babii.blu.eyes.
07-10-2008, 09:17 AM
this is something i have been writing over the past few months of things that i cant seem to get out any other way. please give me your opinions and please please please. dont be afraid to tell me the truth.
xxox.
anna
Suffocating silence.
Behind the mask of mental illness.
Prologue.
Under the veil of mental illness is everything you don’t want to see. The pain, anger, confusion, a constant battle against yourself.
Mental illnesses are some of the most well hidden illnesses of all. Bringing them out into the light, making them real, is the first step to recovery.
More people suffer from a mental illness then most think, if you take a step back and open your eyes to everything around you, you could save a life, even just by being a friend.
7 years of hiding, of feeling alone and enclosed in my own separate world. Feeling that I would never be free, but here I am, on the recovering side of a mental illness, and ready to share my story.
Chapter 1.
The Beginning.
1993 - 1997
“Don’t touch me, don’t touch me, don’t touch me.”
As I sat at the bench next to my friend, screaming at the top of my lungs, my mom realised this wasn’t just a tantrum something wasn’t right and she didn’t know how to make it better.
Days became long in our house, screaming and hitting became a normality of our life, of course, all the screaming and hitting came from me, a tyrant at the age of 3, uncontrollable and fierce, my family already wanted to distance themselves.
My brother took most of the hitting, my mom the screaming, but I wouldn’t dare yell at my dad, let alone hit him.
I wanted to play with my brothers toys, I hit him. I wanted the first bath, I hit my brother. I wanted to watch MY television show, I hit my brother. I spent so much of my time hitting and screaming, I began to think it was normal, and so did my family.
The tantrums became worse, more frequent, louder, but still there was no reason, most of the time they came out of nowhere.
If I was sitting on the living room floor and someone touched me, the screaming began, I yelled and cried and when I found my brother I hit, I showed no remorse because even at that age, I felt that my actions were not my own, that something wasn’t right, but I didn’t have the words to express it, even if I did, who would believe a three year old.
As I got older, nothing much seemed to change, nothing seemed to improve, except that I would now seek forgiveness after one of my rages.
Age 7 hit and I was in year one. School was a relief, I made friends, spent the day at school, and mom and dad didn’t have to put up with my constant yelling and screaming.
Then it happened, I wanted attention so bad I had to show off that I was as talented as the other girls in my grade, so just like Abby, I attempted the jump. Abby was the only one known to have done it in year one, but I had to do it, I had to earn approval.
The jump was on the monkey bars, the aim was to jump from the platform at one end, to the 4th bar without touching any bars in between.
I prepared myself so fully for the jump but the first few times I still managed to miss, but made sure I landed firmly on my feet, ready to try again. After some trying, I made it, I jumped all the way and then continued across the bars without a struggle. I jumped off the other end to hear the other girls all congratulating me and encouraging me to do it again, I couldn’t say no.
I felt myself fly through the air, I felt the cold metal of the bar under my hands, but something wasn’t right, my body kept swinging, my hands slipped, I couldn’t grab hold, and then I fell, into a crumpling heap underneath the bars.
The next few hours was a blur, I remember screaming and crying, teachers and parents, lights and sirens, big machines and then darkness. I woke up in an unfamiliar place with a metal frame surrounding my bed, my brother was there, with my mom and dad, I tried to move, but when I did pain shot through my body and I howled in pain.
For the next 7 weeks I was strapped to a bed in hospital while my leg healed. When I fell off the bars my thigh bone snapped in half just near my hip, I spent 8 weeks in hospital, 8 weeks on crutches, and never again ventured near the bars.
After the time I spent in hospital, my tantrums became worse, more extravagant, more unpredictable.
If there was a wrinkle in my sock, a bump in my hair, a crease in my clothes, my mom would suffer screaming and crying for hours, until everything was perfect, everything was immaculately clean, nothing out of order.
It’s still not quite clear what started the tantrums, maybe the voices started long before I realised what they were.
Chapter 2.
Creating shame.
1998-2000
As an 8 year old my moods were no more smooth, no more controlled and if anything, less predictable. When I was 9 although my moods were still out of control, I became increasingly introverted and solemn.
As and 8 and 9 year old, I discovered what I now know as abuse.
When we were younger my brother and I used to visit with a couple from my mom and dad’s church, they were lovely. She always smelled nice, she could cook a beautiful meal, and the back yard was perfect, with a pool in the corner. He had games, took us outside to play, set up movies, he was funny.
