Post DBT Update

Comment I posted on a YouTube video about Borderline:

I'm borderline, just graduated from a year of DBT and have been symptom free for 6 months.  I went from 'knowing' I'm a horrible human to knowing that we're all equal humans that mess up sometimes.  I'm now my own best friend, my inner dialogue has changed and after several suicide attempts, years of ideation, several psych ward stays and years of loathing myself I now love myself.   Recovery IS possible.  Years of therapy, psychiatrists and a bunch of meds didn't help and really made me feel worse.  DBT rewired how I think and it might help you, as well.

2 year update: I'll be honest, there have definitely been some low moments that were similar to my pre-DBT symptoms, but these moments were far fewer and less severe, and I was able to get myself out without professional help by returning to DBT skills/Effective Moments, yoga/exercise, meditation, gratitude journal and epsom salt footbaths while watching 90's Harrison Ford movies. 

If you're suffering now, please remember you're not alone, there is hope and chances are you're a great person that cares deeply about others. You might not be able to see what's good about you because childhood traumas left your brain trained to judge yourself and others through a negative lens, which colors everything you see without you even being aware it's there.  Negative thoughts give rise to negative emotions and if that process happens automatically, then not only does the person feel negative often, but one also has to process that negative emotion before then trying to see the positive in a situation.

Like if I'm running late to work when someone turns in front of me and proceeds below the speed limit for miles in a no-pass zone, I'm liable to feel pretty enraged at the inconsideration of this other driver- if the negative lens is on my brain. In the process of breaking negative thinking pattern, but while the negative lens is still cast, negative emotions are going to erupt at the thought of this inconsiderate asshole making me and others even later for work. After feeling the negative emotions so they'll pass, I'm left with then looking for why this person may have had a legit reason or another positive view of the situation.

Once negative thinking patterns have been replaced by positive-thinking habits, then when the dude pulls in front of me and drives slower than the speed limit, I automatically think "Wow, this guy must either be new or having a rough day, who knows, but there is absolutely nothing I can do so I'm going to accept the situation."

The second approach bypasses negative feelings that erupts when reading other people negatively and instead leads straight to acceptance, which keeps my emotional state manageable.

DB What?

I wrote For Me, Suicide is Always on the Table a few years ago and never thought that would change.

I always wondered what the fuck DBT was and how could it possibly help me not be me.  Here's an example of how I applied it. I've been pretty fucked up recently and wrote this when I wasn't. I'm fresh from the dark side though and reading this helped a little in pulling me back. I doubt it could help anyone else, but man if it could, I'm happy to share.  That is a scary, shitty place to get stuck.

Photo by Fernando Venzano at Unsplash

My 11 year old daughter is supposed to be at Girl Scouts camp this weekend so I was surprised to see her active on facebook. I wondered if camp was cancelled and tried calling but my calls were rejected. I tried messenger and called again with no luck until a text arrived: mom please stop. This stung more that I thought it should. She's a tween and I'm the parent, I should be able to handle this but my insecurities flared up and I wondered if my yelling last weekend drove her away.

I wondered if I should let her be or find out more information and decided to text a question mark.  She called and told me she didn't want to talk me.  My mind immediately assumed it had been right all along and I am a bad mom.


You might wonder why I would jump to that conclusion right away, a valid question. It's because I was raised in an abusive, alcoholic home where the hate towards me was palpable. I'm terrified I will unwittingly carry on the cycle.  I'm not, but the fear is always lurking like a shadow.

Photo by Tyson Dudley on Unsplash

I asked my daughter why she didn't feel like talking and her response was her throat hurt.  I pretended to believe her while pain radiated through my chest. I quickly got off the phone as my thoughts wandered down the familiar path of self-loathing.

It was as if my brain had a distorted lens that I was now looking through. All of a sudden I was interpreting recent events as evidence I'm bad, not liked, rejected, etc. I looked at unanswered texts I sent and suddenly thought I was ignored on purpose. I looked back at recent interactions and viewed my behavior as bad, other's reactions as negative.

Photo by LoboStudio Hamburg on Stocksnap.io

Before DBT I would have continued down that painful path, combing through the mountain of evidence I had collected over the years proving my awfulness.

I used to live in suicide ideation, not by choice but because it was the only thing that made me feel better. It seemed everyday I was tumbling down a dark, suicidal spiral until imagining in detail every gory aspect of the death I thought I deserved. It felt like the only thing I could do to redeem myself for the pain I thought I caused.

Today is different. I've been in DBT for 10 months and have skills to escape the impossible hell that no one who hasn't been there could understand. In case you haven't heard of DBT, it stands for dialectical behavior therapy which is a fancy way of saying there's two sides of the therapy that happen at the same time: accepting myself the way I am while also accepting that I want to change.

Photo by Jessica Ruscello on Stocksnap.io

I've learned the sooner I catch myself and use skills the quicker and easier they work. I stormed out many times during the first few months and was really scared DBT wouldn't be able to help me but eventually it caught on.

If you're curious about the skills, the first one I used today is Describe. It's based on mindfulness and works how it sounds - I looked out the window and described to myself the green leaves rustling in the wind, the grey sky, the mango candle I could smell, the birds I could hear singing. It brought me back to the present moment and out of the past I was wading in. 

Photo by Vidar Nordli-Mathisen on Unsplash

The other skill I used is Check the Facts. I looked at the situation and considered the many possibilities besides what my gut was telling me to be true. I realized that my daughter is in a hotel room with a bunch of other girls her age and probably doesn't feel like talking in front of everyone while they're hanging out. I looked at my sister's unanswered texts and realized it was Friday night and she may have been on a date, tired, distracted - who knows? I thought about my best friend and instead of assuming he must be angry at me for some reason I realized the fact is I have no idea what is happening in his life.

When I first started DBT I doubt I would have caught these thoughts in time. I probably would have ended up dunking my face in a bowl of ice water for 30 seconds - that is also a DBT skill and is fantastic when it feels like your emotions are going to rage out of you. It activates the dive reflex in the body which slows the heart rate and calms you down.

Photo by Jakob Owens on Stocksnap.io

For me, suicide felt like a plague I couldn't shake. I knew in my gut that I was horrible and couldn't fathom anyone convincing me otherwise. The past had happened and there was no other explanation besides it was all my fault.  I needed to see the past in a new light and destroy my belief that I was a horrible human being.

Photo by James Pond on Unsplash

It takes me three hours and a ferry ride to get to DBT but not going isn't an option. I live in a rural area and when Obamacare passed I thought I'd be able to get help but couldn't find a DBT group that accepted Medicaid.

I went to the county behavioral health center because it was my only option with Medicaid. I sued them after they refused to fire a therapist that wanted to have sex with me.  I was then turned away from the neighboring county facility while in crisis and about to go through with my suicide plan. I already felt like the world hated me so when the only available help turned me away it brought me that much closer to tragedy. 

After a four year battle I was approved for Disability/Medicare and was finally able to get into a group. My DBT group has an 18 month wait list for medicare patients but somehow I started immediately, I think they sensed I was about to die. 

On the ferry to DBT

If you struggle with self hatred and think about suicide I want to let you know you are not alone. What I've learned is our emotions and reactions that cause us shame actually make sense given what we've been through. Growing up in the environment that triggered this disorder was not our doing and there is hope for our lives to become worth living.

I greatly appreciate feedback so feel free to let me know what you thought of this post by commenting below.

