My last break up was a little over a month ago, and my ex now despises me for "dumping [him] for another guy." I didn't dump him for someone else, I dumped him cause he was ruining my life and taking control of me. He always made me feel guilty. Every slip up I made on aim was copy+pasted what I said over and over. He got jealous easily (ie. At prom, I was walking w/ my bf and I saw my friend standing up against the wall waiting for his gf to come out of the bathroom. I pointed out a lipstick kiss mark on his cheek, and he tried to wipe it off, but ended up smearing it. I went into the bathroom, got a wet paper towel, and wiped it off. My bf got so pissed b/c he thought I liked my friend as more than a friend. He said I was mothering him, and started crying and stormed off. On PROM!!)
Another example --this one of attention wanting-- is if I'm holding his hand while sitting at the "hang out" table at our school, if my friend from 4 ft. away called me over, and I walked over to talk to him/her, he would tell me that night on aim that I forgot I had a bf and totally ignored him. The same if I'm walking w/ another friend. I'll tend to talk to them more if I care about what they're saying, so my ex kept getting pissed that I was ignoring him.
This one shows desperation. By the end of the 1st week we were going out, he told me he was madly inlove w/ me. He kept making me feel guilty "I can't say I love you b/c u don't love me, yet." He kept this up for weeks. Finally, I got so sick of it, I said "I love you. I'm madly inlove w/ u." And it was all downhill from there. Apparently I was doing stuff that lovers wouldn't do. He *always* said "words say nothing. Show me w/ ur actions" cause apparently I said a lot of nice words, but didn't do anything. He always said, "I wish I could spend more time w/ u" so I once replied "me, too" and he imediietly said "then why don't u find a way u can." And I told him I didn't know of a way. He said "u need to think. If u really wanted to, you have to think. Ask ur mom if u can come over? That's an obvious one." My mom said mon. Wed. And friday I could cause we already saw eachother in school. I told him and he got mad. "Wtf?! What about tuesday and thursday? Can I go over?" this bullshit went on for days. I have millions of more stories like: we talked on aim *every night* and when we signed off (at 12 to 2 in the morning) he'd call me to say good night. Well, we fought nearly every night (it was rare if we didn't) and one night, we had a huuuuge fight. He said "I'm so fuck8ing close to breaking up w/ u". And I forgot to ask "are u gonna call me?" at the end of the convo......BIG mistake!! He got mad and said "why don't u wanna talk to me?! if u love me, why don't u show it?" and crap like that. I look back on it and wonder why I didn't say "cause I don't really love you" but then I remember how angry he gets and how violent he gets when he's angry. He always talked about how he would shoot the mother fucker that talked shit about me.....wow. I sure pick the assholes.
Sunday, June 29, 2008
Monday, June 23, 2008
intro
I was diagnosed with depression when I was 6 years old, but my father refused medication. When I was 8, I found out from a classmate that my parents were getting divorced. Apparently, my mom told my classmate's mom who then told my classmate who then told me. Fortunately, they didn't divorce. Then again, when I was 12 years old, my mom told me that she and my father were divorcing. By now, my depression was obvious, and I was completely anti-social. I began cutting. I didn't realize it was a bad thing. It somehow made me feel better. Like my anger and sadness was pent up in my blood. And watching my blood pour out somehow satisfied me. I kept away from the other kids at my school, afraid that I would end up like them. Fake, roudy, and immature.
To avoid staying with the same immature people that I delt with in middle school, I applied to go to a magnet school 8 miles north of the hichschool I was supposed to attend. I thought I had escaped immaturity, but I found that it was the same everywhere I went. I felt alone and empty. I began to cut deeper and more often. I wasn't afraid of pain. My parents' fights were getting louder and I heard my name in them more often. I knew I was the one who caused the trouble in the household.
On halloween '05, I walked out of the house after a huge arguement with my father. He yelled at me, and wouldn't stop because I was being "defiant." I'm not one who yells back, so I just stood there wanting so much to hit him in the nose and kick him in the groin as hard as I could.