After we moved to the city, on some weekends and holidays, we would go back and visit, play games, swim, soak in all the wonder.
The room out the back was where we watched movies, it was the ‘kids room’. He only came back there to put the movies on, or so I thought.
I don’t know where everyone else was that day, maybe outside, all I know is that I was watching Mary Poppins in the ‘kids room’ when I heard the door slide open and shut. I didn’t turn around because I assumed it was my brother coming in to join me, after all, the one thing we agreed on was that Mary Poppins was the best movie ever.
His shadow blocked the screen and I raised my head to focus on him staring at me, watching me, but something wasn’t right. He had a look in his eye, like an animal who has just captured its prey.
He sat down next to me on the couch, pulling me up onto his lap, I tried to wriggle away because I wanted to watch the movie but he help me still. I decided to just sit still because then I could watch my movie.
As I sat there, entranced by the television, I felt his hands moving, I felt him pulling my undies to the side and I felt his cold fingers touching me. I tried to wriggle away, I didn’t like him touching me there, but he held me tight. All of a sudden a searing pain shot through me, he had his fingers in me and it hurt. I tried to get away again but he held me close and whispered in my ear.
“It won’t hurt so much if you stay where you are and do what I tell you.”
After what felt like hours he picked me up and put me back on the couch, next to him. I sat stock still on that couch with my eyes held tightly closed willing him to leave, but I never heard the door open or shut. When I opened my eyes he was standing in front of me and he had taken his pants off.
I had seen my brothers on several occasions, during baths, my mom said it was called a penis, only boys had them. He moved forward, his penis dangling in front of my face, I squeezed my eyes tight shut again saying to myself over and over again, please let him leave, please let him leave. I felt his stale breath coming closer to my face and I felt his hands moving over me, taking away my clothes, my safety.
His hands closed over mine and he guided them to his penis, he held them to it and moved them up and down. My stomach began to gurgle and I tried to hold back vomit as he moved my hands up and down in a rhythmic motion. I felt a warm liquid in my hands and I pulled away, afraid of what I had caused and then he stopped. He pulled my dress back over my head and pulled his pants back on then he told me that I had to wash my hands before I could finish my movie. As I went to go to the bathroom he leant close to me and said,
“Now don’t you tell a soul about our little game, it won’t be as fun if people find out.”
It wasn’t fun anyway, but I didn’t want to upset him, what if something WORSE happened.
When I went to the bathroom I scrubbed my hands with soap, trying to wash off the dirty feeling but before I finished washing my hands, I was kneeling over the toilet bowl throwing up, tears streaming down my face, I knew what just happened was wrong, but if it was so wrong, why would he do it.
We continued to visit them over the months and years, we didn’t stop visiting until we moved to a new state. He didn’t stop until we moved to a new state.
Each visit began the same way, greeting my parents, hugging my brother and I, chatting for a while before heading in separate directions. Mom and dad tended to sit down for a cup of tea or coffee with her while my brother and I either played with toys or watched a movie, on the occasions when I watched a movie alone, he would visit the ‘kids room’ and play his ‘games’ with me. The games usually involved putting his penis in his mouth, holding it in my hands until the warm liquid poured out and sometimes he put is fingers inside me.
He never played the games anywhere else but in the ‘kids room’ but one day, he wanted more. I had just come out of the backyard pool and was in the bathroom getting ready for a shower when I heard a tapping on the door, I called out that I was busy and would be out soon, but then the door opened, and there he was, standing in the door way, naked. Everyone was out at the pool thinking that I was in the shower and he was having an afternoon sleep so I wasn’t surprised when nobody came looking for me.
I stood still in the shower, shocked and unable to move from fright. He moved towards me, closing the door behind him. He stepped into the shower and turned on the water so all sound was drowned out by the noisy hum of the pipes. He asked me why I had called him into the room and kept pressing the matter even though I insisted that I had not called him. He told me I would not have been standing here naked if I didn’t want him there. Why couldn’t he see that I was just too scared to move.
He held me and lay me down on the bottom of the bath tub, before I could move to get up he was on top of me with his penis near my mouth, he told me to open wide like a good girl and then he pushed inside my mouth, I tried so hard not to gag, not to move my mouth in a way that might bite down like he had instructed me not to do so many times, but he pushed it further in causing my body to jolt and I pulled away before throwing up over the side of the bath. He pulled me back and pushed me against the cold hard bath, he told me to do it properly or it would just take longer. When he had got what he wanted he moved out of my mouth and pulled my hands around his penis, he started moving them in the rhythmic pattern I had come to know so well. When the warm liquid came, I barely noticed because the water washed it away like a bad dream. When he was finished he started to move away and I moved to climb up, but yet again, he pushed me back down. He knelt over me, his eyes baring down on my body and then I felt the searing, ripping pain of his fingers moving inside me, he whispered to me,
‘You like that, don’t you.’