DBH Facts

2010-2011: I was a patient at Discovery Behavioral Health (known as Jefferson Mental Health at the time). I saw a therapist for around 5 sessions and didn't really connect but continued to see the medication provider until I moved in 2011

2015: Moved back and went to Peninsula Behavioral Health in a neighboring county this time.  Was assigned a 55 male therapist going through a divorce that was sexually-inappropriate with me.  His behavior escalated over time.  In the beginning I asked him to stop.  He didn't.  Then I reported him to the med provider, she told me to give him a compliment sandwich.  Eventually he told me explicitly what he wanted.  I immediately reported him to the Director of Discovery Behavioral Health, Rue, where I had been a patient in 2010/2011. I told her because I didn't trust his facility after they told me to give him a compliment sandwich.  I also called Rue a few days later because that therapist wouldn't stop calling me and his facility told me they couldn't leave their desk to go ask him to stop.  I eventually sued Peninsula Behavioral Health because he wasn't fired.  We settled out of court for 50k in 2016 after he was fired.

4/18/2017: I had been doing really bad for months.  Not showering, eating, cleaning, laundry.  Was extremely suicidal.  Was found by police/ambulance after my mom had them track my phone and taken to emergency room via ambulance.  DMHP (county professional that decides what to do) let me leave the hospital as long as I agreed to go to Discovery Behavioral Health as it's only option when on medicaid. I happily agreed.  My mom had met me at the hospital and is my only support person in my life.  I had been stressing her out with emotional outbursts begging her to let me die. She was visibly relieved about me going to DBH. I warned her not to get her hopes up.

4/20/2017: I was called at 9 am by a 'crisis coordinator' claiming that I could not go to my 10 am intake because Rue said my medicaid was set to the neighboring county (my mailing address is in the neighboring county). I tried to explain that she was wrong,  I had had it switched in December 2016 so I could see my medical doctor.  The crisis coordinator wouldn't listen to me and I hung up in complete crisis.  All I could think about was walking down my driveway to Highway 101 and stepping in front of a semi because I knew I was a burden to my mom and I couldn't disappoint her and tell her there was no help for me.

I called Discovery Behavioral Health back and asked for Rue, the director and the person I reported my sexually-inappropriate therapist.   I told her who I was and begged for help.  My emotions were out of control, I was furious and begging for to let me be seen.  I told her I was going to step in front of a semi but she still said no.

I tried calling the DMHP but couldn't get ahold of them.

I walked down to Highway 101. I called Discovery Behavioral Health and spoke to the crisis line. I told them who I was and what I was doing and hung up.

I was walking to the bottom of the hill to get hit by the fastest semi possible when a sheriff stopped and eventually took me to the emergency room. 

Since I couldn't go to Discovery Behavior Health and I had medicaid, the DMHP on duty found me a bed at a psych ward where I spent 12 days adjusting to new meds.

My mom called Discovery Behavioral Health after she found out I was in the hospital to find out what happened and they told her I cancelled my appointment.  Fortunately you don't have to choose who to believe bc I have an app on my phone that records all my conversations (bc of memory issue due to meds).

5/9/2017- I had a suspicion that I want allowed to be seen because I had reported the sexual therapist and eventually sued Peninsula Behavioral Health. I called Discovery Behavioral Health and asked if a friend from another county could be seen if she was in crisis/suicidal and the crisis counselor said she could absolutely be seen, no problem.  I told him who I was and asked him to have Rue call me.  She never did.

6/1/2017: I contacted ombudsman and submitted a grievance stating that I was being discriminated against and felt unsafe knowing my only option for behavioral health would not help me. 

8/2017: received letter stating my grievance was reviewed and noted.

1/7/2018: Was taken to emergency room against my will by sheriff for stating to my mom I wanted to die.  I had used DBT skills to calm down and was no longer suicidal. 

1/8/2018: called sheriff's to explain what happened and told them how awesome the sheriff was on 4/20/2017 that saved my life.  The sheriff I spoke to was curious who it had been on 4/20/2017 and checked the 911 loss and could not find a call that day,  just the call on 4/18/2017 from my mom.

1/19/2018: Dawned on me that Discovery Behavioral Health had not called 911 on 4/20/17 even though I was in imminent danger.  The sheriff that saved me just happened to be driving by, which now makes sense why he was so confused.  At the time I was so distraught I never realized what had happened, I thought that even though Discovery Behavioral Health wouldn't let be seen at least they called 911. 

So I called Discovery Behavioral Health and asked if they kept a record of calling 911 and when she said yes, I had her check my records to see if they had for me on 4/20/17.  She couldn't find any record of me at all in the computer but told me she had heard of me.  When I asked why they refused to help me and why they hadn't called 911 she got gruff and told me she couldn't help me.  I have this call recorded, too.

Damages: 12 days inpatient that I wouldn't have had to do if they would have seen me.  Extreme emotional stress. I'm *so* lucky to be alive.  I feel unsafe knowing there is no help for me besides unnecessary hospitilizaton if I become suicidal and am on medicaid. I feel retaliated against for reporting the sexually-inappropriate therapist and suing to get him fired and protect others.

Suicidal, Begging For Help and Turned Away

I went to the hospital in the back of a police car yesterday against my will.  This was a first for me.  Last time I was in the back of a police car going to the emergency room I wanted to go.

It started when I woke up feeling bad about my past.  I have a lot of trauma from my parents I haven't dealt with yet and I live on my mom's property so when I ran into her while doing my laundry it triggered a severe wave of shame to overwhelm me.  My mom and I got into a heated discussion when my stepdad came barreling out of the back room with a finger pointed at me.  It felt like he hated me too so I ran out the door.

I ended up under a tree on the property.  It took me about 15 minutes to run through my DBT skills. I still felt sad because DBT does not take away emotion but provides a means to regulate them.  I went to the fifth wheel and was just starting a movie when I saw a sheriff pull into the driveway.

I went outside and was surrounded by four sheriffs.  I have had many positive interactions with this department but this time was different.  They acted like I had done something wrong.  I explained that I had been suicidal and ran away but did my skills and was much better, no longer suicidal at all.  They didn't believe me and forced me to go to the hospital.  The sheriff that drove me to the hospital was cold and short and wouldn't explain to me what law he was enforcing or why I had to go to the hospital.  Luckily I have skills now and was able to not react to his hostility.  Prior to DBT I think I would reacted and instead I accepted the situation so I could get back home to my daughter as soon as possible.  I saw the doctor briefly, explained myself and was promptly released.

The next day I called the Sheriffs to find out why this interaction was so different.  Turns out I had told my mom "give me a gun, I want to shoot myself" which she relayed to 911.  According to the sheriff deputy I talked to all they heard was 'gun' and that's why there were four of them and they were so serious.

It was during this call I learned the most horrifying fact and it has blown my mind.  A couple years ago I was seeing a male therapist that was going through a divorce.  He ended up telling me he thought about me when he pleasured himself, as well as many other disgusting comments.  I reported him to his facility but wasn't taken seriously.  I reported him to the neighboring county's facility, where I had been a patient years earlier.  I eventually sued the facility that employed him and was quieted with a 50k settlement, of which I got 20 after the lawyer and fees.  I wish I had taken it to trial but my lawyer basically said no.

A year after the lawsuit I was doing really bad.  I was in the emergency room three times in two weeks for suicide ideation.  The hospital set me up an appointment at the same facility that I had reported the sick therapist to and had been a patient of previously.

I was barely hanging on, waiting desperately for my appointment.  It had been weeks since I had showered or brushed my teeth.  An hour before the appointment I got a horrible phone call cancelling my appointment.  They claimed my medicaid wouldn't cover it because I don't live in their county but that was false, they were lying.  I tried to explain that I had fixed my medicaid coverage four months ago but it was like speaking to a brick wall.  She kept repeating herself and flat out ignoring what I was trying to communicate to her.

I hung up, cried and cried and started to picture my suicide in detail. I called the facility back and explained to the director but I was so upset and had been so desperate for help I was furious that they were denying me their services.  I begged and told her I was on the verge of killing myself and shared my plan with her but she still refused to let me keep my appointment.  I called 30 minutes later to thank them for pushing me to finally go through with suicide.

