I'm going to apologise in advance for this post. My thoughts are scattered, I'm an emotional wreck and this writing is going to reflect that.
The last week has been hard. Really fucking hard. There's this hole inside of me, a void that no matter what I do, I can't fill. The only way that I can manage is to numb myself by drinking. When I drink, I feel good for a while, I forget about my problems for a while, and the emptiness goes away. I don't even know how to describe this emptiness. It's vast, it consumes me, it makes depression and my anxiety seem like those were the good times.
I don't even know where to begin. I've been a mess for as long as I can remember. I was angry all the time. I used to live up north and my parents have told me countless stories of how I would throw temper tantrums and flail about in the snow in -30 degree weather. When my brother was born I hated him. Then my other brother was born. I hated both of them. They're 4 and 6 years younger than me. I know that every child at one point or another hated their siblings. I hated mine all of the time. I couldn't control it. I used to beat them. Not play fighting but it was me trying to kill them. When someone caught me I would turn on the tears and blame them. It was easy for me. They didn't have the vocabulary to express what I was doing to them. I knew it was wrong even at such a young age. I just didn't have control over my anger. Soon enough my brothers were old enough to verbalise and to fight back. So I turned to my friends. I manipulated them, I'd find someone who was weaker and physically assault them. I knew they wouldn't tell. They needed me. This is only the third time in my entire life that I've ever talked about this. The first was when I was in rehab shortly before I left. The second was when I called my one brother and apologised. I still have to make at least one more apology.
I'm so ashamed of what I've done. I hurt people who didn't deserve it. I'm an asshole. I've beat myself up for years because of this. Now I know why I did this but it doesn't make it right. It doesn't make me feel better.
As a teenager I started really expressing my anger. My mum was basically a single mother. My dad worked in another province and only came home one weekend a month. My mum did her best but I didn't respect her. I couldn't. I should have with all she's been through but I found I could only respect intelligence in the form I knew it...book smarts. She has epilepsy, has undergone two brain surgeries to remove tumours, sees a neurologist 2-6 times a year, and has been closer to death more than many people combined. She's a survivor and I should have respected that but I didn't. Because of all of the medications my mum took as a kid her book smarts stopped at about 10 years old. She couldn't learn new skills, couldn't talk about anything emotional, or intellectual. I know she is smart but it's so different from the way that I'm intelligent that I can't really relate.
When I was 12 I had to call 911 because she just about died (again). She was taking a nap and my nana called. I tried to wake her but she wouldn't wake up. She then started mumbling and rolled off the bed and no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't wake her up. I didn't know what to do. After about ten minutes of agonising I finally went back to the phone and told my nana (thank god she was still on the line) that mum wouldn't wake up. She told me to get the neighbour to call 911. I did. All I remember after that is Jackie in our house trying to wake up my mum, and then the paramedics wheeling her out to the ambulance. I have no recollection of what happened after, if my dad came home, if I visited her in the hospital, when she came home. It's all a blank. What if she had died because I waited too long to tell my nana? She could have died because I panicked and didn't know what to do.
Shortly after that, I started lashing out at my mum. I would yell at her. I even hit her a few times. I'd punch holes in my bedroom wall. Once again, I knew I would get away with it because my dad wasn't around. I was/still am terrified of my dad. He recognised early on that I was smart. I wanted to please him. I didn't want to be like my mum, weak. I wanted to be like my dad, smart and successful. He didn't go to university. Well he tried but he drank too much and ended up dropping out. He always wanted to make something of his life though. Work for nasa, be an expert in physics and mathematics. Because I emulated him so much and because he was living his dreams through me I tried to live my life in a way that would make him proud. Unfortunately, I don't have a head for numbers. I get confused with division. When he was helping me with my homework he would get so frustrated with me he would end up throwing my text book across the room and yelling at me for not understanding something so simple. He's smart but not the best teacher. If you don't get it right away, he'll flip out. He has no patience.
I did everything I could to make him proud. Physics, Chemestry, and Mathematics 12. I couldn't do it. Ok, well I only tried 3 times but after only getting 41% on the third final, I gave up. I never stopped trying to please him though.
