Sweet innocent child,
I see you.
I see you pretending and acting as if everything is ok.
I see you crying in your closet to muffle the sounds of pain and confusion.
I see you watching the doorway for footsteps.
I see you wishing you had a real daddy. A dad that wouldn’t put you through hell like he did.
I see you become dead cold at the sound of footsteps outside your door.
I see you become stiff with fear when the door knob jiggles open.
I see you pretend you’re asleep so he doesn’t feel the need to get rid of the evidence. You.
I see you turn your body away to protect yourself.
I see you flinch every time he gets too close.
I see your heart beat out of your chest.
I see you wishing someone would save you but also that no one will ever find out.
I see you had to go through this for years. Alone in agony.
I see you have grown up.
I see you coming out to your family and telling them what he has done and being called a liar.
I see you running further and further away from everyone who have failed to protect you.
I see you locking your door to everyone.
I see you cutting your wrists.
I see you drinking yourself into a stupor.
I see you swallowing those pills.
I see you driving and wishing you had the guts to drive off the bridge.
I see you crying so hard your body aches like fuck.
I see you begging for the pain to stop.
I see you & I am here to tell you
You survived it all.
I am here to tell you, you are still alive for a reason.
I am here to tell you, you have dreams you can make come true.
I am here to tell you, your tears will dry.
I am here to tell you, your aches will dwindle.
I am here to tell you, you will soon be happier.
I am here to tell you, you didn’t do anything wrong.
I am here to tell you, you did everything you could to survive your hell.
I am here to tell you, he has no power or control in your life anymore.
I am here to tell you, you have the choice to keep living.
I am here to tell you, you are strong even if you don’t believe it yet.
I am here to tell you, you deserved a real dad.
I am here to tell you, you didn’t make any of this up.
I am here to tell you, you are not dirty or filthy.
I am here to tell you, you didn’t deserve anything he put you through.
I am here to tell you, you took care of yourself the only way you knew how.
I am here to tell you, you have such a huge forgiving heart.
I am here to tell you, it’s ok to cry if you want to cry.
I am here to tell you, you are innocent.
I am here to tell you, I am sorry this happened to you. I really truly am.
I am here to tell you, you are not alone.
I am here to tell you, I see you.
I see you & I am here to tell you,
I will never let you down,
I will protect you,
I will take care of you,
I will pick you up,
I will catch you when you run away,
I will prioritize your needs,
I will create boundaries for you,
I will respect your insecurities and your thoughts.
I am here to tell you, you are safe now.
I am here to tell you, you did it.
I am here to tell you, you came out on top no matter how many times you fell down and got back up.
I am here to tell you, I see you for you.
And You are a survivor.
Today is March 17, 2018 and I am there again. I have been for some time now. I am in that rut and numb place again. The one where I can’t be bothered to do a single thing. The one where I want to be left alone but don’t at the same time. What’s worse is when I do get the company I need, I get annoyed quickly and regret having anyone near me. I want to be left alone.
The only difference between all this and the past times I’ve felt like this, is that I am trying desperately to take care of myself. Well…kind of, but certainly better than I did all the other times. I have been opening my mind and heart to God. Something I gave up doing for many years. Mostly because I couldn’t wrap my mind around on how a God can exist while a father is doing this to his daughter. But now I am in a place where I forgive myself for having those thoughts and try to change my perspective so it can heal the wounds. I want to think that He was there with me, protecting me, keeping me safe, kind of holding my hand and telling me that I will get through this. I believe this and this is how I start my conversations with Him when I feel constricted by the throat with all feelings that come at once. I am searching for peace in a church that made me feel connected with Him and my family and on occasions, my bf, don’t approve, but I don’t need them too. I wish they’d get it. The bigger picture, that is. But I don’t need them too. I can do this alone. I just wish I didn’t have to. This makes me sad. This makes me feel like I am isolating myself once again. Like I have to hide away what I truly want to do. Who I truly want to be. Who I want to be once I’ve healed. I am lying. I have become a liar about who I am and how I feel. I want to so very much protect and take care of everyone’s opinions and their feelings. My therapist has become worried. She worries that I lose myself in taking care of people for the wrong reasons and then even more when I finally let people take of me because I don’t do it for me, but for them. To make them happy. I am left feeling momentarily happy knowing that other’s feel better, but I go back to my cave and I don’t come out until I truly have to.