When I got to the location and began preparations to follow through with my plan a sheriff drove by and stopped.  I told him what happened and what I was doing and this guy was amazing.  He listened without judgement, validated what he could and offered me a ride to the emergency room which I gladly accepted- I just wanted help.

On top of all that, later that same day my mom called the facility to find out what happened.  She had been with me when they made the appointment and wondered why I was back in the emergency room.  They not only broke the HIPPA laws and spoke to her about me but they lied and told her I cancelled my appointment.  The very appointment that I begged them to keep.

After 12 days in the psych ward I was curious about the facility refusing to see me while in crisis and had a sneaking suspicion it had something to do with my lawsuit against the neighboring facility.  I called and stated that I had a friend in crisis that didn't live in the county but was suicidal and they didn't hesitate.  They immediately said to bring her in, it didn't matter what insurance or where she lived if she was in crisis.

Since that phone call I filed a grievance with the ombudsman.  I described that I thought I was being retaliated against and I wanted to make sure that never happens again.  I got a letter saying they got my grievance and I tried to let it go.

Until my phone call with the Sheriff recently.  You see the sheriff couldn't find a 911 call on the day I was on the highway.  There is no report or call at all for me that day.  THEY NEVER CALLED 911.  That sheriff just happened to be driving by, which explains why he didn't have lights on.

Let me reiterate that: the mental health facility that is paid by the county and the only option for medicaid patients not only cancelled my appointment and refused to see me for a completely false reason (they lied, I've checked with medicaid- they lied about that and it didn't matter anyway, I was in crisis) they DID NOT CALL 911 after receiving a report that a suicidal person was in the process of carrying out her plan. Isn't a crisis line obligated to call 911 if a caller is in imminent danger?

I filed a complaint with the state of Washington but they closed the investigation citing not enough evidence to substantiate my claim.  I'm not pursuing a lawsuit because I don't think it would change anything and I don't want to take money that could help someone in need.

Ode to My Life

all around me they look
like something is on my face
I push it aside
but nothing's really there

I don't fit in 
not with anyone
too nice  too mean  to fat  too smart  too dumb
when will it ever end

it's not me they see
it's not me that's there
I'm alone and afraid
that I will never be

I wake up with dread
another night of terror
another night where I don't fit in 
not with anyone

I look up in the sky
the colors astound me
how can so much beauty exist
love too

you don't know
no one ever will
why I can love so much
and yet not a single thing

it's too intense
I can't bare
the pain I cause
I'm the pain

the world is too beautiful
sometimes there's a mistake
and what has been done
never should have been

when a wrong is right
and the mistake is fixed
the pain that was caused
will cease to exist

Proof It Was All In My Head

If you struggle with suicide ideation then this post may be triggering.  Please call the suicide hotline (1-800-273-8255) if you want to speak with someone.  Hopefully they won't put you on hold.

I think I'm really crazy.  I can't tell if I'm making up my problems or if they really exist.  I called my grandparents and am now convinced that I was right all these years.  My family doesn't like me.  The only reason I was ever invited to anything was only because I was family and even then they didn't really want me there.  When I cried to my grandparents that I have a mental illness and that's why I behave the way I do they reacted in anger.  My grandpa said that all I worry about are little things that only affect me.  What he didn't understand when I told him I don't brush my teeth is I can't do anything, literally anything.  Sounds simple, just go brush my teeth but I have so much hatred at myself that I won't let me do it.  It's a constant internal battle.

I hate myself so much that I hit myself a couple nights ago.  I hit my face so many times my jaw is sore and my eyes bruised.  I hate me for being such a bitch and creating all this havoc in my life.  There's something about me that turns people off.


**Update**

I sat in my car this morning waiting for the right semi to step in front of.   I was over-the-moon grateful for being accepted to the DBT program but now I'm convinced it's not working, which is a terrifying thought as it's my last hope.

I couldn't stop dwelling on how much everybody in the world would be much better off if I'd just take myself out.  After a few minutes my phone alerted me to a scheduled call with my DBT therapist.  I felt a little relieved as the phone rang, thinking that she'd be able to help me out of my spiral.  But that's not what happened.

After arguing with her about my interpretation of my life, that absolutely not a single person wants me around, I was so convinced I was right I eventually hung up on her.

My brain takes off, thinking I'm too lazy to walk my dog everyday so she'd be better off.  I'm too lazy to clean my place so my daughter would be better off without my mopey attitude, mood swings and messy place.

It's so embarrassing how filthy everything is but I just can't bring myself to clean.  'I'm not worth it' is what my brain says and unfortunately that's who's in charge.

I sat in my car for a almost an hour on the shoulder of the highway.  After a big semi that pushed my car went by I thought to myself 'Oh, that'd been a good one.  That would have got the job done.'

It was really strange because as I got closer to opening my door I felt better.  The emotional pain I carry in my chest got so tight it was difficult to bare until I decided to go through with it, to let a semi run me over.

I imagined what it would feel like to get hit,  pictured how my body would fly and wondered if I'd die instantly.  The more I thought about it in detail the more the pain lifted away and I felt relieved.  When i realized what I'd decided to do I cried like a small child that got her favorite toy thrown away, except this was my life.

After that hour and a river of tears, I told myself I would have done it already if I was going to go through with it.

The sharpest pain was the thought of hurting my daughter.  My mind immediately, even right this moment goes immediately to how I have mood swings and I was so lazy this weekend, she deserves better, her dad is more stable and every other reason my mind can come up with.

When I got home I messaged my cousin's wife after years of no contact.  I went from seeing my family every holiday to never.  I let this horrible disdain I felt from the family keep me away.  I felt shunned by everyone and had agonizing bouts of intense sadness and fear.  Last week I called my mom sobbing, just aching so hard in my chest with a burning desire to get me out of commission so I stop causing drama and irritating people's lives.  I became hysterical on the phone with her, crying "I'm bad" over and over while feeling it intensely with every ounce of my body.  I let pain take over and that's when my self hatred exploded to the point I beat myself up, hitting and punching my face.

This whole time I've been convinced the family didn't want me around based off of weird looks, sideways glances, small little things to the rest of the world but huge and life changing for me.  At least for now, hopefully DBT starts to work soon.  Any day now...

I had an epiphany today.   I have never been liked in my life.  Ever.  After someone gets to know me they never like me again.   The ending of my relationships happen suddenly but not surprisingly.

People who don't want to be my friend:

* J's group of friends
* J and his parents
* Starbuck's people
* Nordstrom people
* my dad's whole family
* Grandparents (my grandma avoids me)
* Stepmom and siblings
* Family friends

ANYONE that knows me.  I feel like I'm living in a nightmare by can't wake up.  All of my worst fears are true, I'm completely unlovable and always have been.

The only two people that I have contact with are my mom and daughter.  My mom speaks to me because she feels guilty.  My daughter is too young to know better, but she's getting old enough I'm having a poor effect on her.  My lack of hygiene among other things are rubbing off.

The problem is not with everybody else, it's with me.  I'm the problem.

People throw me away and move on to live happy lives.  I'm the problem and I don't know how to not be me.  I've tried, I can't figure it out.

Being Suicidal is Exhausting

What an exhausting morning.  I knew my grandma had lied to my mom last week when she called to find out why they don't have contact with me.  My grandma said that she didn't hear me tell her that I was on the verge of killing myself.  "It's hard to understand you when you get like that" she told me.  I knew exactly what she was talking about.

Borderline Personality Disorder sufferers feel emotions with the sensitivity of a third degree burn victim.  When I feel intense pain or anger my voice becomes deep and distorted, usually leaving me with a sore throat.  Sometimes I don't even sound human.

