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.

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.