And as I had been taught to do, I silently nodded, but let the tears trail down my face anyway.
That was the last time we visited their house, soon after that we moved to another state. As we boarded the plain a wave of relief ran through my body when I realised I never had to see him again.
Although I knew what he had been doing was wrong, I never knew how wrong it was, and how much it would affect me when I grew up. I had no idea that it would ever change my thinking paths in such a way that I no longer viewed myself as a person, but as a thing.
Chapter 3.
Learning to lie.
2001
I don’t know what to do anymore, I’m falling apart inside while watching the world working around me, why can’t anyone see how much pain I’m in, it’s like I’m screaming but no one can hear me.
Won’t someone please listen.
I looked at my leg today and realised just how many times I had run the blade over the same spot. How could I have gone so deep and not have realised. ****, please don’t let my parents find me, please.
What are you doing? Why are you putting the blade away? I thought I told you to keep going, I thought we were friends, I thought you trusted my opinion, and my opinion is to keep going.
Oh god how I hate this. I just wish I could disappear, I wish they would go away, please, leave me alone. I just don’t want to live anymore, why can’t anyone understand that, why can’t anyone see how badly I just wish everything was over.
I have nothing left but my blade, but until I end it all, I will keep on hiding the pain from everyone, I will show them what they want to see. A happy face.
Razor Curse.
I’m good at hiding
It’s what I do
Hiding my feelings
Hiding from you
Your threatening voice
Ringing in my mind
Pulling me apart
Making me unwind
Everything I feel
Is hidden deep down
It’s easier to hide it
Then make a sound
Like a volcano
No doubt I will burst
It will all spill out
Loosing this curse.
Barely 11 years old and my world felt like it was crumbling to pieces, some days I don’t even remember why. Was it the move, dad being diagnosed with a terminal illness, the school atmosphere, the past coming back to haunt me, or was it just me? Was I going to have to feel like this forever.
I remember so clearly the night it happened, the night he took over, the night he hurt me so much. I sat silently on the bathroom floor, crying from what I had dreamt, this was the 8th night in a row I had this dream, but it’s just a dream, right?
Hey, do it, you know it’s the right thing, just pick up the blade and slide, it will help.
This was not the first time I had heard a voice in my head, but this was the first time I truly believed he was right, I picked up my blade from the floor and dragged it across my right thigh, watching the blood trickling out like a stream of life. As I watched this miracle occur I realised that the pain started to drift and the stem of tears slowed down.
Told you it would work, you should have listened to me a long time ago, are you ready to be my friend now?
He was right, the control, it was amazing, the way the pain seemed to float away, made me feel so free, it was time to let him guide me, I couldn’t stand alone.
His name was Stitch, he introduced me to his other friends too, Nombre, 2.4 and Skizzo, they all seemed so friendly, so helpful, like they were always there to help me.
I should probably introduce them to you.
Stitch is my depression, he helped me cope, helped me through the hard times. When I wasn’t brave enough to take the blade to my skin, Stitch would do it for me, he was in control.
Nombre is my anger, bottled up inside for so long with no release, he showed me how to release it, he was so helpful.
2.4 is my dieting, helping me to cut back the food I eat, helping me not feel so hungry when I skip a meal or two, he was so supportive.
Skizzo is my hyperactivity, when it wasn’t appropriate to show the negative emotions, Skizzo helped me feel happy, helped me laugh and smile, he was so positive.
I started to look at my friends in a different way, trying to see if any of them appeared as miserable as I felt, trying to see if they maybe had scars on their arms or legs, trying to see if they would understand.
I continued at school as usual, straight A’s, top of the class, I had nothing to worry about in that area, but then came sport, and that’s when I learnt to lie.
My teacher would ask “Why aren’t you swimming today?”
And I always had a snappy reply “I have my period.”
I would say or do anything to get out of showing my scar kissed legs.
The school councillor was brought into the mess, the teachers were saying my grades dropped, that I wasn’t concentrating, and that my parents were finding me ‘difficult’, to say the least.
