Wednesday, October 14, 2009
The First Attempt
Ok so my life has been no walk in the park. Let me begin with the cliché, “We laughed, we loved, we cried.” Beginning with a cliché, childish I suppose. Let’s start with, well, the beginning. As a little tot I was just adorable. I picked flowers, caught lizards, and swam in the river all whilst wearing a dress. Not just ordinary dress would suit. It had to be the fluffiest, pinkest, most gaudy dress there was in the baby line that season. And it always would be. I guess you could call me a tomboy? Tom girl? I don’t know, but I was nothing less of happy as a child. My parents were mostly there when I was around. Well my dad worked all day and night. He was always on call, because he was a doctor. Nonetheless, I wasn’t short of being a happy child. Everything was so simple, so easy. But now let’s jump a big jump up… pubescence. I was not a pretty mid stage girl. I had short hair that parted down the middle with big choppy fringe that I cut myself. Later, I would cut other things. But anyway, I was, well, just strange. I hung out with the weird music kids when I was in middle school. Not the band geeks, the “cool band geeks.” We thought we were cool. None of us ever were though. Oh! How did I fit in? Well, I was in chorus. That’s when I could find out that I could really sing more than the “Sailor Moon Theme Song” in the shower loudly. My sister always snuck in the listen to me. I must be really good. No, she made fun of me. I later started getting embarrassed in front of people. Not large crowds, just small groups. I guess you could say I was shy. Now in an audience I’d be working it. I loved to dance it was my passion before music became the most prevalent part of my life. I was slightly overweight. C’mon you know you ate a lot of Swiss Cake Rolls when you were a kid. Well, it stuck to me, suckers. I had a couple boyfriends here and there but nothing above and awkward middle school relationship. The summer presenting into high school was the closely becoming worst. I started becoming put on psychoactive drugs that summer because they thought I had ADD. What kid didn’t? But that’s when they told me something was wrong with me. “You’re too fat. You’re too thin.” What the fuck? I could never please anyone. Why couldn’t I meet the fucking standard? I became anorexic after they put me on a bunch of speed in daily doses. I didn’t eat one bite. That’s when my disgust with food set in for the rest of my life. I could not bear to see people eat. They turned into these nasty beasts. Pigs, let’s call them, whenever they ate around me. I was not victorious against my eating disorder until I started smoking pot very heavily in about a year and then I had only gained the weight, but the mind set was still there. I tried Bulimia for a while but it didn’t work out because it was ruining my voice, which I always treasured. Every cigarette I smoked, I felt it die a little more. I didn’t start extreme chain smoking until 11th grade, but smoked at a young age. I will probably get lung cancer at a very young age. Actually, I will probably die before I’m thirty. I don’t know what will kill me but I wasn’t meant to live past that age. I’m an old soul, not a new soul. I’ve been told a multiple of times, never by a medical professional, of course, that I wouldn’t live past thirty, but nonetheless, I never expected long life. Anyway, where was I? Oh yes, 9th grade. Well, to sum up freshman year, it’s when I turned anorexic and drank more than my body weight in alcohol. I had this one senior boyfriend for a few weeks that I really liked but he obviously didn’t really like me that much. We both liked Star Wars, Weezer, and chorus. What more could you ask for, right? It sounds like the perfect relationship. I think that’s the first time and only time my heart was really broken at the ending of a relationship. He would remain to drunk dial me for years to follow but other than that we never really spoke again. I partied more than any normal kid ever should, at least until they earn the right in college. Partying as a right, a privilege. Funny, huh? I figure if you make it that far alive then you deserve to let go, a little bit. Past college you actually have to live. Like, for real. 10th grade rolls around a year later. Duh. It was an eventful year. It was the year I thought I found true love, lost my virginity on Valentine’s Day, and fell into heavy drugs. I was always on some drug 10th grade, whether it be weed, coke, oxycontin, valium, xanax, loratab, klonopin, salvia, shrooms, or acid. It didn’t matter what. I did it all. I couldn’t go anywhere sober, especially, without my benzos, pot, and alcohol. I wanted large quantities when I wanted large quantities. Instant gratification. Right now! I had this crazy boyfriend that I dated over a year. He was the worst mistake of my life. He just took away all the emotions I had. All my thoughts were distorted when he was around. It was like a fucking love spell someone cast on me until I tried to kill myself the next year. Gosh, I’m giving away all the good parts, right? Sorry. Maybe he had cast a spell on me. I have always believed in magic. It always interested me and I tampered with it a little in