I have also started to take my anti-depressant, anti-anxiety, and sleeping pills again. My sleep has been better. I finally sleep a full 6 hours. No night terrors to wake me abruptly. No more waking up at all hours of the night wondering why I can’t breathe or think of anything other than the pressure that sits on my body. The pressure was my father in my dreams, but it takes me forever to lose that feeling after I wake up. The anti- depressant and anti-anxiety pills are there when I feel my heart beat begin to race and my insides start to constrict with uneasiness. It’s when I feel like I can’t sit without feeling like I am hyper aware of all my surroundings and feeling like I am sitting on the edge of my seat. It mellows me out to serenity. It brings my head back from my scary thoughts of cutting myself or wrapping my car around a pole or drinking until I find the courage to hurt myself. It helps me. And I feel like I can’t say that. I feel ashamed to say, “I am taking pills to help me through this rough patch.” I am afraid of the comments of disappointment and about my weakness to need “that sort of” aid. I am lying again. I am fine. I don’t need them. I am smiling, don’t you see? I made a joke. I am getting out of bed and eating. I don’t need them. I am lying for others and it hurts me.
The difference between now and all the other times I’ve felt like this is that now I know why I am feeling this way and I know how I can fix it. I know I have to take care of myself. I have to make sure that if I let people in and let them help me, that I do it for me, not them. I know I shouldn’t drink or seek drugs. I know to keep sharp objects away from me. I know to go to church and search for Him and talk to Him when I am alone and don’t want to be. I know to listen to music that gets how I feel and makes me think I can get through it. I know to take my pills. I know I want to be alone, but should seek company (that’s still hard). I know to keep going to therapy and telling my therapist this is happening again.
I have been caught in a lie and I don’t want to be anymore. I don’t want to have to be a two different people for the sake of being a perfect undamaged person and making others feel content. I don’t want to be living this lie anymore and if that means I might have to do some things alone, then so be it, but it will be for me. I forgive the people who don’t understand or choose not to. I just can’t keep protecting you anymore, because for many years I was without protection and safety and now I desperately need it.
That is all. I will snap out of it soon enough but for now, I will continue my healing and leave it at that. Thank you.
I thought I’d confess something I am ashamed of doing and having to explain. Something that feels almost ridiculous to say out loud and admit, because most people are quick to look at you a certain way and say the first thing that comes to mind. But only by knowing and admitting, can I truly hope to protect myself from… me.
I self harm.
I self harm when I am hurt. I self harm when I am alone. I self harm when I am furious. I self harm when I am triggered by a flash back. I self harm when I am empty and numb. I self harm when I feel unworthy. I self harm when I am drink alone. I self harm when I feel abandoned.
I self harm.
I have scars I can hide with clothing. You wouldn’t even know they were there. Not unless you knew to look for them. Not unless I told you about them and where they were. I won’t tell you. Not to your face, because the second I do, you facial expressions change and then change again, because you have noticed that they did. I would have noticed. You hurry to find something to say to me, something that will make me not want to do it again. Making me have to be there and watch you become visibly uncomfortable and upset. I become more upset. I become more ashamed. I quickly hide the scars you can see, because that’s all you’ve been trying not to stare at for the last eternity and a half.
I am not safe from myself. After all these years of being hurt by someone but escaped from, I find myself punishing my own body. This body has been through so much, you see. It’s endured abuse it didn’t deserve, pains that still pulse through every vain. So much abuse after another. I needed help.