How I hated going to see the councillor, once a week, but always booked carefully for my swimming lessons.
She brought my mom in a few times, talked to her with me, trying to find out where things were going wrong. But as careful as I was now at timing my lies I told her that there wasn’t anything wrong, I was simply finding the subjects more difficult, that mom and dad were overreacting, trying to draw the attention away from the fact that my dad might not be around that much longer. She believed me, she let me go, free again to do as I pleased.
“I don’t ****ing want to go to school, I ****ing hate it, I ****ing hate you. IM NOT GOING,” these were the words my neighbours could hear as they walked past our house on an average morning.
Always followed by the reasoning voice of my mother, trying to calm me down, make me see reason.
“You ****ing bitch, I hate you all, I hate living here and I wish you were all dead!”
The screaming could last for hours, until I didn’t have to go to school, but by then of course, I wanted to go to school.
I remember so clearly the morning Nombre first scared me. He had helped me with my anger, he helped me show it instead of bottling it up inside, but he went too far, and he took over my whole body.
I remember before and after he took over, but nothing from the middle, I have been told I hit my mom and my brother, I threw things at my mom, I slammed every door I could find, I screamed, I swore, I would not calm down. Mom decided not to take me to school, and at that, I stood on the spot turning in circles repeating time and time again.
“I want to go to school, I want to go to school, I want to go to school.”
Then as suddenly as it begun, it ended, everything shut down, I was free, I cried, I couldn’t understand why my mom and brother didn’t want to come near me, or why my dad was so angry with me, I couldn’t figure out where the time went between when I started getting frustrated, and when I sat, crying, on the living room floor, with my family staring at me like I was out of my mind.
The fights got worse as the days and weeks went on, more then yelling I was throwing objects and hitting my brother and mom, but never my dad. It seems as though Nombre was becoming more a part of me everyday, and I was becoming less able to detach myself from him.
Mood swings became a regular part of my family’s life, if I was angry, everybody was angry, my mood came to determine how everyone around me acted. There were times I was hyperactive and uncontrollable, where other times I was angry and uncontrollable, if it wasn’t one of these two extremes, then I was locked in my room, with Stitch, planing how to hide the next cut, planing my next excuse.
At the end of year 6 I was awarded the top of my class, yay, I had done it, I had managed to pass off my happy act and my good grades and everyone thought that finally, I was back on track, finally I had moved on from what my doctor said was just childhood tantrums.
Little did anyone know, that this was just the beginning of the hard times.
Just A Tool.
To scared to live
To scared to die
To numb to scream
To numb to cry
The cuts are shallow
The scars run deep
They show her pain
Crimson tears they weep
She messes around
But still passes school
Her blade is a friend
No longer just a tool.
Chapter 4.
Rough to Rougher.
2002
I hate you, I hate you, I hate you, I hate you. Why won’t you just LEAVE ME ALONE.
I am so sick of this feeling, so sick of this hurt. I want it to go away, I want it to end, please, stop torturing me, leave me alone, stop yelling at me, I’ll do what you say. Please, just stop.
I don’t want to go to school anymore, I’m sick of it all, there is no point in going, I either get yelled at by the teachers at school, or get yelled at by my parents at home. Why can’t everyone just LEAVE ME ALONE. Can’t anyone see that I don’t want them to interfere, I’m quite fine without them ****ing around in my life.
I thought we had a deal, you do what I say and I wont set Stitch on you, if we had a deal, WHY did you eat those chips today?.
Please, leave me alone. I know what I said, but they expected me to eat them, if I didn’t they would have suspected something was up and they have already been asking questions as it is, you KNOW I had to eat it.
You ****ing pig, all you can think about is gorging on the food in front of you, your going to pay for this.
I want to die, I don’t want to be here anymore, they won’t leave me alone, my head is so full of their thoughts and commands, everything action has a reaction, and never a good one where they are concerned.
Why do you have to tighten your grip. Every time I think I’m breaking free.
Enough.
Pain and hate
Closet mate
Twist and bend
My only friend
Give me up
Let me go
Stop this torture
I’m about to blow.
As I started year 7 I wondered if this year would bring the same turmoil last year had brought, but I didn’t have to wait long to find out.
Not only was I one of the bottom of my class, but the school bullying began.
“slut! ****ing bitch! **** off! No one likes you.”
The comments followed me in and out of the classroom, at recess and lunch, it seemed that nowhere I went was safe from the torment of these girls.
