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Triggering (SI/Abuse) - Don't tear me down... (My story)
**MAY TRIGGER*
I've always been different. When I was young, maybe 3 or 4, I was completely mute. I was originally diagnosed with autism, but then I started talking. I don't know why. I just did.
My dad has always been my everything. I would have surely have gone through with my many suicide attempts if he had not been there for me.
My mom is a different story.
The first memory I have of her...is walking in on her beating my sister. My sister had been raped, and she was lashing out in her teenaged ways. That day she'd broken the vacuum cleaner.
I watched her slap my sister while she cried for mercy. My sister is a lot older than me. She was 16 at the time.
Yet I'd gotten lucky early in life, my mom never laid a hand on me.
Not until I was 5.
I was hungry. I was starving. My mom wanted me to clean my room. But I was so hungry that I was crying, begging for something to eat. "Just a sandwich? Then I promise I'll clean my room."
Was that such an unreasonable offer? Apparently so, because my mom promptly grabbed me by the hair, dragging me out of my room and into the living room. My dad was at work, only my brother was around. Her nails cut my scalp. I remember bleeding. I was so afraid. So very afraid.
My brother was actually worse. Even to THIS DAY he hits me. I can fight back now, but when I was little I couldn't. If I did, I got in trouble. He used to beat me into unconsciousness. The only time he got in trouble is when my dad was home when her did it.
He threw me off the top bunk of our bunk bed. I fell down, my lip was split open and I was screaming. My dad came in and punished my brother. He made him stand in the corner; he was never one to hit us. He's never REALLY hit me.
Then he got me ice cream, and I felt a lot better. This felt right.
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I'm going to skip around some. Let me tell you about my first cut.
I was 13. I'd seen people cut themselves on TV. So I was aware of it...
I was very depressed. Everyone was bullying me at school, and my mom subjected me to verbal abuse almost constantly. My grades were terrible and she would scream at me, and slap me, and hit me with her hairbrush.
I was in my room, crying, afraid. I started looking through my sewing box.
There I saw it. A razor blade.
Winking at me.
There had to be something to it?
People on TV did it.
I picked it up, swiped it across my arm. It sent a strangely pleasurable chill down my spine. I did this 5, 6, 7 times a day. I hid them under arm-warmers.
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