Finally Me

I finally am me...

You see, with my massive depression and suicidal attempts over the last 2 years I've had little to no energy to do anything but wanting to escape the pain I was feeling and the thoughts that I was nothing but a burden on my family. 

I tried everything short of a gun (due to no access) to attempt taking my life. I gave up on myself, my family, my future, hope, love, etc. I was living to die and that is an exhausting way to live. 

I loved all the wrong people and things and I loved those that I needed in all the wrong ways. 

Drugs became an everyday. 2-6 pills a day were crushed and snorted. I need them to escape. To feel anything then the misery and pain I felt every waking moment. 

I sliced up my arms and my thighs. 20 cuts a day was normal for me. I had razors everywhere including my wallet, purse, phone case, and even in my car. I cut whenever I had the chance. Bleeding made me feel alive. The cuts reminded me I was still human. 

I cried every time I showered. Or had a minute alone. I pulled my hair. Hit myself. And belittled myself every chance I got.

Nothing anyone said was real. Everything pissed me off. No one truly understood and no one ever got it. It was never going to get better. This pain was here to stay. The voices were only getting louder. The darkness kept getting darker. 

And all I wanted to do was breathe. Feel anything other than the what I was feeling. Then killing myself became a drug in of itself. I wanted to lose consciousness. I wanted to see the lights again. Feel the peace I felt when I did die before I was brought back. The moment of falling out of consciousness not knowing if you would wake again or what was waiting on the other side. It was a high. A rush. It became normal. 

I spent countless times in out of the hospital. I spent months at inpatient facilities. And for a while I was paralyzed. I just was walking through this life that I didn't want to admit had become mine. 

I felt like I was letting everyone else down. And they were mad at me. Worried about me. Sad for me. And I didn't want to deal with that. So I shut off. I was just okay all the time. 

And then, after failed treatment after failed medication, we found something that worked!! I didn't believe it at first. Hell, I still struggle with my new normal. 

But I can breathe. I can think and feel. I'm clean. My cuts are now scars. Some covered with tattoos and some not. And I'm not ashamed of what I went through. Where I'm at. How I get here. What I felt, thought, did. Because it was all real. 

In those moments everything I felt was real. Valid. Extreme. Overbearing. 

Today, I'm a better mom. I'm a more understanding person. I'm compassionate. I'm a better wife. A loving daughter. A caring aunt. And I'm fucking present!! I'm here. I'm still fighting. I still have challenges and feelings and thoughts that I don't talk about. I still have my moments because depression doesn't just go away even on the right combination of meds and treatments. 

However, it's more manageable. I get up every morning. I brush my teeth, I do my hair, I shower, I change my clothes, I eat every meal with the right portions. 

Through all that I've been through. Through all the struggles and trials. The thoughts and feelings. I learned one thing. And this one thing changed a lot of other things for me...

Remember earlier I said, "I felt like I was letting everyone else down. And they were mad at me. Worried about me. Sad for me. And I didn't want to deal with that. So I shut off. I was just okay all the time."

I realized that I was living and breathing and thinking and doing and being for everyone else!! I was so worried about how others saw me or felt about me. How other perceived me. But what about me?? 

I was so busy living for everyone else that I stopped living for me. And every time I felt like I let them down, it was another check under the "I'm a failure" category. 

Yet not one check was under the "I love me" category. Why? When did I stop becoming important to me? 

So, with the right combo of meds helping with the urges and thoughts, I've started living for me. I wake up for me. I take care of my body for me. I do my treatments and therapy for me. And since I started living for me, I've just started living. I'm a better mom. Wife. Daughter. Sister. Aunt. Etc. I'm starting to feel like me. And be like me again. 

And for that I'm grateful for what I did go through. I grew a lot. I learned a lot. I loved and got hurt. 

Be patient with yourself and those around you. Never settle and never change for anyone. For me the first step to healing was allowing the help in. The second.. was me. 

Labels

I have been beaten, broken, bruised

Raped, assaulted, and used

I have been a toy

chained, knifed, held by gunpoint.  

With the slit of my wrist 

or a pop of a pill

my sorrow and pain

I watch them get torn away

Sex and drugs became my outlet

the teenager years fade together

my future must be set

a prison would be my forever

Foster homes came and went

my bags stayed tightly packed

With eyes in the back of my head

I knew I could never slack

For my destiny was set

An abused child 

with no more tears to shed

A foster home brat was my bed

The drugs came deeper

Speedballs were all the rage

Smoking was the craze

Numbness was the game. 