I remember times when I would cry for no reason whatsoever, cry because someone said something that was the tiniest bit hurtful, cry because of how shit I really felt, crying because I saw something that reminded me of my father, crying because I was thinking of wrapping my car around a pole and calling it quits on life itself. The worst was when I couldn’t bloody stop the crying episodes and it started to spiral out of control. I would begin to hyperventilate and close my eyes, cover my ears and scream. I was so scared of how overwhelmed I became that I sobbed uncontrollably, ferociously. I will never forget the time it got so bad. I was just about to pass the apartment that I lived in with my dad and I stopped my car mid traffic, because I wouldn’t breathe anymore. I pulled my car over to the side and I felt my face become so hot and shaken. Everything I had just described happened, but x10. My thoughts were going a thousand miles an hour and I tried so desperately to calm down. I was screaming in my head, “STOP! STOP THINKING! STOP STOP STOP! WHY IS THIS HAPPENING?! WHY CAN’T I BREATHE?!” Absolutely putrid. I finally got to slow my breathing as I told myself, “Breathe in; breathe out. Do it again. Breathe in; breathe out. You got this.” When I finally recovered, I opened my eyes and knew this is bad. What just happened was really bad and could get monumentally worse. I need help.
I talked about this with my therapist. Knowing exactly how she was going to look at me, I decided to look away from her and fidget with my scarf. When I did look up at her, she was just looking back. So non-judgmental and absorbing every word I said. She said to me what I hadn’t heard any of the times I came out about my self harm. She said, “Do you realize how strong you are Ana?” I, of course answered no. Why would anyone who is considered strong, do something so weak? She said, “Every time you had that knife in your hand, no matter how deep you cut, you could’ve gone deeper and you didn’t. You didn’t want to die. You still wanted to live. You were fighting through immense pain and you are still here. You are strong. You are strong for sharing. You are strong for wanting to make this stop and protect yourself. You are strong for wanting to keep yourself safe.”
I was a mess. I never heard anyone say that. I didn’t feel ashamed. I didn’t feel scared. I felt safe. The scars I had been hiding on the inside felt so exposed and wide open, ready to heal.
That’s when she offered what we called “My Safety Plan.” She said, “Should you ever find yourself on the brink of hurting yourself or having feelings and thought of suicide, I want you to look for or call someone you feel safe with. You mentioned you are very close to your brother and have always felt safe and protected by him and he was the only one in the family who believed you when you first came out about it all. If it’s ok, I think he should be your person. I also would like for you to talk to him about it and form a plan that suits you both just right.” I remember feeling extremely vulnerable and fragile and foolish for needing someone to stop me from hurting myself. But that’s when it clicked…I need someone to stop me, because I can’t. I am not strong enough to put the knife down. I am not strong enough to push my suicidal thoughts out of my head long enough to pull my car over and breathe.
Even with the safety plan, therapy, and my sheer will power, I know I am prone to suicidal thoughts and self harm. It all happens in an instant (the thoughts and the actions) and I am not proud of it, but I also don’t want to be ashamed of it anymore, because it is something I have been working on ruthlessly. So here’s a thing or two I do and/or don’t do to protect myself. Also! My therapist and I are going to make a physical copy of my safety plan next week in case you’d like an in depth look into it.
- Look for my brother. He will snap me out of it and keep me safe.
- Call my bf or best friend in efforts to call me down.
- I don’t drink on my own. I quickly get out of hand and so do my thoughts. Hurting myself becomes a real possibility. Too real.
- No drugs.
- I don’t keep any of my prescribed anit-depressant pills or my sleeping pills around me. Nothing was felt easier than swallowing a handful or each. Never again.
- No driving. If I am driving and having an episode, I will pull over until I am ok.
- Steering clear of the knife drawer.
- Concentrating on my breathing and sitting still if no one is around or someone is coming to me.
- And if all else fails and I will call the National Suicide Prevention Hotline (1-800-273-8255) or the Rape Crisis Hotline (888-293-2080 in Chicago Metropolitan Area).
If anyone were to have any other tips, no one situation is the same and what works for me may not work for another person.
Thank you again for your time.
Good evening everyone.
I wanted to make a quick post to encapsulate the overwhelming emotions that rushed through my heart and soul yesterday and today.