My pain this morning was agonizing.  So much so that I haphazardly pulled my car over, got out and sobbed uncontrollably.  The sobbing was loud enough a kind motorist stopped.  He stayed with me while I spoke with 9-1-1 dispatch.  I was scarred I would finally do it, finally kill myself.  Im already impulsive so throw a little fuel in my fire and it's over.

My worst fear was true: my grandparents were so angry they were purposely avoiding my contact.  I couldn't believe what I heard come out of my grandpa's mouth.  He was loud and harsh when he told me my phone number changed too much for them to try to call me.  Yeah... I guess getting a new number 2 years ago would make it impossible to call me.  Even after I left a suicidal message ending in rage, telling them I was on the verge of killing myself and to fuck off for never talking to me when I need them the most.

I spent 12 days in the hospital in April and no one came to visit once.  It's not usually something I think about but every once in awhile reality sets in: they visit anybody and everybody they know.  Why not me?  Why couldn't they call me after they found out I was mentally ill?

The problem is I present well.  I've been told over and over that there doesn't seem to be anything wrong with me, even by professionals.  My disability lawyer told me to go get a job the first time he met me, until I went Borderline on him one day.  My grandparents see me holding in depth conversations and appearing fine so they must not realize how sick I am.

Sometimes I don't shower for a week at a time.  I don't brush my teeth or put on clean clothes.  I feel like I don't deserve to take care of myself, like I am a really bad person.  I stay away from people because I don't want to bring them down.  I don't know what to say when someone asks me how I am without sounding like a buzzkill.

At least I know that it wasn't just in my head, my grandparents were really avoiding me.  Although this has thrown off my DBT homework: Checking the Facts.  The idea is to recognize what emotion is causing distress, for me it was sadness.  Then think about my interpretation of the facts then brainstorm other possible scenarios.  Unfortunately in my case my interpretation was correct.

After feeling intense emotions like this morning all I want to do is sleep.  It ruins the whole day.  My eyes are puffy and I'm slow and exhausted.  It's only 6 pm and here come my pajamas.

I hope your day was better than mine.

RIP Dad

My alarm went off at 6am the day my life changed.  I was up late the night before watching David Letterman.  I was groggy and unmotivated to meet the day but had no choice, so after hitting snooze four times I rolled out of bed and sloughed my way to the bathroom.  If I wanted to shower I had to get up before my angry step-dad, Rocky, came pounding on the door.

I stepped into the hot, steamy shower and let the water pour over me.  As I spread shampoo throughout my curls I could feel a clump of what felt like pine needles tangled up in a knot.  I worked the knot until I could feel the mass work free.  Barely awake, I half-assed looked at the clump and what I found left me with a cold shudder down my spine.  I was suddenly awake and staring at a big, black and thankfully dead spider.  Horrified, I quickly brushed it off my finger and watched it swirl down the drain.

I noticed the familiar stench of cigarettes leaking under the bathroom door and it wasn't long before I could hear the heavy footsteps of Rocky.  His footsteps echoed off the walls stained yellow with years of nicotine.  He was a Vietnam vet with brutal emotional scars that caused us all pain.

Boom, boom, boom!!

"Hey, you outta there sometime today or what?!" Rocky bellowed, most likely with a lit cigarette dangling out of his mouth.

“Yep, one minute” I reply.  I hurriedly dried off my short curves, expecting more booms from the door any second. Rocky was cold and mean, pure and simple.  He had no cares in the world except where his next beer was coming from.  It wasn't just the yelling, it was his lack of compassion and his desire to be a dick that left my sister and I scarred.

I quickly brushed my teeth for 10 seconds, rinsed my mouth and rushed out of the bathroom before Rocky really lost his cool.  I slid open the dark closet door and unzipped my clothes keeper. It zipped and I hoped prevented me from smelling like an ashtray.

I rushed out of the house before I smelled like a bar.  My boyfriend Rob would be pulling up any minute.   I waited on the street, under huge evergreens, and watched a pair of ducks waddle towards the creek at the bottom of the mountain.

                                                                                 ****

My parents rarely went to bed sober, but this night was different.  Even though it was Saturday they sauntered off to bed before 9pm.   Rob was with his buddies, my friends went to the mall and I was home by myself.  I watched a movie while resting my feet on the brick of our fireplace.  I was unsettled.  I kept looking furtively at the clock, expecting something to be wrong. I waited for the phone to ring but had no idea why... and then it rang.

It was 10:26 pm, no one ever called at that hour.   I rushed to the phone and was horrified to hear my aunt's voice.  I immediately asked her what was wrong, who was hurt, but she only wanted to speak to my mom.  I sprinted down the hall and burst into my mom's room with the phone in my hand.  I rushed over and thrust the phone into her hand.  Sleepily she asked who it was.  I told her Aunt Shari, my dad's sister.  I was terrified something had happened to my grandparents, who would do anything for me.

“Oh my god... uh-huh … oh, no... no, you tell her” my mom mumbled into the phone.  I kept asking “who?... who is hurt?... who is it?” but mom wouldn't look at me.  Finally she handed me the phone.

***

I fell to the ground mid-stride down the hall.  I couldn't believe what I'd just heard, it had to be a mistake.

“There was an accident, Eliza” my aunt said slowly.  It felt like she drew out every syllable.  I knew someone was hurt, who?  Who could it be?

“Uh-huh, who? Who is hurt?” I frantically blurted out, cutting her off.

“You're dad was in an accident” she told me with pain in her voice.

“Is he ok?” I asked, the dreadful question no one wants to ever ask.  “No honey, he's not” she said, her words dropping off into a muffled sob.  “He's dead” she cried.

And that was it.  That was the moment my heart dropped to the floor, taking me with it.  All this time... all this time I'd been avoiding him, and now he'd never know why.  I'll never be able to see him again, after I'm healed from the rape.  I won't get the chance to show him my bright smile... someday when I get it back.

My mom cradled my head in her lap as I cried.

                                                                            ***

Dad had warned me last October and I didn't listen.

It was a family dinner and everyone was there except my cousin.  My dad and the rest of our family had turned their backs on my troubled cousin.  I thought it was because he was a step-kid in the family.  I wanted to hang out and reassure him.

I went to his house against my dad's rules.   We were listening to Alanis Morrisette's debut album.  He had christmas lights up in his room.   And he raped me.

To be continued...

What if it's true?

The nasty things about myself that I'm afraid might be true are confirmed when someone doesn't return a call, text or doesn't invite me to something.  Laughing at me, criticizing in any way- cut right through my heart and leave me in pieces.  The only thing that's kept me from only attempting suicide twice over all these years is the frail hope that the demon in my brain is wrong about me.  When someone doesn't love me back (perceived by the tiniest shift in energy from that person, usually having nothing to do with me I later find out, they're sick or lost their dog, etc) all those beliefs become my reality and I can't shake the knowledge belief dark stormy cloud of self-disgust that permeates every aspect of my life.

Yesterday Was a Bad Day

Nightmares have been terrorizing my sleep for the past couple months.  I think it's just another outlet for the constant barrage of negative thoughts about myself.  Yesterday in particular was a bad day.  Once again I was wishing for death, begging my friend to put me out of my misery.  He's an amateur chemist and a genius so I'm pretty sure he could cook up something that wouldn't get him in trouble.

During those moments of intense suicidal thoughts, it is a constant flood of intense pain.  It starts in my heart and radiates through my chest, down my abdomen and fades down my legs.  The pain is an eight on an emotional scale from one to ten.

