Wow. I’m not really sure where to start so I guess I should add a bit of history to my first post. When I was 15 I visited my dad in Pasadena and was sexually assaulted by a stranger. I was in therapy for around six months and just sort of dealt with the situation I was given. After I stopped going to therapy, I was fine for a few months and then started using sex as an outlet. I won’t say any more about that except that it lasted around three years. I started dating a guy named Sam who was in every way, shape, and form bad for me, but at the time I didn’t think so…or maybe I just didn’t care. I enjoyed my time with him, but was never able to talk about my feelings or about the situation a few years before. To make an extremely long story short I got pregnant and had my daughter at 18. We broke up after I found out I was pregnant, but had an on again/off again relationship until my daughter was around 3 months old. I had stopped thinking about the assault and focused all my energy on my daughter and trying to make our lives better. I was never able to stay focused on one thing for very long though. I started school, just to quite a semester later. I started a job at the hospital, which got boring quickly, but I am still there. I eventually started going to another school and working a second job. With my daughter, school, and two full-time jobs I was extremely busy and hardly had enough time to sleep, much less think about things that had happened to me. I quit my second job after christmas to focus on school a bit more. I worked just at the hospital for about a month when I decided to go PRN and work as a server. My brother served and I thought I would make more money. I was wrong. I quit the serving position after around four months and continued to work PRN at the hospital since I didn’t want to work night shifts ALL the time.
I started feeling depressed in July of ’07. I was barely working and wasn’t taking school courses at the time. I didn’t have many friends and was broke all of the time. In October, my mom suggested I do the Disney College program but my dad immediately shot down the idea. Anything to do with me leaving for extended periods gave my daughter’s dad a reason to try to take her away from me. My mom told my sister about the program and she applied and was accepted two weeks later. I felt so jealous and didn’t understand why she got to do everything that I couldn’t. I knew the answer, of course, but it still hurt me. I started keeping to myself and working even less, and spending less time with my daughter. Instead, I would read or play on the computer a lot.
In January, my family took a trip to Orlando to get my sister settled in her new “home” for the next seven months. My moms parents, my mom and dad, and my daughter and I all went down to help her. My parents thought it would be a good time to take my daughter to Disney World. I spent the entire time in the hotel room, only leaving on the night that my parents took us to dinner and the day we went to Disney World. We were there for a week. Instead of asking me if anything was wrong, my parents screamed and screamed and screamed at me saying that I was so rude and lazy to sit in the hotel room. Lazy – I might be. Rude – never. After that I just got worse. I didn’t want to talk to anyone and I would make up excuses when someone asked me to hang out with them. Someone = my brother and his girlfriend. I had no friends of my own and felt miserable when I actually went out. All I did all day was play on the computer, always using schoolwork as an excuse. I say did, but I guess I should say do.
Starting in February, the arguments with my parents got extreme. We couldn’t be in the same room without arguing about something, even if it was stupid. My mom slapped me a few times and my dad attempted to punch or push me but I was able to miss them in a way so that they weren’t as bad. After one particularly bad argument, I grabbed a tool and locked myself in my room. I had music playing and it just set the mood even though it wasn’t a sad/crazy/moody song. Bawling, I injured myself. I felt so empty that I didn’t even feel it so I injured more. Feeling the pain I felt better in a sense. I had put all my focus onto injuring, that for a moment I had forgotten why I was doing it. I started injuring whenever I would argue with my parents since it helped with the emotional pain. I can deal with physical pain because I have a high tolerance for it, but I cannot stand to feel as if my heart will burst at any moment.
A few weeks ago my parents kicked me out of their house. They gave me five minutes to pack up my things and leave. I spent three of those minutes injuring. I packed up a few things and started walking down the street. I spent three days at my brothers house with absolutely nothing to do. I feel horrible when I say it, but it felt nice: Not to be interupted everytime I try to do something and to have people to talk to. My mom called and I agreed to talk to her and to come home. I knew I needed to at least try.
I promised her I would see a therapist after she saw the injuries. Tuesday was my first visit so I had to re-live alot of things by telling my therapist. After I went home, I felt awful because I had to voice my feelings about many things. That evening I hurt myself a lot. Afterwards I just layed there. My mom came in to talk to me and saw my injuries and called my therapist. In a way I’m glad she knows, but injuring releases so much pressure for me. She’s taken all the tools out of the house and found the object that I had been using. Right now, I don’t want to stop, but I know that I could take it too far.
I apologize for the long post, but I felt as if my first post should have a bit of history so that people understand where I came from.