I had made the decision of letting people into this particular part of my life. I posted the link on facebook and instagram for people to follow up with. Of course, I felt incredibly empowered for having decided this and even more when I pressed “post”. But right after I became deadly afraid once again and threw my phone to the other side of the bed. I thought, “What if this was a mistake and I get back lash?? What if people who had known my dad have something rude to say? What if I do more harm than good?”
I am proud to say that after making my story public to everyone, in a matter of hours, I was flooded with support, love and words of great reassurance and strength. As a matter of a fact 126 people read my posts and an enormous handful of beautiful and loving people reached out to me and shared words of encouragement and even their own stories and struggles.
126 of you.
If even 1 person out of the 126 that read my story got something out of it, felt a little bit stronger, felt validated, and not alone, I had fulfilled the purpose of making this blog and sharing it.
Please always feel free to share, to comment, to contact me, and vent to your heart’s desire. This is my safe place and I hope one day, it’ll be a place where others feel the same way as well.
Finally, I can’t possibly put into words how grateful and thankful I am for all the unconditional love and support I got for sharing my story. Words like “brave” and “strong” were used to describe me. Adjectives I rarely consider myself, especially because I am prone to self harm and falling right back into depression. And to my humbling surprise, there was an overflow of phrases to quiet down those demons like “you are not alone”, “if you ever need anyone to talk to, I am here”, “you’re the one doing more than you know for so many others”, “I am so proud of you”, and “Thank you for sharing your story”.
Thank you all from the bottom of my heart and soul. You guys helped me feel safe enough, supported enough, and strong enough. I can only hope to do the same for others.
With much love,
Ana Lucia Contreras
I have been trying to muster up the courage to talk about the night my father decided to violate my being for the last time. I am trying to think how I will get past the gut wrenching feeling of remembering the smells, the sights, and the touches of the whole night. I want to so badly share this night no matter how badly it hurts because I know that maybe one day, I can find peace in finally putting this night to rest. With the help of therapy, I have actually put one part of that night to rest. It was powerful. But anyways, here it goes.
My father and I had been living in our new apartment for a few days or so now, and it had all been so crazy and all over the place. Thanksgiving was just around the corner and I suggested to my father that we have our own Thanksgiving dinner a night before, because he wouldn’t be able to spend Thanksgiving with our usual family because they are all on my mother’s side of the family. So the night before Thanksgiving, I cooked a meal for my father and I, and we also had gotten two huge bottles of wine to celebrate and drink the night away. We talked on and on, until I couldn’t keep my eyes open any longer.
That’s when it happened.
I can remember being confused and awakened with a cold feeling running down my spine. I woke to this large dark figure over me, hands starting to hover right over me.
I knew what was about to happen. I knew who that was. I knew that 21 year old me was about to go through what she swore would never be done to her again. I was still drunk off of the wine we had been drinking. I knew I couldn’t possibly fight off this monster. So I did what I had always done to protect myself. I half-closed my eyes and pretended I was asleep. I thought like many times before, “Let him be done with his disgusting perversion and you can awake and continue to live. You will be ok. You are ok now, because you see what he is doing, you know how to move away. You will be safe.”
Then he did something I never thought he would do, something he had never done. He raped me. My mind couldn’t wrap around what was really happening. I was caught so off guard by what was being done to me, that I became cold and I felt every nerve in my body begin to shake. I was truly afraid, because now I didn’t know how to protect myself. I felt so disgusting and dirty. Dirtier than I have ever felt all those years of molestation…Parts of my body became numb and I started to feel an out of body experience begin to happen. I had become so cold, I actually thought I had died and I was on the other side of the room watching.
I felt like an eternity, a whole life time, had passed by the time he was done with me. He “dressed me” and left the apartment. The second he walked out that door, I stumbled off the couch and sat there on the floor for a few minutes. I couldn’t… I couldn’t move. I didn’t want to make a single noise in case he came back. I then looked for my phone and I sprinted to my room; holding on to walls for support. I locked my door and hid under the covers. I grabbed my phone and managed to look for my best friends number and text her, “He did it. He raped me.”