I'd tell you about how my day started, but I can't remember.  I have no idea when I woke up, or if I made my usual coffee.  What I do remember is driving to my therapy appointment and imagining driving my car into each telephone pole.  I thought about what it would feel like to die, imagining in bloody detail my death.  I wanted to open my car door and fall out into oncoming traffic going 55 mph. I wasn't sure they were going as fast as I wanted if they were going to hit me.  I wanted it as awful as possible.

Next, I remember sitting in my therapist's office.  I felt rotten and hating everything she said.  All I could talk about was suicide and how bad I wanted it.  I asked her to help me die.  After about 10 minutes I left.  She called after me, asking me to stay but I just told her to leave me alone.

I remember driving away from the appointment, seriously considering driving to Alabama or anywhere else a long way away.

Hours later, sitting in my dark fifth wheel with all the curtains drawn, I heard a car door down my driveway.  Terrified that it was a bad guy, I called my friend to see if he had maybe decided to surprise me.  He hadn't and the more we spoke the more hysterical I became.

Once again the intense suicidal thoughts flooded my brain.  The pain radiated through mybody and it was all I could think about, the only thought that made me feel better.  Thinking there is a way to stop the pain is the only relief in those moments.  That's when I begged for his help in ending my misery. He listened and showed concern in his voice.  Just as quickly as they came, the suicidal feelings subsided.  My ill brain still knew that he was only speaking to me to be nice, though.  I would not allow myself to feel like he, or anyone, cared about me.

My first two attempts at suicide happened during one of those intense, painful suicidal flood of thoughts and emotions.  Both times, after I swallowed the pills, I felt so relieved to know that the pain would end soon, and I and everyone around me who I thought I tormented, would be free of my terribleness.  

Today I'm great.  Go figure that one out... please?  Because I have no idea why I'm better.  My meds are the same.  I took the same fish oil, multivitamin and biotin I take every morning.  I had the same coffee.  I took a shower.  Now that I think about it, I think it's been a week and a half since I last showered.  When I'm in a depression, I am in a complete fog of thoughts and I lose all sense of time.  I had no idea it had been that long.  I knew I was gross but didn't feel I deserved to be clean.  It's weird.

One more thing, I figured out another way to describe how depression feels to me:  First a constant flood of bad thoughts about myself.  Remember bad things I have done, bad things done to me, feeling bad about thinking about myself feeling bad, etc.  Then I search for evidence that these horrible thoughts may be true.  I take situations and twist everything so that I'm somehow bad and then feel a flood of pain that the bad thoughts are true, and that I'm horrible.  All while feeling bad for thinking about myself so much.  It sucks.

I'm sitting by a fire again.  My very own fire, built by yours truely.  I'm not quite as happy as last time.

My sister graduated with a top-notch degree today.  I'm so proud of her.  She's overcome dyslexia and her childhood.  She's gone from needing help to giving the help.

My issue is seeing her family.  They used to be my family, a long time ago.  I was 10 when her dad, who I knew as my dad, left me.  Our mom left him because he was terrorizing me.  One of the nicer things he said was telling my mom she can't even stand "the Bitch"... me.

I never stopped loving him.  Not when he took my sister to Disneyland a couple months after the divorce, ignoring me when he picked her up for the trip.  Not when he ignored the stranger whom had just touched my boobs.  Not when he slammed my face into the bottom of the tub because I didn't clean it well enough. And I didn't stop loving him years later, when he hung himself.

When he left me, so did his family.  They went on the trip to Disneyland, too.  Did anyone even ask about me?  Were my cousins looking for me or did they forget about me, too?

Seeing them today, I'd say I was completely forgotten.  That means both of my dad's, real and the one that felt real, are gone, leaving behind family that abandoned me, too.

So while I'm sitting by a lovely fire on a nice night, I'm not feeling very warm.

Sittin by the Side of the Fire, Watching the Moon Pass Right By

I'm in a really good spot right now, both literally and figuratively speaking.   I'm sitting by a campfire on a clear, tepid night with my sweet dog laying faithfully at my feet.

I'm really having the time of my life right now.  I can't believe it was a month ago I was sitting in a psych ward tying a sheet around my neck because all I could think about was how horribly rotten of a person I am, but I'm not a horrible person at all.  I'm just a person.  I wish my mental illness knew that.  She's obsessed with the badness of me to the point I'd call it a form of narcissism.  With as much as she thinks about me (us), you'd think I was the president of the U.S., although that title has lost its value with the last election.  Now I'm not so sure I want to be compared to that baffoon. 

I'm camping with my dog and myself, and I have to tell you, I'm *loving* it.  I have everything set up perfectly. I have nice camping gear that's organized.  My dog is an absolute sweet heart.  My fire is amazing.  The weather couldn't be any better.   It's just cool enough that it feels good on my back with the fire up front.  The bugs weren't even bad for no more than a few minutes.  Note to self: buy skin so soft.

It's quiet with nothing but the crackle of the fire, grasshoppers chirping and the buzz of an airplane, with an occasional rustle from the one neighbor I sort of have, who cooked the yummiest smelling dinner ever.  It smelled almost as good as my birthday dinner, which was the best food I've every had. Ever. Even the caviar was good, who knew, besides the 1%?

Co-Parenting My Daughter with a Child

My daughter has been at her dad's for three weeks now.  Our custody arrangement states that I have her every weekend and school break, and since he has moved to Washington, this will happen soon.  For the moment I am stuck in Alaska waiting for the settlement check from suing my creepy therapist.

When my daughter visited last Christmas, she showed me a cavity on her molar.  The cavity was big enough that I could easily see it with my naked eye and I am supposed to wear glasses. Horrified, I told her dad who said she had been to the dentist and there were no problems.  She could not remember the last time she had seen the dentist, but OK, not worth a fight as long as he gets her there now.

I reminded him twice in the next six months.  Always there was an excuse: not enough time, he had to work, the dentist couldn't get her in, insurance problems.  Since I was in Washington and they were in Arizona, I couldn't take her myself and felt helpless.  I offered to make calls if he'd tell me what days he could take her but he never knew his schedule.  How he managed to get anywhere on time must have been a miracle.

In April, he decided to move to Washington with his fiance.  I was overjoyed that all the begging I had done paid off.  It killed me when he moved to Arizona to be near his mom.  I had always feared that would happen. Sure enough, when his second wife was tired of being the sole bread winner he up and left.  He bragged to me he was leaving her with the holes he had punched in the walls.  She later told me the apartment charged her $3000 in drywall repairs.

His fiance began her new job May 1st in Olympia.  My daughter stayed with his fiance's mom in Arizona so she could finish the school year.  I was still asking for someone to take her to the dentist but was always told it wasn't in the schedule.  During that month I was only able to speak to my daughter three times.  I called and called, but no one ever answered the phone.  It was gut wrenching, especially since he said this woman was a "bitch".

My daughter finished her school year and met me in Alaska for the summer. When she opened her mouth to show me her cavity my heart broke.  Her cavity had gotten worse because her father couldn't make time to take her to the dentist. Turns out she had five cavities. The one I could see was so deep they needed an extra appointment to finish the filling.  I was livid!!!  I told him that she is his first priority and questioned how he could let her teeth rot for six months, knowing there was a problem.  He responded by accusing me of just trying to piss him off.  He generally thinks everything is about him.

When he was talking about moving to Washington I offered to babysit for him and his fiance.  I was worried that they would move somewhere else closer to family since there are four kids between them.  Plus any extra time I get with my daughter is worth it.  His response was I was "just trying to get close to" him, which came out of nowhere. There's never flirting or talking about anything besides our daughter but that's how he thinks.