Stitch was more in control then ever, not only was he threatening to hurt me but he was threatening to hurt my family, and I couldn’t let him do that, we were already hurting enough.
xxox.
anna
Suffocating silence.
Behind the mask of mental illness.
Prologue.
Under the veil of mental illness is everything you don’t want to see. The pain, anger, confusion, a constant battle against yourself.
Mental illnesses are some of the most well hidden illnesses of all. Bringing them out into the light, making them real, is the first step to recovery.
More people suffer from a mental illness then most think, if you take a step back and open your eyes to everything around you, you could save a life, even just by being a friend.
7 years of hiding, of feeling alone and enclosed in my own separate world. Feeling that I would never be free, but here I am, on the recovering side of a mental illness, and ready to share my story.
Chapter 1.
The Beginning.
1993 - 1997
“Don’t touch me, don’t touch me, don’t touch me.”
As I sat at the bench next to my friend, screaming at the top of my lungs, my mom realised this wasn’t just a tantrum something wasn’t right and she didn’t know how to make it better.
Days became long in our house, screaming and hitting became a normality of our life, of course, all the screaming and hitting came from me, a tyrant at the age of 3, uncontrollable and fierce, my family already wanted to distance themselves.
My brother took most of the hitting, my mom the screaming, but I wouldn’t dare yell at my dad, let alone hit him.
I wanted to play with my brothers toys, I hit him. I wanted the first bath, I hit my brother. I wanted to watch MY television show, I hit my brother. I spent so much of my time hitting and screaming, I began to think it was normal, and so did my family.
The tantrums became worse, more frequent, louder, but still there was no reason, most of the time they came out of nowhere.
If I was sitting on the living room floor and someone touched me, the screaming began, I yelled and cried and when I found my brother I hit, I showed no remorse because even at that age, I felt that my actions were not my own, that something wasn’t right, but I didn’t have the words to express it, even if I did, who would believe a three year old.
As I got older, nothing much seemed to change, nothing seemed to improve, except that I would now seek forgiveness after one of my rages.
Age 7 hit and I was in year one. School was a relief, I made friends, spent the day at school, and mom and dad didn’t have to put up with my constant yelling and screaming.
Then it happened, I wanted attention so bad I had to show off that I was as talented as the other girls in my grade, so just like Abby, I attempted the jump. Abby was the only one known to have done it in year one, but I had to do it, I had to earn approval.
The jump was on the monkey bars, the aim was to jump from the platform at one end, to the 4th bar without touching any bars in between.
I prepared myself so fully for the jump but the first few times I still managed to miss, but made sure I landed firmly on my feet, ready to try again. After some trying, I made it, I jumped all the way and then continued across the bars without a struggle. I jumped off the other end to hear the other girls all congratulating me and encouraging me to do it again, I couldn’t say no.
I felt myself fly through the air, I felt the cold metal of the bar under my hands, but something wasn’t right, my body kept swinging, my hands slipped, I couldn’t grab hold, and then I fell, into a crumpling heap underneath the bars.
The next few hours was a blur, I remember screaming and crying, teachers and parents, lights and sirens, big machines and then darkness. I woke up in an unfamiliar place with a metal frame surrounding my bed, my brother was there, with my mom and dad, I tried to move, but when I did pain shot through my body and I howled in pain.
For the next 7 weeks I was strapped to a bed in hospital while my leg healed. When I fell off the bars my thigh bone snapped in half just near my hip, I spent 8 weeks in hospital, 8 weeks on crutches, and never again ventured near the bars.
After the time I spent in hospital, my tantrums became worse, more extravagant, more unpredictable.
If there was a wrinkle in my sock, a bump in my hair, a crease in my clothes, my mom would suffer screaming and crying for hours, until everything was perfect, everything was immaculately clean, nothing out of order.
It’s still not quite clear what started the tantrums, maybe the voices started long before I realised what they were.
Chapter 2.
Creating shame.
1998-2000
As an 8 year old my moods were no more smooth, no more controlled and if anything, less predictable. When I was 9 although my moods were still out of control, I became increasingly introverted and solemn.
As and 8 and 9 year old, I discovered what I now know as abuse.
When we were younger my brother and I used to visit with a couple from my mom and dad’s church, they were lovely. She always smelled nice, she could cook a beautiful meal, and the back yard was perfect, with a pool in the corner. He had games, took us outside to play, set up movies, he was funny.
After we moved to the city, on some weekends and holidays, we would go back and visit, play games, swim, soak in all the wonder.