Now I look back at that moment and I know that was my opportunity to have called the cops, but I was so scared of my voice traveling to his ears. I was afraid of him bursting through my door and do things I wouldn’t dare imagine. So I decided I will run away, but not until I sober up, because if I refused to die on his hands, by his abuse, I also refuse to die because I ran into a poll on the street.
I faintly remember him still opening my bedroom door and getting back into bed with me. That was the last thing I remember, before my eyes shut again. I thought, “Do your worst, but the next time I wake up, I will be running far far away from you.”
It was only 4:37 am on Thanksgiving Day.
I remember I woke around 9 or 10 am, and I was alone and my door was wide open. My heart immediately began to race as I began to realize what has happened. I felt so uncomfortable, because all my clothes were put back wrong and I couldn’t breathe. I closed the door to my room very quietly and undressed myself and put everything back as it should. Then my plan to run away started immediately. I grabbed my duffel bag and started to stuff it with crap I knew I would need for the Thanksgiving dinner that was taking place later that night. I didn’t grab anything else and that’s when I realized it was time for me to leave. But how? I opened my door just a bit and I peeked through to see if he was around. The sound of the tv was on very loudly and there he was. Sitting and watching tv like any other day of his miserable life. The whole time I was doing this, I had the feeling of cold sweat and dreadful chills going up and down my body. I looked at my bedroom window and decided, “This is how I am going to get out. This is how I will escape. I will crawl out my window and walk fast but quietly down the stairs, and then get in my car and get the fuck out of here.” But before anything else, I wanted to leave him something. Something to remind him of me and what he did to me.
So I grabbed my pencil and notebook and I wrote, “I am leaving and never coming back. You know what you did.”
I ripped the paper and left it on my bed and I opened my window and pulled myself over. My heart was beating a million miles per hour as I tried to not make a single sound and pray that he didn’t catch me. God help me if he would’ve caught me. I finally got into my car and as I turned it on and got ready to go, I realized, “I have no fucking idea where to go, who to go to, who to tell.” I was thinking that as I pulled away from my parking spot, as I drove down Archer, as I passed my house, until I ended up in front of my Best Friend’s house. I was on automatic as I walked to her doorstep. I couldn’t even feel myself taking those steps, and even worse when I got to her door. I just stood there for what I felt were hours.
When I finally got the nerve to knock on her door, and I was let in, I didn’t get very far before I broke down in front of my best friend’s mom and sister. I couldn’t even get a word in because tears were taking it’s place. I felt like I couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t keep my eyes open, and I couldn’t stop shaking. I broke down. I felt like every atom in my body was in immense pain and agony. And all this time, my best friend wasn’t even home, but her twin sister, her mom and her older sister tried to calm me down and reassure me that everything is fine. Her mom was holding me as I sobbed and choked on all my words. Then I felt my phone start to vibrate. It was my father. Texting me to please talk to him, let him know where I am and that we needed to talk. God, I had never been more disgusted of him. He wanted to talk about what? What on earth did he think would make years of sexual abuse and assault ok? I didn’t answer him. My best friend soon arrived and she asked me to please tell her what happened, so we went into her mother’s room and I told her and her twin sister everything. Afterwards, her mother asked what I would like to do next. I didn’t have the slightest clue but something in me told me I had to go to the hospital and make sure I was alright. So we got ready and left for the hospital.
When we arrived to the hospital, I had to tell the first stranger what had happened to me. I was raped. I couldn’t even look at her; I began to fidget with my clothing and my fingers. They then took me to get my blood drawn and the nurse made sure she was sweet. I could tell. She was very warm but I couldn’t look at her either. When I was finally admitted to a room and my first doctor came in, that’s when the next awful part of my day started. She expressed her sadness and reassured me I am a survivor, not a victim. She asked me to tell her everything and to not leave a single detail out. So I did, I told her everything, but I couldn’t help from feeling so dirty and ashamed. I felt like I smelled too, so I made sure every time she sat closer to me, I moved away.