Fast forward to today, mid-September.  My daughter has been home with him for three weeks.  A week ago, after me asking her daily about brushing her teeth, she finally said "Sorry mom, I don't have a toothbrush here."  I was shocked but didn't want to upset her, so I nonchalantly repeated what she said.  And I had heard her correctly.  I asked her if anyone had helped her unpack her suitcase because there was a toothbrush in the small pouch.  She said no one had helped her and she couldn't find it.  I told her to try using a washcloth to wipe her teeth.  She said the washcloths were for the little boy's baths and that her bath towel was too dirty.  She said she had been using her finger and toothpaste.

Even more livid than I had been about her cavities, I mailed her a toothbrush the next day, with a tracking number.  I have asked her every day this week if she got her package and every day she says no, they didn't check the mail.  Tonight, I heard her dad snap at her that he wasn't getting the mail tonight.  I looked at the street view of their home on Google Maps, and the mailbox is right across the damn street.  I hadn't mentioned the toothbrush issue to him because I didn't want him to get angry with her for telling me.  After seeing where the mailbox was, I texted him and asked him to check the mail.  His response?  That she had lied and really did have a toothbrush there.  She had only used her finger one night when she was stalling to go to bed.  His story does not make any sense.  She had nothing to gain by lying about the toothbrush and in fact, felt bad about it.

It's a delicate balance between fighting him and keeping a working relationship.  Kids do lie sometimes.  I know there is a toothbrush in the mailbox that she will get soon.  I would love to call Child Protective Services just so she could brush her teeth but they don't have funding for small issues.  Unfortunately, with my mental illness always lurking in the shadows, I have to appreciate what her father does do correctly and fight him when it is really necessary.

For Me, Suicide is Always on the Table

A note to my future self and anyone else that feels the world would be better without them:

Please give yourself at least 24 hours to think about it, because there's a small part of you that knows your wrong. Feelings alone will not kill you but they will definitely cloud your judgement.

This post may be triggering.  The suicide hotline is 1.800.273.8255, please call if you want to talk.

I'm sharing my story in case it might help someone feel less alone. 

 

 ******************************************************************************************************

I remember my first suicide ideation like it happened yesterday. It was May 1991. I was about to turn 10 years old and I was more than ready to end it all. I had had enough of living with my alcoholic parents who seemed to hate me. I just couldn't stomach one more insult, one more painful reminder that I wasn't wanted.

There were four bars in our little town and I knew each of their phone numbers by heart. My parents were never home. Instead they'd go out to the bars most nights. I would wait until I couldn't stand it and then start calling, usually around midnight. The bartenders would usually put my mom on the phone but sometimes they'd lie for her. That was the worst. My heart would be pounding. Not only was it dark outside but I was home alone with my little sister.

"Hey JoDee!!" I'd hear the bartender shout over the music, "phone's for ya". "Huh? Ugh, tell her I'm not here" my mom would slur back. "Haven't seen her" they'd casually tell a terrified kid looking for their mom.

When they made it home they'd be completely trashed. For as poor as we were I have no idea how they afforded their booze. Not only did they drink at bars but the fridge was perpetually stocked with beer and boxed wine, the cupboard with vodka. If they didn't pass out they'd end up in a huge, violent fight. I would try to get them to stop, then I'd call 911.

So when my birthday was nearing I couldn't fathom why I should stick around. I would do chores until the drama started. Patiently waiting for the alcohol to kick in and hate to emanate from my step-dad, Mike. It seemed he hated my guts and could never quite control that intense feeling from surfacing every moment I was in his presence. My mom was a little better, she'd make sure I was fed dinner. But she couldn't contain her disdain for me. I ruined her childhood and I was a pain in the ass. I had been colichy, bit her toe once really hard and was too smart for my own good. I constantly had her on her toes which she really didn't appreciate.

My plan had been to shoot myself in the head on my 10th birthday. The pistol I was going to use was kept in the hall closet with ammunition. I wrote my suicide note that morning before school. I said goodbye to my little sister. I loved her to death but knew she, like the rest of the world, would be better off without a bad person like me.

When I arrived home from school Mike was already there. He got off work early that day.  I couldn't believe it, he was never home early. I took it as a sign that I shouldn't kill myself. So I didn't until October 2005.

It's not that I didn't think about suicide after my first botched attempt. I would find myself entertaining the idea often. I felt it every time I was banished to my room for the day. Doesn't sound so bad, and it wouldn't have been, but I could overhear from my room all the nasty comments my parents made about me. It's tough to be criticized. It's excruciating when it comes from those that are supposed to love you. The thought that constantly crossed my mind was "If my mom doesn't love me, who will?". I didn't have an answer but I knew it certainly wasn't me.

Four years later I attended homecoming with my new boyfriend, Jacob. He was a junior that drove his own car and offered me a ride to school.  One morning he brought a dozen roses with him and asked me to the dance. I ecstatically said yes, trying to conceal how lucky I felt to carry roses with me to school that day.

I brought my homecoming pictures with me to visit my family three hours South.  Dad loved them but when I asked if I could take them to my cousin's place my dad said no. He was adamant that I not see him. My cousin had been in a lot of trouble lately and I felt that he needed his family to support him but dad disagreed.

After dad left my grandma gave me a ride to my cousin's house anyway. I showed my cousin my Homecoming pictures, excited to show him my new boyfriend. I brought my new Alannis Morrisette CD with me as well, not realizing it would be the soundtrack of my rape, my first sexual experience.

I was horribly ashamed. I didn't speak more than a few words to anyone until I saw Jacob two days later. Being the upstanding and responsible person he is, Jacob dragged me to the counselor's office. I was then sent to the police station for a report and the hospital to have my genitals probed with a magnifying glass by a group of nurses. The shame seemed to never end.

My grandparents were notified and made the decision to never tell my dad what happened. To say I felt horrible would be a huge understatement. Not only did I disobey my dad, but my cousin, who he already had issues with, raped me while I disobeyed him. It was a double whammy.

The only time I ventured South during the next year was for the deposition. My grandparents told everyone they were going to the beach so no one would know I was in town. I felt like a shameful secret.

By the time a year had rolled by, I was feeling pretty suicidal. I missed everyone, especially my Dad. I had a hard time talking to him, the shame was overwhelming. I couldn't tell him he had been right, that I made a huge mistake and that I was sorry. We knew he'd murder my cousin.

Then the unthinkable happened. On October 26th, 1996, at 10:41pm, my dad was in a drunk driving accident. He had been out with a coworker that had given him a bad deal. This night was supposed to make it up to my Dad. My step mom, 8.5 months pregnant, answered the door to the frantic neighbor. He was looking for my dad to help with the accident that just happened across the street. No one realized it was dad until they saw him lying on the ground. He was ejected from the car and died instantly.  

His viewing is when I realized I couldn't commit suicide. I not only felt the raw, gut-wrenching pain of losing a parent, but I saw the pain everyone else was experiencing as well. I knew then that I had to stick it out. Even if it still meant living with parents that hate me.

Until October of 2005, suicide had increasingly felt like the only way to end my emotional turmoil and the wreckage that was my life. I was emotional and impulsive. As relationships fell out around me I felt more and more isolated, alone and ashamed. 

Then an Oprah episode came on. I was huddled in the corner of my closet under blankets, positioned so I could still see the TV. My dog, Abby, was by my side with her face gently pressed into my leg to comfort me. Faith Hill was the topic. She spoke about her life which of course sounded amazing. What happened inside me though was not jealousy or even envy. It was the realization that I could never and would never feel true happiness. Looking at the facts and the chaos that surrounded me, I knew that I couldn't be happy and I just gave up.  

I decided I needed to save the world from my horribleness so I looked up the dosage on my fiance's sleep medication. I made sure I took enough and went to bed, thinking how incredibly easy it was to swallow a handful of pills. As I drifted off I felt relieved to escape my feelings.  I had been drowning in sorrow and heart ache knowing that I was not good enough for anything. I hadn't been able to maintain success, everything always ended in shambles. I thought I took care of the problem.

