“If you’re going to do it, then you cut up and down. Not across the wrist.” I still have a small scar going diagonally on my wrist. The others have faded.
Even if I did it, it wouldn’t matter. She’s literally given me the instructions on how to get the job done. And she’s still the same callous person throughout the whole ordeal. I finally realized that if I went through with it, then she would win. She didn’t want to see me happy or succeed. And me being gone would fulfill her wishes.
The air in the household was saturated with hate, jealousy, secrets and abuse. It seemed easier to live with it, rather than ask for help. At least I knew what was coming day to day. If I told, then it would be out in the open and I wouldn’t know what to expect. “Whatever goes on in this house, stays in this house.” A line I won’t ever forget.
If you put manipulative, abusive and deceitful behavior on display, then of course you think it’s ok. So why would I ask for help from people like that? Your practice of the inappropriate behavior is condoning it at the same time.
Being around 7 years old, I was made to feel that the molestation was my fault. Since I was made to feel guilty, I didn’t want to tell for fear of getting in trouble. Not being believed never crossed my mind. When I was a young teen, the violation recommenced.
I was told that I dressed too provocatively. I was told that it didn’t matter because it wasn’t truly blood. I was told that other people do it all the time. I was told that I would be in the wrong if it came to light. I was told that since I was a virgin, it didn’t really matter.
When I was in college, it happened again. Unbeknownst to my attacker, I knew the behavior of silence and blocking things out. So it happened and nothing came of it.
I never thought I was wrong. I assumed it was just something that happened in life from time to time. I knew it wasn’t OK, but I didn’t understand the severity of it until I spoke it out loud to two guys that I dated years later. Seeing the anger in their face and their desire for retaliation scared me. I made them promise to never speak of it or do anything about it. I didn’t want to be responsible for someone getting hurt or going to jail because of me.
I attempted suicide 3 times. Twice by cutting my wrists and a third by ingestion. Did I think it was a cry for help? No. Was I unsure about following through? No. Was I disappointed when I realized I was still here? Yes.
I wanted to succeed simply because I was over it. I was sick of keeping secrets and not being in control of my mind or body. I was sick of playing the role of who everyone around me wanted me to be. I was sick of covering for others. I was sick of being a scapegoat and a victim.
Once I was in my late teens, I gained the control I wanted over my life and I never had those thoughts again. I was able to actually live. I was safe. If I didn’t like someone in my life, I’d simply remove them and forget about them. I’m a master at blocking things out and this helped me a lot. It may not be the best tactic, but it has worked well enough for me. I keep my circle very small. It’s less room for disappointment and hurt.
If you or someone you know are being abused or molested, I’m reassuring you that it’s not your fault. No lie can change the truth. Blocking out the situation won’t change it. Enabling the behavior by staying quiet or not helping isn’t right either. Violating someone is not OK under any circumstances.
If you’re reading this and you’ve entertained suicidal thoughts, please stop. I know it’s not easy. Find something to look forward to day by day or week by week. Make those hard choices that will help you regain control over your life. Seek help. Do whatever you can to stay here. You were given life for a reason. Do not intentionally cut it short.
How have these Unpoetic Teenage Thoughts shaped me today? I don’t trust easily. It’s hard for me to give. If someone has hurt me, I have to remove them immediately and I won’t look back. I’m much stronger than I used to be mentally, but there is always work to be done.
As an adult, I’m an “all or nothing” type of person. For example, I don’t like affection but I enjoy sex. It’s like if you’re going to touch me, then fuck me. Otherwise, don’t touch me at all. I like everything in black and white. No blurred lines, no exceptions. It’s the blurred lines that can make things dangerous.
When there is something I do enjoy, I secretly become obsessed with it. I sometimes feel guilty for being happy. I’m not sure how to fully explain why.
I want to tell my daughter about all of my experiences through life, regardless of they are good or bad. I’d like her to know that she can trust me and tell me absolutely anything. I want you and her to learn from my experiences and mistakes.
Select the sub categories located under “Unpoetic Teenage Thoughts” after reading it, to follow the journey with me back into parts of my teenage mind.