Still broken and bruised

I allowed myself to slip

Over and over again

I let them all win

I deserved this 

I did it to myself 

I learned to just lay down and take it

like a good girl I was

Another fix another slit 

I knew no one could save me

I could barely save myself

as adulthood crept closer in

College became a joke 

With a boy and a girl

Just a triangle game

just another escape

No more drugs

No more marks

Still broken and bruised

Sex stayed apart of my game

10 years later 

still a damaged soul

with a family of my own

depression stayed my friend

I can't take it anymore

living a lie

hidden rapes no one knows

the pain that hides inside

With a razor blade in my hand

I slight my wrist again

relief and pain

why am I doing this again?

the pills come

the breath of relief

the blood drips

I think I am free

Depression wins

or so I think

With a quick swallow

I will end what is left

I awake to the lights and sounds

laying in a bed

I want to escape

to just run away

The DR's talk

the family whisper

I am still dying inside

but no one knows why 

I release all my secrets

breaking down to tears

I am broken and bruised

still holding on to what I believe to be true

I am almost 30

didn't think I'd make it this far

It's time to start living

time to set the bar

No more pills or slits of the wrist

and although I may be bruised

I am not broken

or ashamed

I now see the light 

taking it one day at a time

trying to survive

I will continue to fight.

 

- MonikahMay 2019

Death to Life : the day I attempted suicide to the day I started to live

On January 24th, 2019 my life changed forever. On this day at 10 pm, I attempted to take my life. I overdosed on 3 different types of pills totally at just over 100 plus pills. The paramedics saved my life by keeping me breathing and although weak, a pulse. At the hospital, I stopped breathing. 3x I died and was brought back. After the 3rd time, I was unable to breathe on my own. So I was put on a breathing machine for 3 days. I woke on day 4. Mad, angry, sad, ashamed, wishing I was dead but glad I wasn't. I was so confused and I felt extremely alone. I want to disappear. After 4 days in the ICU, I was taken to general for almost 4 more days due to a 104-degree fever before being sent to an inpatient facility. I stayed at the inpatient hospital for 8 days before I was allowed to come home.

At the time of the suicide attempt, I felt confused, alone, like a burden, hopeless, and like everyone in my life would be better off if I was dead. I couldn't breathe, I was drowning. I was far down into my depression that I could only see darkness and I couldn't feel anything but the water surrounding me at the deepest part of the ocean. I was cold. I was scared. I was in so much pain, all I wanted was for the pain to end. To be numb.

I felt calm and happy at the time of the suicide attempt. I wanted to die. I wanted to stop the pain and the breathing because at that time I was fighting to survive, to breathe, to smile, be happy, just to be alive.

I got out and things started to turn for the better. I got on meds. I started to see the light. I was able to breathe and smile. I was still struggling. Still self-harming. Still suicidal. But I was fighting. I had to try to live. That's when I decided to do one thing I had always wanted to do because hell, I just tried to kill myself so why not put everything into one thing. So I decided to look into being an EMT.  Within a week of my decision, I was CPR, First Aid and AED certified. I was determined to be an EMT. I want to be the best EMT I can be.

And then my world crashed around me again. On March 17th, 2019 at 11:30 pm, I was raped by a friend of 3 years. With my neck bruised and the soft tissue damaged from him choking me to the raw painful feeling of peeing, I hated myself. I felt crushed and stupid like I had done something wrong. Once again I couldn't breathe. I cried all the way home. I got home and ran into my husband's arms and told him everything that had happened. He held me in anger. Not at me but at the guy who had just shattered his wife. I felt like everything I had worked so hard for over the last month and a half was just ruined. He took everything from me and I didn't have much to give. I felt so damn broken.

I did a rape kit, filed a report and went back to inpatient because all I wanted to do was plunge a knife into my neck. I wanted to die all over again. I spent 6 days in the inpatient hospital I was previously at. I was able to talk about the rape and my feelings and just let everything out. I met some life long friends. I got the support I needed. And I came home to a strong support system. I have fought to get better after my suicide attempt and I have already given up so much power and control throughout my life, I wasn't going to give away any more.

I have nightmares. I still can't breathe. I still feel overwhelming sadness. But I am alive. I will keep fighting. I start EMT school on April 9th, 2019 and I am so excited. I will not give my depression or my rapist the power they want. I deserve to be happy and for once I am going to keep fighting for me.