The room out the back was where we watched movies, it was the ‘kids room’. He only came back there to put the movies on, or so I thought.
I don’t know where everyone else was that day, maybe outside, all I know is that I was watching Mary Poppins in the ‘kids room’ when I heard the door slide open and shut. I didn’t turn around because I assumed it was my brother coming in to join me, after all, the one thing we agreed on was that Mary Poppins was the best movie ever.
His shadow blocked the screen and I raised my head to focus on him staring at me, watching me, but something wasn’t right. He had a look in his eye, like an animal who has just captured its prey.
He sat down next to me on the couch, pulling me up onto his lap, I tried to wriggle away because I wanted to watch the movie but he help me still. I decided to just sit still because then I could watch my movie.
As I sat there, entranced by the television, I felt his hands moving, I felt him pulling my undies to the side and I felt his cold fingers touching me. I tried to wriggle away, I didn’t like him touching me there, but he held me tight. All of a sudden a searing pain shot through me, he had his fingers in me and it hurt. I tried to get away again but he held me close and whispered in my ear.
“It won’t hurt so much if you stay where you are and do what I tell you.”
After what felt like hours he picked me up and put me back on the couch, next to him. I sat stock still on that couch with my eyes held tightly closed willing him to leave, but I never heard the door open or shut. When I opened my eyes he was standing in front of me and he had taken his pants off.
I had seen my brothers on several occasions, during baths, my mom said it was called a penis, only boys had them. He moved forward, his penis dangling in front of my face, I squeezed my eyes tight shut again saying to myself over and over again, please let him leave, please let him leave. I felt his stale breath coming closer to my face and I felt his hands moving over me, taking away my clothes, my safety.
His hands closed over mine and he guided them to his penis, he held them to it and moved them up and down. My stomach began to gurgle and I tried to hold back vomit as he moved my hands up and down in a rhythmic motion. I felt a warm liquid in my hands and I pulled away, afraid of what I had caused and then he stopped. He pulled my dress back over my head and pulled his pants back on then he told me that I had to wash my hands before I could finish my movie. As I went to go to the bathroom he leant close to me and said,
“Now don’t you tell a soul about our little game, it won’t be as fun if people find out.”
It wasn’t fun anyway, but I didn’t want to upset him, what if something WORSE happened.
When I went to the bathroom I scrubbed my hands with soap, trying to wash off the dirty feeling but before I finished washing my hands, I was kneeling over the toilet bowl throwing up, tears streaming down my face, I knew what just happened was wrong, but if it was so wrong, why would he do it.
We continued to visit them over the months and years, we didn’t stop visiting until we moved to a new state. He didn’t stop until we moved to a new state.
Each visit began the same way, greeting my parents, hugging my brother and I, chatting for a while before heading in separate directions. Mom and dad tended to sit down for a cup of tea or coffee with her while my brother and I either played with toys or watched a movie, on the occasions when I watched a movie alone, he would visit the ‘kids room’ and play his ‘games’ with me. The games usually involved putting his penis in his mouth, holding it in my hands until the warm liquid poured out and sometimes he put is fingers inside me.
He never played the games anywhere else but in the ‘kids room’ but one day, he wanted more. I had just come out of the backyard pool and was in the bathroom getting ready for a shower when I heard a tapping on the door, I called out that I was busy and would be out soon, but then the door opened, and there he was, standing in the door way, naked. Everyone was out at the pool thinking that I was in the shower and he was having an afternoon sleep so I wasn’t surprised when nobody came looking for me.
I stood still in the shower, shocked and unable to move from fright. He moved towards me, closing the door behind him. He stepped into the shower and turned on the water so all sound was drowned out by the noisy hum of the pipes. He asked me why I had called him into the room and kept pressing the matter even though I insisted that I had not called him. He told me I would not have been standing here naked if I didn’t want him there. Why couldn’t he see that I was just too scared to move.
He held me and lay me down on the bottom of the bath tub, before I could move to get up he was on top of me with his penis near my mouth, he told me to open wide like a good girl and then he pushed inside my mouth, I tried so hard not to gag, not to move my mouth in a way that might bite down like he had instructed me not to do so many times, but he pushed it further in causing my body to jolt and I pulled away before throwing up over the side of the bath. He pulled me back and pushed me against the cold hard bath, he told me to do it properly or it would just take longer. When he had got what he wanted he moved out of my mouth and pulled my hands around his penis, he started moving them in the rhythmic pattern I had come to know so well. When the warm liquid came, I barely noticed because the water washed it away like a bad dream. When he was finished he started to move away and I moved to climb up, but yet again, he pushed me back down. He knelt over me, his eyes baring down on my body and then I felt the searing, ripping pain of his fingers moving inside me, he whispered to me,
‘You like that, don’t you.’
