Originally published on October 22, 2020

This post has actually been sitting in my drafts since March...

I wasn't completely comfortable sharing things that I write about in this post, but now I am. Things are in a far different place now. With myself, my health and my friends & family.

So ... here it goes:

"Go ahead and do it."

Those were the words my mom said to me when I was sitting on the garage floor with a knife propped against my stomach. Every cut in my arm from months of slicing the mental pain into physical pain seem to loose it's scabbing top layer. I was sick. I was tired. I was battered from a physical and verbal abusive relationship. I was bruised from an a strained relationship with my family.

I was self-destructive. I was paralyzed. I was a mental wasteland. I was 13.

The circumstances leading up to that event were worse than anything you could have imagined. I began to reflect on all of the traumatic experiences of my childhood. The molestation. The physical abuse of what I thought love was. The torture. The abandonment. The suffering. The homelessness. The hunger. All of that seemed to manifest itself into something larger than me. It wanted to destroy me. It wanted to kill me. And I was ready to let it.

But I didn't.

Why?

I don't know.

Fast forward to my late teens, early college years. Life hadn't gotten any easier. I had lost a two very important people in my life due to a cancer, and my parents had just divorce. My younger siblings blamed me for the divorce. They wouldn't talk to me. To make matters worst, I was battling another monster who wouldn't let me live.

Pre-cancerous cells had started developing inside me.

I thought back to the time when I was 13. I should have ended it then. I wouldn't have had to deal with any of what was going on.

I took medicine and was in and out of the doctor's office for a little bit.

I began to lose my hair...and my mind. (Fun Fact: I actually shaved my head due to hair loss as a result of this event. After I cut my hair, I realized I really liked it.)

I was failing most of my classes. Nothing was going right. Then I discovered another outlet. Sex. I figured I was dying anyway. And there was something about having someone want to connect with me that made me feel...better.

But that came to an abrupt end, as I soon discovered that there was such thing as a reputation, and mines was tarnished, I guess.

Could I just die already?!?

No, I couldn't. As a matter of fact, my next doctor's appointment showed that all signs of cancer had disappeared. I beat cancer. But I had already lost my life. Anyone I had slept with no longer wanted my company, they had moved on to the next slew of Freshman girls waiting to cheat on their boyfriends. My Best Friend didn't really want to be associated with me. My Roommate didn't want me around me. I couldn't even blame them. I had no idea what to do.

I found comfort in a bottle. Drinking? No. Prescription bottles. I combined all types of meds. One day, as I let the loss of my grandfather and virginity haunt me, I took a total of 15 pills. In one dosage. It was three in the afternoon. I laid in bed, in hopes that I wouldn't have to see the next day. I fell asleep.

And what I felt like was an eternity, was just one night.

I woke up.

How? No clue.

Why? I'm still trying to figure it out.

...have things gotten better? -Not entirely.

But the journey? My journey?...it isn't over.

Despite my feeling towards my life, it's still MY life. Which means I have more control over than I realized.

I'm the third party. I don't know what you have going on. I just know place you're in. That empty, wretched, brain cell diminishing, painful heart beat pounding, blood flow stopping place. I visited that place on several accounts.

Take control of your life. It won't be perfect, but it will get better. :-) 

-ab