I woke up two hours later because I had to pee. I will never forget the terrible, horrendous feeling. My body was dying and I could feel it happening. Every inch of my skin and my organs were screaming in agony. I fell out of bed and my fiance noticed something was wrong. I told him about the pills and he lost his shit.  All he could keep asking is "Did you really take those pills?!?". Since I couldn't speak it was really annoying that he kept asking the question, over and over.  

When we got to the hospital, I fell out of the car and stumbled into the Emergency Room. The lady behind the counter looked horrified as she called for a wheel chair as I dropped to the floor.

My next memory is of me on the exam table, with the doctor inserting a catheter and me screaming. I was convulsing and dying.

The next morning I woke up in ICU. I had two plastic chest paddles stuck to my chest, ready to go off in case my heart stopped. Apparently my research had paid off and I took a huge dose of those pills. The college I went to sent a Psychology student to come talk to me and evaluate my mental health. I must have passed with flying colors because the hospital released me that day, with no follow up appointments made.  

There was another attempt in October of 2011 after a year-long addiction to Spice. Turns out though that antidepressants don't do much when used to OD.

So it's been a few years with no real attempts but a lot of ideation. I just can't seem to pull it off the table, which frightens the Hell out of the part of me that is sane. It might be a small part, but it is definitely alive. I don't want to die. The problem is that I sometimes know that my loved ones would be better off with out the burden of putting up with me. Of course, I am wrong when that goes through my head but it is right to me at the time.

A note to my future self:  

If you are thinking about suicide, please give yourself at least 24 hours to mull it over.

Even though you might think you're right about this doesn't mean you can't talk it out with someone in the meantime. You're worth that, every single person is worth a conversation.  1.800.273.8255 to talk it out.

  

Q: What do BiPolar, Cocaine and Sex have in Common? A: Me

My parents were the hot drop-outs of high school.  Only 17 when she married my dad, my mom had no idea what she was in for.  On one memorable day, while pregnant with me, she had to hitchhike home from work because dad had her car out with another woman.  Yeah, he was a dick.  One of those super hot, sexy men that think they can treat women however they want.  Not cool.

I was born a year later, breech, emergency c-section and with displaced hips.  I was in a hip brace for the first few months of my life.  I was colicky, constantly testing mom's patience.  Mom loves to tell the story about when I bit the tip of her big toe and would not let go.  Mom was dancing all over the place trying to get me off.  Apparently I thought it was hilarious and hung on tighter.  Poor thing, she still loved me after that.

Dad would yell and lose his temper over the smallest little thing.  It would scare my mom, especially after I was in the picture.

Not surprisingly, mom left my dad for his best friend, Dave.  They ran away to Alaska together, with me in tow.  Dad made an effort to get her back, but mom had had enough.  Plus, she'd gotten rid of Dave and had met My Mikey, as I called him.  He was what I thought was a really cool dude.  Granted, I was 2 at the time and his bipolar hadn't yet surfaced.  Mom fell in love with My Mikey.

Somewhere along the line I started calling him dad.  It didn't help the cause that we lived in Barrow, AK.  A really long way from my real dad, who I didn't see for a few years.  When I eventually did, it was really awkward.  I remember the pictures they took that day.  He had his arm around my waist and I was so uncomfortable.  You can see the look on my face in this pic:

While in Barrow, mom and dad were busy hosting the town's hottest coke parties.  They even ventured into smuggling, but that was pretty much a one-time thing.  I was at these parties with my own play-coke.  After using the eraser for my chalkboard I'd push the white chalk dust into the corner.  No surprise I later discovered how much I enjoyed the real stuff, wishing my parents still had their discounts so I could get a cheap hook-up.

Apparently at one point the neighbor girl decided that I would be her lesbian lover.  She taught me the art of oral sex and I was a pro by the time I was 3.  We'd hide in my closet or her room, both of our parents completely oblivious to the molestation occurring right under their noses.  I loved sex even then and would beg her to go down on me if she wasn't in the mood.  Another glimpse into my future as I am still begging my boyfriends for sex when they're not in the mood.

My parents would fight.  A lot.  After everyone went home or passed out, my parents would be ripping each others' hair out or strangling each other.  To say I was terrified when they fought would be a major understatement.  Helplessly I'd watch Mike pin my mom on the ground, hitting and choking her until she could get him off or the cops came.  I learned how to call 911 by the time I was 4 because I often had to call them to break up my parents' fights.  The police were my heroes.

That is until they murdered my mentally ill cousin.  Right in front of his grandma, who had called the police because he was upset.  And mentally ill.  Who else should she have called??  Who would have thought they would shoot him, just because he is standing in front of his car, with a closed pocket knife in his hand?   They are forever haunted by the fact that his grandma unknowingly called his murderer to the house.

Anyway, back to the early years.  We moved from Barrow, the land of whaling, walruses and polar bears, to Issaquah, a small suburb of Seattle.  The coke stopped, but drinking and chain smoking continued.  Fighting increased until a divorce finally happened, which was a welcome relief from the craziness that had become Mike.  He would swing from manic and financing $60,000 trucks to so depressed that he took three bullets out for the gun: one for him, my mom and myself.  I was happy about the divorce, despite the fact that mom had reconnected with Dave.  He moved right in and was such a pain.  Luckily their renewed romance didn't last long and he moved right back out.

Unfortunately, mom decided to end it all while home alone with me.  She OD'd on a bunch of pills.  Her best friend, Karen, happened to call and heard in mom's voice that something wasn't right.  By the time Karen stopped by the house my mom was passed out in the living room.  I was playing alone in my room, as usual.  Karen immediately called 911.  I was terrified when I heard the EMTs from my room.  When I came out to see what was happening they were hunched over her listless body.   After they took her away on a stretcher, Karen took me to Mike's house that night.

A couple night's later, over the weekend, Mike took my sister and I to Karen's house to hang out.  My sister and I had been watching movies in the back bedroom.  When we needed to change the movie I went into the living room and I suddenly froze in disbelief.  My step dad was laying on his back and Karen was hunched over him, her head bobbing up and down.  I knew what I  saw was very bad so I turned and went back to the bedroom.  My mind was reeling- my mom had just attempted suicide and her husband and best friend were having sex, which I just walked in on.

My Story

My parents were the hot drop-outs of high school.  Only 17 when she married my dad, my mom had no idea what she was in for.  She had to hitchhike home from work while pregnant with me because dad had her car out with another woman.  Yeah, he was kind of a dick.  One of those super hot, sexy men that think they can pretty much treat women how they want.  Not cool.

I was born a year later, breech, emergency c-section and with displaced hips.  I was in a hip brace for the first few months of my life.  I was colichy, testing mom's patience.  She loves to tell the story about when I bit the tip of her big toe and would not let go.  She says she was dancing all over the place trying to get me off.  Apparently I thought it was hilarious and hung on tighter.  Poor thing, she still loved me after that.

Dad would yell and lose his temper over the smallest little thing.  It would scare my mom, especially after I was in the picture.

Not surprisingly, mom left my dad for his best friend, Dave.  They ran away to Alaska together, with me in tow.  Dad made an effort to get her back, but mom had had enough.  Plus, she'd gotten rid of Dave and had met My Mikey, as I called him.  He was what I thought was a really cool dude.  Granted, I was 2 at the time and his bipolar hadn't yet surfaced.  Mom fell in love with him.

Somewhere along the line I started calling him dad.  It didn't help the cause that we lived in Barrow, AK.  A really long way from my real dad, who I didn't see for a few years.  When I eventually did, it was really awkward.  I remember the pictures they took that day.  He had his arm around my waist and I was so uncomfortable.

