | Dec 18, 2014 | Anxiety, Bullying, Childhood Bullying, Coping With Bullying, Cyberbullying, Depression, Feelings, Happiness, How To Heal From Being Bullied, How To Help A Loved One Who Self-Injures, Self Injury, Teen Bullying, Teen Self Injury, Therapy |
I was in the third grade when I was given my first labels.
“Whale.” “Fat.”
I hear it now, as I did six years ago.
Still I hear it ringing through my ears, wondering if it is the truth.
Years later I think to myself, do they know how hurtful those words are? Do they know I still think of it? Do they know that every time I look in the mirror, those names, those labels comes to mind, along with many others.
If they do, if they did, would they still have chosen to say that, or would they go back and erase it?
I wonder.
Fast forward three years.
Just starting middle school, a new school, a new beginning, a new life. Right?
Wrong.
With a new school, comes a new bully, new names.
“Bitch.” “Slut.” “Ugly.” “Poodle head.”
The names go on.
And the first time in my life, I feel helpless.
I feel trapped.
Because now, not only were they attacking verbally, but now they attacked through social media.
Helplessly, I admit defeat, and call for help.
Therapy for one year.
It helps.
I stop going.
No more bullies …for now.
One year later.
Half-way through the terrible mix.
Not an adult, but not a kid.
You’re changing in different ways.
Discovering new things about yourself.
Life is great …until they come again.
A new army of bullies ready to take down their first victim.
“Idiot.” “Fat.” “No good.” “Dirty whore.” “Lame.” “Loser.”
Those were the nice ones.
One more year…
Once again, a new year, a new bully
This time it’s worse.
“Thunder Thighs” is the only thing I was called.
One name, twice the pain.
I pull out my razor, to help relieve the mental tension.
Trying to replace mental pain with physical pain.
It works …for a little while.
One year later.
I am now clean.
Going through therapy.
Recently diagnosed with clinical depression and anxiety,
This puts a toll on my family.
I try and push through it, as I’ve done for years.
Apparently, I’m a great actress,
Fooling everyone around me that I am happy.
But now, I no longer have to pretend…
I am getting help.
Even though it hurts sometimes…
And those awful memories flood back.
I have self control…
I am seven months clean.
Still with urges, I manage to throw away my razor, and speak up.
With help from my family and friends, I am on the road to recovery.
Because after all, my disorder doesn’t define me.
by Band Back Together | Oct 28, 2014 | Anger, Attention-Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder, Depression, Loneliness, Love, Rape/Sexual Assault, Self Injury, Self Loathing, Self-Esteem, Teens: Mental Illness |
This will be long …for me at least (A.D.D. will start soon..)
If you have read my stories, you will know that I don’t forget faces, especially those from relationships. And if you have read my stories, you know I talk about one specific girl in my stories – “Marie.” She put me in a downward spiral of self hate, self harm, and no self worth.
School recently started. I saw her, but I didn’t recognize her. Me, the one who never forgets a face, never gets over a girl, and I forgot! I got over her. I wanted to start crying, breaking down. For some reason, my life had frozen. I didn’t try to look for her like I used to. I had forgotten her, forgot it all. I didn’t just forget “Marie,” but the rape, the hate, all of it.
I forgot everything except the hate. People hate me because I have screwed up. I am angry. I have unimaginable rage. Right now, even the computer I’m typing on is angering me so much, but I resist. I resist the urge to lash out.
So, I met a girl. She is the sweetest girl, and she just stops me. I know I will regret saying this, but I really do love her. She is my world. When “Brina” just caresses me and holds me tight, she stops the rage and anger …and the self harm.
The earlier generations don’t seem to understand. To them, depression is a mood, not a mental illness. We didn’t choose the pain, self harm, or anger, we were born with it. We grew up faking the smile, hiding it until some sees a cut, the scar tissue, the hole in the wall, the pure hatred of society.
We struggle to simply wake up in the morning and function as a human beings, yet we still wake up. We get up, even though there is no motivation, our faces tear-stained, our hearts beating for that one girl or boy we like. We want that one special person to know the pain, the quirks, the oddities, and unknown anger. We want that one person to look into our eyes and know our hearts beat for love.
I want that one girl to see me and know that my eyes see only her. I want her to see why I wake to an ever-beating heart deep in my chest.
I found that girl. And she saw me…
My anger is clashing with my feelings of love and affection! Please help me. Reach out to me. I want to start changing my life!
Stay strong, all of you. YOU are my family.
by Band Back Together | Sep 19, 2014 | Happiness, How To Cope With A Suicide, How To Deal With A Self-Destructive Friend, How To Help A Loved One Who Self-Injures, Self Injury, Self-Destructive Behavior, Suicide, Teen Sexuality |
Dear me.
I see you, you know. You may think no one really sees you, but I do. I promise. I see all of the things you try to hide. I see your scars. I see it all. You are hurting. So, so much. I know, I get it. But you need to stop hurting yourself. Stop the cutting, stop the drinking, and stop all of the meaningless sex. It is not okay to try and drown your feelings in the bottom of a bottle and it is not okay to cut yourself just to feel alive. I know you want to be numb and I understand, but sex isn’t supposed to leave you numb. It is a beautiful thing, and you will understand what I mean later in life.
Contrary to what you may believe, you are NOT alone. You are loved. People care! Stop drowning yourself in alcohol, stop going to school drunk. Stop taking handfulls of pills. Just STOP!
You are pushing your closest friends away. They don’t want to watch you slowly self destruct anymore.
You are about to make the biggest and greatest mistake in all of your life. It’s dangerous and damn near-deadly, but I won’t stop you. You need this, you’ll see why. Not right away, but you will. I promise.
This guy you’re with? He’s bad. Worse than any of the others. He is going to use, abuse, and destroy you. He will sell you out to push himself ahead in the blink of an eye. This isn’t love and he isn’t worth your tears. We can get through this. Together.
Someday, when you are older, you will thank me for not stopping you from making that mistake. I know you believe in fate, and I am pretty sure this is fate stepping in to make sure you don’t kill yourself (accidentally or on purpose). This is your rock bottom.
I promise you, you will find happiness someday. When you least expect it, it will come.
I promise you, there is a lot of work to be done, so start now!
I promise you, things will stop hurting soon.
I promise you, you are not alone. Ever.
Love always,
Me
