Cutting, Suicide, Eating disorders and a bottle of pills.

Alright it's time to spill it, all of it.

I was never a happy child, I pretended my dad was just this bussiness man away on a long trip and he will be back soon, or someone someday will love me and adopt me, and take me from this foster home.... Well it got old pretty fast and my own lies to myself faded into a horrible reality, of this is my home. No one wants me. And he wants me but just to hurt me. She loves me because she has to out of obligation.

That was my bandaid to make myself feel better to drift away from the reality of my life.

Sixth grade became the year of "I can't do this anymore". This was a turning point of dealing with the molestation for two years already, and my mom and I's relationship crashing.

Sixth grade was the year I said "screw this life, death is a much easier option", it's the year I took a bottle of aspirin. Now I will tell you I a learned a lesson way fast. I to this day do not even take a pill unless I am dying in pain, or to save my childs life like I had to with my last two kids.

I spent days puking, couldn't hear because my ears were ringing, and I was plain ass miserable. It was not a pleasent situation, and I remember thinking to myself, "Even this I can't do right, something as simple as killing myself I failed at. Did I not take enough pills? and to top it off I get to deal with this puking miserable feeling", and I think something along the lines of "God must really hate me"

I can only remember actually trying that one time to kill myself, other times I just dreamed about it, and I mean litterly sitting even day dreaming about my own funeral, I wrote suicide letters and just thought of how the world would be if I was gone.

I associated not being successful at killing myself as being too weak to accomplish it.

Since I couldn't kill myself I took up the aspect of cutting. I used glass, paper clips, sharp pencils metal pieces etc to just sit and cut myself, really anything I could get my hands on at the time. Almost always on my wrists, but once someone caught on I started on my legs. Wrists provided a much different release though. I always thought maybe just maybe I would cut deep enough through a vein and die that way. I still have two small scars to remind me of this past.

Somehow I thought if I punished myself, the punishment I was getting in life, would feel so much easier to handle. I also hated myself because of all the things that had happened to me.

Then not only did I cut, but I also picked up a nasty eating disorder, which by the way I sucked at. This still semi lingers into my adult years. But nothing to be concerned about.

As a young child and teen if I was upset I would punish myself by not allowing myself to eat, and if I had to eat because I was with someone a simple salad was all. But I was pretty darn good at getting away with not eating. That was the best part of having parents who were too absorbed in their own world to know or care.

I tried eating and puking but I again was too weak for that one. I did it for a few months and just couldn't stick my hands down my throat anymore.

As an adult its nothing I do consciously but if I am mad, sad, or feel I have done something wrong I can go a few days without eating. Again not intentional.... just habit.

That is until I started the slimgenics program nine months ago and got chewed out a few times, for making my meotablism take a nose dive each time. I have gotten better about this, but I still from time to time find myself back in old patterns. Like this past week I had not eaten for a few days until I relaized that's why I was so sick. I am not one who eats for comfort but I starve because of emotions.

I am not posting this because I think this is an option, but I know a lot of people suffer like I did and suicide seems the most comforting logical answer admist the pain.

Do I ever now feel this way, well do you really want me to be honest?

Two years ago absolutely, I was done I couldn't live this life of a mom who lost her baby anymore. It was too hard and I was so sick of feeling like God hated me, god wanted to punish me for whatever horrible things I had done or would do. I layed in bed with a bottle of sleeping pills the hospital gave me when I lost my son. I opened the lid and closed it several time and toyed with the idea of taking them. I cried, I yelled in my head at God. I told him this shit life he gave me was a sick joke. I just wanted to get away from this life I had delt. I knew the pain I had would never really go away no matter how much time had passed. I wanted to feel normal yet all these "things" I had been through made me feel so far from normalcy.

And then I sobbed, I kept it in my head that I had three beautiful kids that if no one else they loved and needed me. And I called my grief counselor, just when I thought I was going to take the bottle of pills. And I quickly ran into the bathroom and flushed the pills, I was so scared I was going to do it.

Then I had I don't know what you would call it, flushers remorse (ok seriously kidding on the wording), because now I had nothing to excape this life that I was willing to try.

I later learned that was a sign I was too strong to quit and God was with me.

Although me and him still have some pretty interesting fights. Just one yesterday. He has too much love for me sometimes, too much faith, too much trust. And a vision I think he is crazy for.

There are still times when I find myself having a pitty party and that I think death would be easier, no one would care and if they did. They would quickly get over it. I am not that important.

Now before you come kick my ass if you do love me, please just let my pain speak and be real. It might not make sense and yes, your right suicide is selfish and an excape. But sometimes the pain is that much........ that an excape is all I want. I find myself from time to time sitting and wondering if I matter that much? If I was gone would it really make a difference? Questions to some that might seem silly, but on the other hand very real questions I face from time to time.


If this was too much I am sorry and if it's just what you needed to not be alone I am so glad.

My counselor told me a few years ago, the next time I felt this way to just wait-it -out, that's all I ask. Wait until tomorrow it might be different. Then again tomorrow may feel just as shitty or worse, I have been there too. It always get's worse before it get's better. But the light at the end of the tunnel is that it will get better.

Maybe not without some work on your part, maybe all the work you will have to do is reaching out to someone letting them know you need help to lighten your load, to help you.