While in Barrow, mom and dad were busy hosting the town's hottest coke parties.  They even ventured into smuggling, but that was pretty much a one-time thing.  I was at these parties with my own play-coke.  I was sitting on a family friend's lap with my chalkboard.  As I gently erased the chalk into the corner, he asked me what I was doing, to which I replied "I'm saving my coke for later", referring to the chalkboard dust.  This was my foundation.

Then neighbor girl decided that I would be her lesbian lover.  She taught me the art of oral sex and I was a pro by the time I was 3.  We'd hide in my closet or her room, both of our parents completely oblivious to the molestation occurring right under their noses.

My parents would fight.  A lot.  After everyone went home or passed out, my parents would be ripping each others' hair out or strangling each other.  I learned how to call 9-1-1 by the time I was 4 because I often had to call them to break up my parents' fights.  The police were my heros.

That is until they murdered my mentally ill cousin.  Right in front of his grandma, who had called the police because he was upset.  And mentally ill.  Who else should she have called??  Who would have thought they would shoot him, just because he is standing in front of his car, with a closed pocket knife in his hand?  Seriously, that pocket knife, which was closed, cost my 21 year old cousin his life.  And ruined the rest of his mom and grandma's life.  They are forever haunted by the fact that his grandma unknowingly called his murderer to the house.

Anyway, back to the early years.  We moved from Barrow, the land of whaling, walruses and polar bears; to the small suburb of Seattle: Issaquah.  The coke stopped, but drinking and chain smoking continued.  Fighting increased until a divorce finally happened, which was a welcome relief from the craziness that had become Mike.  He would swing from manic and financing $60,000 trucks to so depressed that he took three bullets out for the gun: one for him, my mom and myself.  Yeah, I was happy about the divorce, despite the fact that mom had reconnected with Dave.  He moved right in and was such a pain.  Luckily he lasted about as long as he did the first time.

Unfortunately, mom decided to end it all while home alone with me.  She OD'd on a bunch of pills.  Her friend happened to call and heard something wasn't right.  When she stopped by the house my mom was passed out in the living room.  I was playing alone in my room, as usual.  Karen immediately called 911.  I was terrified as they took my unconscious mom out on a stretcher.  Karen took me to Mike's house that night.

A couple night's later, over the weekend, Mike took my sister and I to Karen's house to hang out.  My sister and I had been watching movies in the back bedroom.  When we needed to change the movie I went into the living room.  I suddenly froze in disbelief.  My step dad was laying on his back and Karen was hunched over him, her head bobbing up and down.  I knew what I  saw was very bad so I turned and went back to the bedroom.  My mind was reeling- my mom had just attempted suicide and her husband and best friend were having sex, which I just walked in on.

Cocaine, Oral Sex and How It All Began

My story begins on May 22, 1981.  That's the day my mom delivered me in dramatic fashion via emergency C-section.  She ran off with his best friend after a brief stint with my troubled father.  They left California, with me in tow, and headed back to Vancouver, Washington.  The love between them ran out quickly.  Mom headed to Barrow Alaska, leaving me with my grandparents.  She got a job and met My Mikey, as I used to call him.

My Mikey and mom fell in love over raging coke parties.  This was the 80's and they were living it up, enjoying huge wages from the pipeline deal.  I remember sitting on a lap with my chalkboard, telling my mom's friend about 'my coke', the dust from the chalkboard.  I watched everyone else snort line after line and figured I'd play along.

Inevitably the party would end, guests would leave and huge fights between my parents always seemed to happen.  Dishes thrown against walls and yelling were a part of our daily routine.  The fights would turn violent with hitting and kicking, shoving and strangling.  No one else would be there to stop them and I was only potty training.  Sometimes I was so terrified that my screaming would stop the fight, but usually they'd just wear each other out.

When I was three we moved into an apartment complex.  That's the first time I had sex.  Well, oral sex and with an older girl, not an adult.  But I was hooked.  I couldn't believe how good it felt, and I was so desperate for anyone to love me.  My parents were very neglectful, always either wasted or hungover.  I doubted, even as a toddler, if they even liked me. My love affair went on for the year she lived down the hall.

After two years, we left Barrow for Seattle. I'm not sure when, but My Mikey became Dad in Barrow.  I only saw my real dad once during the 4 years I lived up there and boy, are those some awkward family photos.  I didn't know my father until some years later. Turns out, Dad had a mental illness that would gravely effect our lives: Bipolar Type I.  His symptoms began shortly after the wedding and only progressed.

When he was depressed, he would suck all of the energy out of the room.  One day he grabbed a gun and three bullets. He told mom there was a bullet for each of us, that he couldn't take it anymore.  Obviously she talked him down but scary!  When he was manic, he was even more crazy.  He'd talk really fast and excitedly, his eyes would get larger with a slight bulge and dart around.  One day he drove home with a brand new truck that mom had no idea about.  We were living paycheck to paycheck and he financed $56k.  When mom made him return it to the dealership they refused to cancel the contract, costing my parents $8k.

My parents met new friends in Washington, leaving their coke days in Alaska.  The partying never stopped, and neither did the fighting.  At least once a month I would have to call the police to come break up a fight.  My parents were belligerent and mean, exacerbated when they drank.

One night, while the adults drank themselves into oblivion in the kitchen, I laid on the living room floor watching TV.  Bored and lonely, I ventured into the kitchen.  Mom stumbled over to me, slurring "You're going to try a cigarette."  I was 8 years old and begged her not to put it in my mouth. It stunk so bad, ugh!! I hated their chain smoking in our little house and begged them to stop often.  She didn't hesitate, and over the meek protests of her party buddies, she pushed the lit cigarette between my lips.  I coughed and gagged, repulsed by the hot stench coming from my mouth.  Horrified and sick, I ran to the bathroom to rinse my mouth out, once again feeling the deep void of my mother's love.

When I was about 12 mom reconnected with Dave, my real father's best friend.  She promptly filed for divorce from Dad, moving in with Dave and taking us kids.  That lasted until she tried to OD on pills while home alone with me.  Her friend just happened to call and notice something wrong.  That's the night the paramedics took her to the hospital to have her stomach pumped.

While mom was in the hospital, I lived with Dad. I walked in on him and mom's friend, the same one that called the paramedics, having sex during mom's hospital stay.  They were too busy to notice me (thank you for that).

Dad was incredibly mean and hateful towards me, which was nothing new.  Mom says that's the biggest reason why she left Mike, because he was that evil towards me.  I couldn't do anything right, ever.  One day he decided I didn't clean the tub well enough.  He slammed my face into the bottom of the tub and kicked down my bedroom door.  He told me to grab my things and drove me to mom's new apartment.  I was dumped like a piece of garbage on the sidewalk and felt worth as much.

Another day, while at the lake with Dad and my sister, a strange older man groped my recently developed breasts.  I was in the water up to my chest and he wanted me to help his little girl swim.  I felt his huge hands squeeze my breasts, and not just once.  I was so shocked and confused, thinking I did something wrong.  I quickly told Dad but he didn't do a thing.  The man just yards from us, getting away with molestation.  A few years later, I saw that sick man on Unsolved Mysteries.  He was on the run after raping his daughter.

During middle school, I went to Barrow Alaska to work for the summers.  I lied about my age so I could work in a restaurant.  It was right on the water, so when the ice pack came in I could see wild polar bears hunting.  I watched my sister in an Inupiaq blanket toss in celebration of harpooning a whale.  I rode quads and put up with my crazy grandma.  She loved to yank me around the living room by my hair when she was frustrated.  I masturbated as much as possible to make my time there bearable. By the time high school came, I had a burned-up clit and the excitement of a gold-digger getting the diamond of her dreams.