And as I had been taught to do, I silently nodded, but let the tears trail down my face anyway.
That was the last time we visited their house, soon after that we moved to another state. As we boarded the plain a wave of relief ran through my body when I realised I never had to see him again.
Although I knew what he had been doing was wrong, I never knew how wrong it was, and how much it would affect me when I grew up. I had no idea that it would ever change my thinking paths in such a way that I no longer viewed myself as a person, but as a thing.
Chapter 3.
Learning to lie.
2001
I don’t know what to do anymore, I’m falling apart inside while watching the world working around me, why can’t anyone see how much pain I’m in, it’s like I’m screaming but no one can hear me.
Won’t someone please listen.
I looked at my leg today and realised just how many times I had run the blade over the same spot. How could I have gone so deep and not have realised. ****, please don’t let my parents find me, please.
What are you doing? Why are you putting the blade away? I thought I told you to keep going, I thought we were friends, I thought you trusted my opinion, and my opinion is to keep going.
Oh god how I hate this. I just wish I could disappear, I wish they would go away, please, leave me alone. I just don’t want to live anymore, why can’t anyone understand that, why can’t anyone see how badly I just wish everything was over.
I have nothing left but my blade, but until I end it all, I will keep on hiding the pain from everyone, I will show them what they want to see. A happy face.
Razor Curse.
I’m good at hiding
It’s what I do
Hiding my feelings
Hiding from you
Your threatening voice
Ringing in my mind
Pulling me apart
Making me unwind
Everything I feel
Is hidden deep down
It’s easier to hide it
Then make a sound
Like a volcano
No doubt I will burst
It will all spill out
Loosing this curse.
Barely 11 years old and my world felt like it was crumbling to pieces, some days I don’t even remember why. Was it the move, dad being diagnosed with a terminal illness, the school atmosphere, the past coming back to haunt me, or was it just me? Was I going to have to feel like this forever.
I remember so clearly the night it happened, the night he took over, the night he hurt me so much. I sat silently on the bathroom floor, crying from what I had dreamt, this was the 8th night in a row I had this dream, but it’s just a dream, right?
Hey, do it, you know it’s the right thing, just pick up the blade and slide, it will help.
This was not the first time I had heard a voice in my head, but this was the first time I truly believed he was right, I picked up my blade from the floor and dragged it across my right thigh, watching the blood trickling out like a stream of life. As I watched this miracle occur I realised that the pain started to drift and the stem of tears slowed down.
Told you it would work, you should have listened to me a long time ago, are you ready to be my friend now?
He was right, the control, it was amazing, the way the pain seemed to float away, made me feel so free, it was time to let him guide me, I couldn’t stand alone.
His name was Stitch, he introduced me to his other friends too, Nombre, 2.4 and Skizzo, they all seemed so friendly, so helpful, like they were always there to help me.
I should probably introduce them to you.
Stitch is my depression, he helped me cope, helped me through the hard times. When I wasn’t brave enough to take the blade to my skin, Stitch would do it for me, he was in control.
Nombre is my anger, bottled up inside for so long with no release, he showed me how to release it, he was so helpful.
2.4 is my dieting, helping me to cut back the food I eat, helping me not feel so hungry when I skip a meal or two, he was so supportive.
Skizzo is my hyperactivity, when it wasn’t appropriate to show the negative emotions, Skizzo helped me feel happy, helped me laugh and smile, he was so positive.
I started to look at my friends in a different way, trying to see if any of them appeared as miserable as I felt, trying to see if they maybe had scars on their arms or legs, trying to see if they would understand.
I continued at school as usual, straight A’s, top of the class, I had nothing to worry about in that area, but then came sport, and that’s when I learnt to lie.
My teacher would ask “Why aren’t you swimming today?”
And I always had a snappy reply “I have my period.”
I would say or do anything to get out of showing my scar kissed legs.
The school councillor was brought into the mess, the teachers were saying my grades dropped, that I wasn’t concentrating, and that my parents were finding me ‘difficult’, to say the least.
How I hated going to see the councillor, once a week, but always booked carefully for my swimming lessons.