Depression: When the waves hit

     It hits so hard I feel like I'm drowning. I can't breathe or think or even have rational thoughts. My feet are pointed down and I fall deeper and deeper. The water gets colder and darker. When all of a sudden my ankles are free and I am swimming back up. Air. I can breathe and see and I can feel the warmth of the sun on my skin. I start to swim to shore thinking I am clear until the next wave hits. Not far off from shore, I am pulled back in. Swept under the water and drowning again. Will I make it this time? How long will this episode last? Do I even have enough in me to fight again?

     A sense of comfort overwhelms me as I let the cold darkness of the water surround me. Deeper into the water I sink. I can no longer see life around me. I close my eyes, lift my arms out and give in. For a second I am ok. And then that second ends and I open my eyes, looking up. The light starts to dim.

     NO! Not today. Not this time. I must fight. I must reach out for anything that I can grab onto. Silent screams escape as I fight. Nothing to grab onto. My feet begin kicking hard and fast as I use my arms to push the water down and my body up.

     Reaching out. Searching. I am alone in this ocean of sadness and hopelessness. I've got to fight. I am so close. I can't give up now. I must keep reaching. When all of a sudden many hands are reaching down towards me. The life raft appears. People show up. Tears fall from their faces as they express love and concern. The wind picks up, I'm being rushed away to the shore. It is a bumpy ride as many waves crash into the boat.

      I look around and see all their faces. All the love exceeding from the shore. The hope that I will be ok. That I can get the help I need. The pills come, the DR's talk, the family smother. I can't breathe. I want to be alone. Months pass and I am ok. I am out in the world. Living the life I was before. I am happy and smiling. I am ok. I will be ok. I am surrounded by those I love. I've got a great job. A family. A life.

     And just like that. I am on the shore playing dangerously close when out of nowhere another wave hits, I try to fight as the waves surround me and I am drowning again.


***This is my life. My depression. You see, sometimes are amazing and others are not. Some days I feel like I give so much of myself to those around me and I feel like I am dirt beneath the shoes on their feet. Some days I feel like a burden. Like those around me would be better off if I was gone. Like my life doesn't matter.

I care to easily. I love to easily. And I am constantly getting hurt. I sometimes feel like I am not good enough.  I have survived so much in my life and I have done so much in the life that was given to me. I have overcome the abuse, the drugs, the foster homes, the suicides, and the struggles that life just offers.

Sometimes I feel like I am the glue holding everything together. Like my life does matter. I would be missed. And although I don't always want to live, I also don't want to die.

I have to fight. I have to beat the waves when they roll in. I never know when one will hit or how long one will last. But I am a fighter. I am a survivor. I have to be here. I have to take the time to focus on me, especially when the waves hit. I have to be here for me and for them.

The Truth

     People constantly ask me how can I be so open and talk about my life without too much concern about how people may view me. My answer is simple. I simply don't care. Why? Because if it wasn't for my childhood I wouldn't be who I am today. I wouldn't be so care-free and open minded.

     I grew up with secrets. My whole life has been about secrets. I had to lie about my abuse, I had to lie about being a lesbian both in school and to my adopted parents, I lied about my depression, and so much more. I don't like secrets. That is why I am so open.

     I can talk about my troubles as a kid in foster care, my abuse, being a mom with abuse history and breaking the cycle because I don't want to forget how I became who I am. Everything that happened to me happened for a reason. Everything that I've done, I've done for a reason.

     Not only do I want to remember where I have come from but I want to continue to be a better person. I want to be the best mom I can be for my kids. A good friend that is loyal and reliable. I want to give what was never given to me. I also want to help others who have been through abuse, rape, incest, etc. and show them that even if you have a shitty past, even through all of the abuse, you and ONLY YOU get to make the best of it. Only you get to decide how you live and how you let your past affect your future. I may not be a billionaire in a big house with a lot of friends. However, I do have a family that I love, a roof over my head, a job, food, and lifelong friends that I have known since elementary that I wouldn't trade for all the friends in the world!

    I truly believe we make who we are as adults. We get to decide to be the worst kind of society or the kindest of society. Our pasts do not define who we are. We define who we are going to be.

    Stay true to who you are even if it is against the grain. Always be yourself! And never let the events of life past, present, or future define who YOU get to be!! <3

My past is an experience I don't wish on anyone but defiantly not one I would change. I am strong. I am not my past. I am a survivor. I am a mom. I am bisexual. I am women. I am kind. I am ME!!