The summer after grade 12 I was raped by my best guy friend. I thought it was my fault. I still do. Then I did was any teenager does. I rebelled. I don't mean drugs and alcohol because that would have been okay with my parents. I did something that made them so mad, I still don't know if they've forgiven me. I went to bible college. It was good for me. I had fun. And I only had one suicide attempt in the year and a half I was there. I had been self mutilating and attempting suicide for years. My parents (when I did tell them) would tell me to go to sleep or take a walk or something stupid like that. They didn't understand that I was hurting and crying out in the only way I knew how. Too bad everything got brushed under the rug. We didn't even talk about my mum's illness in my family. I brought it up once. I thought a book should be written about her. About how strong she was. My dad's perspective, my grandparent's, my mum's. Initially they thought it was a good idea, until my mum started crying and my dad started yelling at me for making her upset. I dropped it shortly after that. I still want to do it though. Maybe, I will one day.
After that my life consisted of moving, job hopping and sleeping around...oh and drinking. I moved 19 times and held over 30 jobs in a 7 year period. Finally I fell into the career that I'm currently in. I liked it because I'm really good at it and I was doing something that not a lot of females do. I don't like most girls. Most of my friends are guys and I prefer to work in a male dominated work place. Maybe I was trying to prove to my dad how tough I was, I don't know?
After being diagnosed as bi polar, schizophrenic, depressed, and a million other things I was finally diagnosed as having borderline personality disorder. I did what I do best - research. I read every book and article about bpd. At first I was in denial. Then the truth dawned on me. This is me. I have this. But it's just a label, I'm a person and everyone is different.
Initially I was discouraged. The success rate for curing bpd is not very good. There are 8 classifications. I qualify for every single one. You're "cured" when you fit 4 of the symptoms or less. It takes extensive therapy. It's basically trying to teach you how to walk properly when you think you've been doing it properly for years. It was a blow. But I wanted to be a success. I could make it. All I had to do was study the books and eventually I would change my thinking. I went to a company that only treats bpd. It cost a lot. I was paying over 2000 a month for the treatment. The problem was I didn't have the money and I started feeling better so I left. That's when I started drinking heavily. I told my parents that I was still going to therapy and I couldn't afford it. They started giving me 2000 a month. I used it all on alcohol. I still owe them about 3000$. I now know all of the clinical terms. I can tell someone when I'm splitting, or acting out. The problem is I can't change my behaviour. Maybe it wasn't a good idea to read about it. The way my brain works is that when I understand something, I therefor an expert. If I know all of these terms and I can catch myself when I'm doing them, I can thus cure myself. It doesn't work that way. I catch myself and keep on doing it. At least I'm aware. That's a step in the right direction? Or maybe not. Maybe my understanding and intelligence is stopping the emotional and mental healing process?
I missed a lot of work. More than usual. It got to the point where I was missing more work than I was there. One evening I got really drunk and fell in my washroom. I ended up with a serious concussion. So I took time off work and drank...from morning till whenever I passed out. For some reason no one accused me of being an alcoholic. I thought it was obvious. I knew I had a problem. No one called me on it. Finally, I got fed up with myself and stopped drinking. Then I went to rehab. While in rehab, we did a lot of meditation. I confessed to my therapist that I thought something was wrong with me. I've always been angrier than anyone I know. I learnt to suppress it but it came out as depression or self harm. We went through a meditation exercise where I envisioned my childhood. All I saw was the shadow of a man who was hurting me. I couldn't continue. The next day, we tried again. I found out then that I was molested as a child. I always had the body memories...the fear of men, the anger, and a million other symptoms and as much as I suspected it was true, I couldn't put a voice to my fears. I left rehab shortly after that. It was about a week or two before I started drinking again. I didn't leave so I could drink. I just thought that I needed one on one therapy, not group. How could I say that I abused children when there were mothers in the group with me? And with the way I was, I couldn't come out and say something as big as this. I've cried wolf so many times. Although in my head I wasn't crying wolf, I was asking for help in the only way I knew how to. My parents thought my cutting and suicide was a phase, they thought my moodiness and anger was attributed to teenage hormones, then I moved and they didn't see me very often so they didn't see the signs I was giving out. How on earth was I supposed to talk about something that I'm pretty sure that happened but the only proof I have is from body memories and a vague recollection during meditation?