She held my hand and patted my back and offered words of kindness and understanding. Then she told me that she was going to come back with a rape kit. I asked her what that was. She explained that this kit would be searching for evidence of the sexual assault and would later be given to the police to further prosecute the offender, my father. When she came back with the rape kit, she said that this will be difficult for me but she was going to be with me every step of the way. She then asked me to take off all my clothes. I looked at her and became distraught. I didn’t want to undress with her looking at me. Looking at my exposed and already violated body. But of course, she didn’t see it that way. All she was going to be seeing is another naked body, so that’s what got me to undress.
She explained every step of the kit, took swabs of my mouth, hands, breasts, my bottom, and samples of my hair. I’m sure we did much more, but I can’t remember anymore. The one last thing she had to do was with supervision of another doctor and I will never forget what was about to happen to me. My second doctor told me that my first doctor was still learning and practicing so that’s why someone higher had to be in the room to make sure things were being done correctly. I understood. She then told me that the next and final part of the kit was going to be very traumatizing but it must be done and I must be strong. I began to feel cold all over again and I asked what I had to do. They said nothing, except lay perfectly still as they inserted a device into my vagina to open up my cervix and take quick swabs for evidence. Because my father raped me. I looked at them and I began to stutter with fear as I asked them if this was going to hurt. They answered not really, but it would feel incredibly uncomfortable, but when I do start to feel that way, I had to focus on keeping myself relaxed down there. So I got myself ready and they spread my legs and propped them on some handles. I started to apologize profusely because I couldn’t get out of my mind that I must smell and I am filthy. They were so kind and told me that I didn’t and I was not. They told me they were ready to begin and said that unfortunately, they didn’t have any lube to help insert the device and that they could use water. Honestly at that point, I couldn’t give a bigger fuck, I just wanted this to be over. So they wet it and told me to relax and then a bit of pressure filled my insides. It certainly felt uncomfortable with that thing inside me, but it was nothing compared to when they had to open it up a few levels inside me. I began to scream and cry immediately because of the pain. I was told to be strong over and over again and they caressed my leg in effort to keep me from moving as they inserted the swabs. I muffled my cries as I began to curse my father. Not only had he sexually molested me for years and raped me, he ALSO found a way to hurt me when he wasn’t near me. I had to go through all that pain because of him. THIS WAS HIS FUCKING FAULT! I couldn’t believe I was going through more pain and trauma because of him. When they were done, they held my hand and told me that I was safe, and they are sorry this has happened to me. The last doctor came in shortly after and asked me if I wanted to take any HIV, STD, and other sexually transmitted infection preventative pill. Of course I agreed. He told me that one of the pills would make me severely nauseous so to take it after the police have finished questioning me.
The police. God, I hadn’t thought they’d question me right away, but they did. And while the police and my best friends urged me to give them information about what happened and my father, I could hear my heart break. I couldn’t help but suddenly feel so incredibly sad and afraid for my father. I couldn’t shake off the feeling that this was real, this is happening, the police will go looking for your dad once you are done telling them everything. I felt like I wasn’t giving up my rapist, but my father. The father I had known all my life. The father I had loved and forgiven. The father I looked up and always wanted to make proud of me. The father who I had really nice memories of. That’s who I was losing and giving up if I told the police everything. But everybody told me that it was the right thing to do and I knew I had to do so just do it. I know they meant well by it and I absolutely knew they were right. So I did it. I told them everything and I could feel another piece of me disappear with them as they walked away. I took my pills and waited for my discharge paper.