She brought my mom in a few times, talked to her with me, trying to find out where things were going wrong. But as careful as I was now at timing my lies I told her that there wasn’t anything wrong, I was simply finding the subjects more difficult, that mom and dad were overreacting, trying to draw the attention away from the fact that my dad might not be around that much longer. She believed me, she let me go, free again to do as I pleased.
“I don’t ****ing want to go to school, I ****ing hate it, I ****ing hate you. IM NOT GOING,” these were the words my neighbours could hear as they walked past our house on an average morning.
Always followed by the reasoning voice of my mother, trying to calm me down, make me see reason.
“You ****ing bitch, I hate you all, I hate living here and I wish you were all dead!”
The screaming could last for hours, until I didn’t have to go to school, but by then of course, I wanted to go to school.
I remember so clearly the morning Nombre first scared me. He had helped me with my anger, he helped me show it instead of bottling it up inside, but he went too far, and he took over my whole body.
I remember before and after he took over, but nothing from the middle, I have been told I hit my mom and my brother, I threw things at my mom, I slammed every door I could find, I screamed, I swore, I would not calm down. Mom decided not to take me to school, and at that, I stood on the spot turning in circles repeating time and time again.
“I want to go to school, I want to go to school, I want to go to school.”
Then as suddenly as it begun, it ended, everything shut down, I was free, I cried, I couldn’t understand why my mom and brother didn’t want to come near me, or why my dad was so angry with me, I couldn’t figure out where the time went between when I started getting frustrated, and when I sat, crying, on the living room floor, with my family staring at me like I was out of my mind.
The fights got worse as the days and weeks went on, more then yelling I was throwing objects and hitting my brother and mom, but never my dad. It seems as though Nombre was becoming more a part of me everyday, and I was becoming less able to detach myself from him.
Mood swings became a regular part of my family’s life, if I was angry, everybody was angry, my mood came to determine how everyone around me acted. There were times I was hyperactive and uncontrollable, where other times I was angry and uncontrollable, if it wasn’t one of these two extremes, then I was locked in my room, with Stitch, planing how to hide the next cut, planing my next excuse.
At the end of year 6 I was awarded the top of my class, yay, I had done it, I had managed to pass off my happy act and my good grades and everyone thought that finally, I was back on track, finally I had moved on from what my doctor said was just childhood tantrums.
Little did anyone know, that this was just the beginning of the hard times.
Just A Tool.
To scared to live
To scared to die
To numb to scream
To numb to cry
The cuts are shallow
The scars run deep
They show her pain
Crimson tears they weep
She messes around
But still passes school
Her blade is a friend
No longer just a tool.
Chapter 4.
Rough to Rougher.
2002
I hate you, I hate you, I hate you, I hate you. Why won’t you just LEAVE ME ALONE.
I am so sick of this feeling, so sick of this hurt. I want it to go away, I want it to end, please, stop torturing me, leave me alone, stop yelling at me, I’ll do what you say. Please, just stop.
I don’t want to go to school anymore, I’m sick of it all, there is no point in going, I either get yelled at by the teachers at school, or get yelled at by my parents at home. Why can’t everyone just LEAVE ME ALONE. Can’t anyone see that I don’t want them to interfere, I’m quite fine without them ****ing around in my life.
I thought we had a deal, you do what I say and I wont set Stitch on you, if we had a deal, WHY did you eat those chips today?.
Please, leave me alone. I know what I said, but they expected me to eat them, if I didn’t they would have suspected something was up and they have already been asking questions as it is, you KNOW I had to eat it.
You ****ing pig, all you can think about is gorging on the food in front of you, your going to pay for this.
I want to die, I don’t want to be here anymore, they won’t leave me alone, my head is so full of their thoughts and commands, everything action has a reaction, and never a good one where they are concerned.
Why do you have to tighten your grip. Every time I think I’m breaking free.
Enough.
Pain and hate
Closet mate
Twist and bend
My only friend
Give me up
Let me go
Stop this torture
I’m about to blow.
As I started year 7 I wondered if this year would bring the same turmoil last year had brought, but I didn’t have to wait long to find out.
Not only was I one of the bottom of my class, but the school bullying began.
“slut! ****ing bitch! **** off! No one likes you.”
The comments followed me in and out of the classroom, at recess and lunch, it seemed that nowhere I went was safe from the torment of these girls.
Stitch was more in control then ever, not only was he threatening to hurt me but he was threatening to hurt my family, and I couldn’t let him do that, we were already hurting enough.