Since then, I've been at a loss. I'm having nightmares about being raped. I keep seeing a man in my apartment. I'm too afraid to go outside because people are going to hurt me. I'm angry again. I haven't felt this kind of rage since my childhood. I'm hearing voices in my head. I've cracked. I've reached my breaking point and I'm having a mental breakdown. I made the decision to check into the psych ward (after two suicide attempts). I leave tomorrow morning. They'll help me with my psychological issues and eventually send me back to rehab once the crazy is under control. I know I shouldn't drink but this is kind of the only thing I have left. I'm sober now and just trying to make it till tomorrow. It's the only way I know. I don't want to go crazy. I can't handle the voices or seeing the man or having the rape dreams, or thinking I'm not good enough. I want to drink because it's the only way I know how to survive. Tomorrow morning, I go to the hospital. I'll be safe there. They can help me. I just need to make it through tonight. Please, God, I hope that I make it.
I want to survive. I really do. It's just a life time of hurt has finally caught up with me. I recently read a quote that's helping me. "You survived the abuse, you can survive the recovery". Oh and here's a video I frequently watch because it makes me feel like I'm not the only one out there that feels like this.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Qt9SOvILMI8
I cried the first time I saw this video. I couldn't believe that there were other people out there that understood what I was going through. I know it's kind of cheesy but it means a lot to me.
I heard someone once say that "no matter how softly you touch a burn victim, it's still going to hurt them". That's what it's like for me all the fucking time. You mean well, but sometimes your compliments hurt me. I know rationally they shouldn't but I'm not rational. Everything fucking hurts me. And sometimes the pain feels better than the emptiness so I'll end up seeking the pain. Feeling bad things is better than feeling nothing. Oh, God. I wish I could be normal. I hate the emptiness, I hate the pain, all of the emotions, the self destructiveness. I just want to be normal. I tried. I tried to emulate the normal people, but my thought process is so different. They do things that are so foreign to me. How do you love someone who has hurt you? How do they see the big picture? Why is it either love or hate for me? I want to see the in betweens. I understand they're there but I can't fucking see them, let alone understand them.
Ps. I'm moving out of my apartment into my parents garage. It happens when you drink away your job, money and everything else. I'm 37 grand in debt. I'm going to declare bankruptcy. I'm lucky in the sense that I have a place to go to. I'm not going to end up on the streets. I don't have to give up my three cats. I'm lucky. I told my folks in December that I was going to be moving back in with them at the end of January. They freaked out. Understandably. They have to convert a garage into a living space for me. Then last week I sprung the big bomb. I'm checking into the hospital so they have to finish the garage and pack up all my shit without my help while I dillydally in the hospital. I feel really guilty about this but it's life or death for me. Either I go into the hospital asap or I don't make it. They didn't understand. I recently shaved my head because I felt like it. Impulsive behaviour without thinking about the consequences...that's me in a nut shell. Anyhow, my mum came over yesterday and helped me pack up most of my shit. I later called my dad. Big mistake. I was emotional, depressed, guilty, anxious, and wanting to drink. Here's our conversation.
Me: Hey, had mum made it home yet?
Dad: No. She's staying at your place tonight.
Me: No, she left. I have some things at your house that I need before I check into the hospital.
Dad: Well she's not home yet. What else do you want?
Me: We got a lot of packing done here. How's the garage coming?
Dad: Your brother is still asleep. I've been doing everything by myself.
Me: I'm sorry. You know I didn't plan this? I just need to do what I can to get better.
Dad: Yeah, well you could have given us more notice. It's not fair for your mother to be packing up your apartment while you're sleeping and I'm working my ass off trying to insulate a garage for you.
Me: It wasn't my choice. I'm not right in the head. I'm seeing things, hearing things, I can't sleep, I need to go to the hospital so I don't hurt myself again.
Dad: More crap about the garage and what an inconvenience I am to him and my mum.
Me: DO YOU WANT ME DEAD?
Dad: no.
Me: Well that's what's going to happen if I don't get the help I need. Remember 2010, when I just about died? That's what's going to happen again if I don't get help. I don't want that, which is why I'm doing this. I'm sorry for inconveniencing you guys but I can't control when I have a mental breakdown. I'm doing the best I can. I wanted to check in last week but I felt too guilty. I stayed and helped pack. I need to go to the hospital on Monday. It is life or death for me.
Dad: It's just not fair to your mother or myself. I don't see why you have to be so dramatic. You're brothers had the same upbringing as you and they're fine.
Then I hung up on him. I hate him. But I know in a while when I cool down, I love him again and I'll start bending over backwards trying to please him again. We have such a parasitic relationship. I only get love about 5% of the time, yet I keep calling him, hoping to get that approval. I have serious daddy issues.
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