that drug stage of my life. What interests me the most in cognitive things like telepathy, telekinesis, clairvoyance, and psychokinesis. I think I can read minds sometimes and I have visions all the times. Not like That’s So Raven, kids. More than that. I see things that don’t revolve around me. Worldly things, I guess you could say. But, most of the time I never found out if my visions came true. I bet they did. We only use a small percentage of our brain what is not certain that some people use a bigger percentage and it happens to be that some other parts of the brain have special powers that not everyone has. Like drugs, they open your mind to different parts of the spectrum from which lies below the skull. It depends like what drugs you take, whether it is stimulants, depressants, hallucinogenics or all. But if you take too much of anything the result is usually for final moments or very close to it. I’ve come so close, so many times. Some of these times were not intentional and some were. Nonetheless, it obviously never worked out when they were. I started to become really depressed and anxious towards the end of 10th grade which led me straight into the psychiatrist’s office, then therapy, of course. Previously, I was put on ever form of ADD drugs because they thought I had ADD, obviously. Well, the actual psychiatrist thought I had mood swings and anxiety with depression and OCD tendencies. Basically, I was a train wreck. However, I was more of a train wreck than they originally thought. But, regardless, I was put on Prozac and Xanax to hopefully cure me. It didn’t and we tried everything Prozac, Zoloft, Cymbalta, Lamictal, Seroquel, Abilify, Xanax, Lunesta, Sonata, Rozerum, Lexapro, Ambiem, ect. The list went on forever. Nothing seemed to work and if it did it had some crazy adverse effect on me. I knew then how fucked I really was. I thought nothing would ever make me better. Like, an alien I need to go home to mars. I fucking hated my damn school the beginning of 11th grade and it was completely mutual. I wished everyone would just be quiet and leave me alone. “Fuck them”, I thought. I think I was really lonely deep inside. I had become very suicidal. I wanted to die but didn’t have the nerve to do it, at first. Deep gashes were perfectly lined along my arm. I still have the scars to prove the pain I was in today. I know it’s totally cliché to cut yourself when you’re suicidal but I know why people are actually in pain do it. It ironically ended the pain. Inflicting pain masked the pain I was in. When I bled and I saw the pain all my worries went away. I had control of the pain instead of it just being there. It hurt so good. Cutting was the most extreme addiction I had ever had. I just couldn’t stop. I wanted to because people saw and asked questions but I just could not. I was at the end of my rope. Things were not going well at all. I wanted to die. I wished death would just come down and strike me in the head. It didn’t so I took things into my own hands. One night, I decided to check myself into the hospital, but I figured if things were that bad that I needed to check myself into a hospital I might as well just kill myself. That’s exactly what I tried to do. I swallowed a handful of Seroquel and Ambien and was on my way. I was so happy about the upcoming result. I never knew how liberating it would be to finally be dead. Of course that didn’t work out. If only I took something more. I would be dead right now. Dead and content. I don’t remember much about that night I was mostly unconscious on breathing tubes. I remember being moved from bed to bed and being rolled out of the ambulance. That was my first ambulance ride. I can’t say it was a fun experience, but an experience in the least. I recall people screaming questions at me like, “what’s today’s date?” As if I knew what the date was. All I could see was mostly black. The light seemed to fade as my heart rate flat lined. The doctors told my parents there was no hope. But, sure enough, I woke up twelve hours later. I was then sent to a mental hospital, Wolfson’s Children Hospital, where they did absolutely nothing for my mental health. After a short stay I was released to PHP, partial hospitalized patient. There were art projects and talk therapy, but it still did nothing for me. At least I got to go home at night and sleep in my own bed away from the crazy kids I stayed with while I was in the actual hospital. I wasn’t doing well at all. I was off all medication and I saw through the therapist sugary sweet façade. I knew she wanted to help, but I couldn’t let her. I didn’t want to be helped. I just wanted to be left alone. I needed to rest. I needed change. That’s what I planned to do too. Change everything about my life that obviously wasn’t working out for me. I broke up with my long time boyfriend, Ryan, who I thought for the longest time was the love of my life. He apparently wasn’t making me happy. I wanted to die. He had gone to rehab a few times in our relationship and had totally taken advantage of my trusting nature. I was totally oblivious to the mental rape he had put upon me until after my first suicide attempt. Many would follow.
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