When I left, I walked to East L.A (which, by the map, is about 13 miles from my house. I kept going because all I had were feelings of hatred, pain, and anger that pushed me away from my life. I was wondering down the streets when I heard, "hey. Hey you." I turned around and saw nothing. It was about 11:30 at night, so I walked back and saw a mexicanguy in the passenger side of a truck. He was about 25 to 30 years old. "Wanna smoke some chronic?" "sure" (I didn't know what chronic was, but I was tired and didn't really care.) Turns out, it's a long thin stick of marijuana. Well, that's what they said (they being the passenger and driver). I secretly watched them smoke it, not letting them know I had never done drugs before. I was 14, but led them to believe I was 17, since I didn't look my age. They took me back to their place where we hung out and listened to music. The passenger's name was Steven and the driver's name was Hector. They brought out a pookie (which is a glass tube w/ a ball at the end that has a hole in it- a form of crystal meth) and we all had a hit. Well, I got more than one. I think they let me have 10 hits. I don't remember what happened then. All I know is that I woke up in Glassel Park by the running sprinklers, my vagina hurt, and there was blood on my underwear. I didn't know what happened (cause I was high), but I ditched my underwear and walked to target and stole a pack of underwear (in my rush out the door, I never brought any money.) I walked around and found myself in downtown LA. I walked some more and found myself at Marshall High school (which is somewhere near Silver Lake.) It was about 10 or 11 at night when I found a dark, quiet area and fell asleep. My feet were tired, and I was hungry. I wondered if I could screw someone for money or food. I was that desperate. The next day, I walked to a 7-11 and stole some beef jerky and a bottle of Cream Soda. Stealing was easy and fun. I was about to walk out when I saw a piece of paper by the door. "Missing. Have you seen me?" and on it was my 14th birthday picture. My hair was shorter and my face was chubbier, but there was no doubt that it was me. I had the same smile and eyes. After that, I saw the posters on every tree and lamp post. I was afraid someone would recognize me.
It was an hour to an hour and a half later when a white toyota corolla began to follow me. "My mom drives that kind of car" I thought. Sure enough, my mom was behind the wheel. I stopped and faced her. She stopped the car, ran out, wrapped her arms around me and just held me like that for what seemed like hours. I burst into tears and told her how sorry I was over and over again. I kept telling her how much I loved her.
We got into the car and she called the police saying that she had found me and that they could stop their search. I had been gone 2 school days and had 3 city police departments, 2 helicopters, and a few dogs looking for me.
As soon as we arrived home, I looked at my dad with terror. He looked at me and said "im so sorry." And all I could do was hug him tightly and cry (I'm crying now just remembering it.) When I walked into my room, I found that there were bars on my windows. After my runaway, I kept cutting. This time, it was deeper. You would thing doing something like running away for 2 days in a dangerous territory would leave someone traumatized, but it made me feel strong, brave, invincible, and cold-hearted. I didn't care about life. When my parents had another fight over me (this was bigger than the time I ran away) I cried all night and most of the next day. They noticed my grades were not just slipping, but plunging. They blamed eachother for being irresponcible and inconciderate. They didn't know about the other kids at school. They didn't know about the names people called me. They didn't know about the cutting. They didn't notice that I came home and sat in my room all afternoon. I don't think they really cared. I had caught a few terms that made me more depressed and angry. "Special-ed, slow learner, half-way house (that's a mental institution for teens), and daily (that's a high school for drop-outs, druggies, and expecting or single moms.)"
The day after this fight, I went to the bathroom in my school and began to cut my wrists and arteries (across the street *and* down the road). I didn't care about life. It was bad timing when a junior walked in to talk on her cell phone (during 2nd period) and saw the blood coming from the stall. The next thing I knew was being carried on a stretcher to the ER where I was stitched up and given blood.
It was Feb. 17, 2006 when I left the ER (the day after the suicide attempt.) I was taken to a mental hospital where I stayed for a month and a half. I mostly stayed in my room. I was finally diagnosed with severe depression and anger, so a psychiatrist gave me meds to balance my system out. I litterally felt better, but because I had missed a lot of school, my grades suffered greatly and I had to make up a lot of work. I pulled 4 Fs up to 3 Cs and a D. I passed and was able to move up to 10th grade.
However, after school ended, I was admitted back into the hospital for anger. I had thrown my porcelain piggy bank into my mirror shattering both. There was a good reason behind it, too. It was 7 months since I ran away, and my dad refused to take the bars off my windows. My parents rushed me back to the hospital with me screaming in the backseat that I hated them. I was only in there 2 weeks, and by then, I was scared. There was a posessed kid, a beached whale that was always ready to leave-- that is, until a cute guy was admitted, and 2 big black guys that had anger issues worse than mine. July 2nd, 2006 was my last cut.
My grades did not go past Cs in 10th grade, except for the A in PE which was no problem because of all the running and walking I did in the previous year. In April, 2007, my mom finally divorced my dad, and moved out of the house. I came with her. She didn't move very far. Just closer to my school. I was now a mile away from my school, but 7 miles away from my dad.
Because I was at a magnet school, we had a block schedule. I don't know which of my retarded parents had the sick sense of humor to make me see my dad every thursday and every other weekend, but if you do the math, you will see that it's complicated to carry books around if you transfer houses in the middle of the week. DX
So in May, we decided we would put me in a regular high school. However, this was the school 2 blocks away from my mom's house and I had never even been on its campus, let alone know anyone there.
I started there as a junior and made friends quickly. I told no one of my past because I didn't think it mattered. I was different. I hadn't cut for over a year, and I was happier. My grades had completely reversed leaving me with As and Bs and only one C (there were no As, and only a few Bs in my U.S. History class).
I didn't have boyfriend until the beginning of April that year, but that's a story for the next blog (it was *terrible.* the most unhealty relationship you could ever be in.)