After about an hour or two, I was finally discharged and that’s when the nausea hit me. God, I felt wretched. I began to stumble and hold onto walls, as I was gagging and losing conscious. I was put on a wheel chair and then effectively puked. I don’t remember when or where, but I puked and then was handed a puke bag. Yippie. We left the hospital and was driven back to my best friend’s house and got ready for my Thanksgiving dinner with my family. Yeah, that’s right. I still had the dinner to go to. You’d think a whole day had passed but it was only 7:30 pm or so. I got ready and left for my uncle’s house. I thought to myself, “You will not let them know that something awful has happened, that you had been raped, escaped through a window, and went to the hospital. You will act as if all was alright and you are happy to be there.” I sat on their couch the whole night. I didn’t move. I don’t remember moving. I was still for the rest of the night. Everything was un-moving. I isolated myself in my thoughts. I felt empty. I was empty.
That was my Thanksgiving. Correction my Thanks-grieving.
Today, I feel, will be a rather droopy day. I say this because I want to share about what happened years before Thanksgiving Day. I’ve set aside some wine for me, because I don’t care to feel what I am about to feel but want to share anyways.
My parents had recently divorced last year and when my father moved out, I volunteered as tribute and went to live with him. My brother would stay with my dear mama. And even though my father had been sexually molesting me for years and probably years before that (but I have seemed to have blocked many MANY memories of those nights), I decided to go with him anyway.
Years before all the mess of divorce and raped happened, I was being tormented with the next night he would walk into my room. But one night rolled by with my father stammering into my room and getting into bed with me, and something in me said, “Enough.” I texted my best friend and told my boyfriend about what happened and they also said enough is enough. I went to my brother and told him what has been happening for years. My poor sweet brother. I could see pain begin to drown his heart. A moment later I told my mother and then came my two uncles, her brothers. When my dad came back into the house sober, he was greeted by his wife and daughter on the couch and uncles outside ready to escort him right back out. When my mom told him what I had confessed to her, he looked hurt, betrayed, possibly by me. But then how did he think I felt? For years! He cried as if to express regret or sorrow or remorse. Who knows? I will never know. He cried out that it wasn’t true and he was sorry, but it wasn’t true. Leaving me in the now doubtful eyes of my mother and my two uncles. So I sat there and I told myself, “You are not crazy. You would have never made that up. You remember the nights he came into your room. You remember his jeans. Remember the jeans. You did not make this up.” No one believed me that night, so a week or so later of guilt of having destroyed my family and accused my father of molesting me for years, I called him from a crouched and hidden position behind a desk from a bank my mom, brother and I were cleaning and told him to please come back home. That I forgave him. That I was sorry. And that I loved him. He came back soon after my phone call and everyone tried to forget I ever came out with such allegations. I kept it to myself for a few more years and then he raped me. I had forgiven him. Let him back into my home. Back into my life. I went to live with him so he wouldn’t be crippled with the lowliness of divorce and separation of family and he raped me.
I am back to dip my toes in the water again. I haven’t been present for about 10 months and I am not going to lie, it was because I felt I was acknowledging my dad’s dark presence all the damn time. Unfortunately, that means I didn’t get to document how I got progressively worse and done unspeakable acts to harm myself.
I had attempted to hurt or kill myself twice this year. One night I was under the influence and I gave in to taking myself out of reality. I put my hands around my neck and I pressed. I kept pressing until I became light headed and my vision started to become dark. Then suddenly, I snapped out of it and I couldn’t stop staring at my hands. I couldn’t believe I had just tried to do something so awful to myself. I sobbed in silence. I was alone.
The second time, I took a dangerous amount of sleeping pills and half a bottle of anti-depressant pills, because I didn’t want to wake up anymore. I was content with dying in my boyfriend’s arms in bed. I thought, this is how I want to go. I felt so numb and tired, and I couldn’t help but fall asleep. I didn’t truly wake up until 14 hours later. After I took those pills, I gave them to my boyfriend and told him to take them away from me. I didn’t tell him I already swallowed a ton of pills to hurt myself, but I told him take them, because I will finish them. I will. I would’ve. I still can because those thoughts don’t leave me.
It had gotten so bad. It still is. I am constantly struggling and I am constantly taken aback by my thoughts and how I think about what had happened to me.
Thankfully, I am finally going to therapy and I have been working hard on healing myself. I have been taking notes of my therapy sessions and I am very willing to share that.