I just finished junior year and established a lot of good friends. I can confide in a couple of them, and one even knows about my whole past (everything that I just wrote here and more.) I love my friends and I can't wait until September when we all reunite again.
To avoid staying with the same immature people that I delt with in middle school, I applied to go to a magnet school 8 miles north of the hichschool I was supposed to attend. I thought I had escaped immaturity, but I found that it was the same everywhere I went. I felt alone and empty. I began to cut deeper and more often. I wasn't afraid of pain. My parents' fights were getting louder and I heard my name in them more often. I knew I was the one who caused the trouble in the household.
On halloween '05, I walked out of the house after a huge arguement with my father. He yelled at me, and wouldn't stop because I was being "defiant." I'm not one who yells back, so I just stood there wanting so much to hit him in the nose and kick him in the groin as hard as I could.
When I left, I walked to East L.A (which, by the map, is about 13 miles from my house. I kept going because all I had were feelings of hatred, pain, and anger that pushed me away from my life. I was wondering down the streets when I heard, "hey. Hey you." I turned around and saw nothing. It was about 11:30 at night, so I walked back and saw a mexicanguy in the passenger side of a truck. He was about 25 to 30 years old. "Wanna smoke some chronic?" "sure" (I didn't know what chronic was, but I was tired and didn't really care.) Turns out, it's a long thin stick of marijuana. Well, that's what they said (they being the passenger and driver). I secretly watched them smoke it, not letting them know I had never done drugs before. I was 14, but led them to believe I was 17, since I didn't look my age. They took me back to their place where we hung out and listened to music. The passenger's name was Steven and the driver's name was Hector. They brought out a pookie (which is a glass tube w/ a ball at the end that has a hole in it- a form of crystal meth) and we all had a hit. Well, I got more than one. I think they let me have 10 hits. I don't remember what happened then. All I know is that I woke up in Glassel Park by the running sprinklers, my vagina hurt, and there was blood on my underwear. I didn't know what happened (cause I was high), but I ditched my underwear and walked to target and stole a pack of underwear (in my rush out the door, I never brought any money.) I walked around and found myself in downtown LA. I walked some more and found myself at Marshall High school (which is somewhere near Silver Lake.) It was about 10 or 11 at night when I found a dark, quiet area and fell asleep. My feet were tired, and I was hungry. I wondered if I could screw someone for money or food. I was that desperate. The next day, I walked to a 7-11 and stole some beef jerky and a bottle of Cream Soda. Stealing was easy and fun. I was about to walk out when I saw a piece of paper by the door. "Missing. Have you seen me?" and on it was my 14th birthday picture. My hair was shorter and my face was chubbier, but there was no doubt that it was me. I had the same smile and eyes. After that, I saw the posters on every tree and lamp post. I was afraid someone would recognize me.
It was an hour to an hour and a half later when a white toyota corolla began to follow me. "My mom drives that kind of car" I thought. Sure enough, my mom was behind the wheel. I stopped and faced her. She stopped the car, ran out, wrapped her arms around me and just held me like that for what seemed like hours. I burst into tears and told her how sorry I was over and over again. I kept telling her how much I loved her.
We got into the car and she called the police saying that she had found me and that they could stop their search. I had been gone 2 school days and had 3 city police departments, 2 helicopters, and a few dogs looking for me.
As soon as we arrived home, I looked at my dad with terror. He looked at me and said "im so sorry." And all I could do was hug him tightly and cry (I'm crying now just remembering it.) When I walked into my room, I found that there were bars on my windows. After my runaway, I kept cutting. This time, it was deeper. You would thing doing something like running away for 2 days in a dangerous territory would leave someone traumatized, but it made me feel strong, brave, invincible, and cold-hearted. I didn't care about life. When my parents had another fight over me (this was bigger than the time I ran away) I cried all night and most of the next day. They noticed my grades were not just slipping, but plunging. They blamed eachother for being irresponcible and inconciderate. They didn't know about the other kids at school. They didn't know about the names people called me. They didn't know about the cutting. They didn't notice that I came home and sat in my room all afternoon. I don't think they really cared. I had caught a few terms that made me more depressed and angry. "Special-ed, slow learner, half-way house (that's a mental institution for teens), and daily (that's a high school for drop-outs, druggies, and expecting or single moms.)"
The day after this fight, I went to the bathroom in my school and began to cut my wrists and arteries (across the street *and* down the road). I didn't care about life. It was bad timing when a junior walked in to talk on her cell phone (during 2nd period) and saw the blood coming from the stall. The next thing I knew was being carried on a stretcher to the ER where I was stitched up and given blood.
It was Feb. 17, 2006 when I left the ER (the day after the suicide attempt.) I was taken to a mental hospital where I stayed for a month and a half. I mostly stayed in my room. I was finally diagnosed with severe depression and anger, so a psychiatrist gave me meds to balance my system out. I litterally felt better, but because I had missed a lot of school, my grades suffered greatly and I had to make up a lot of work. I pulled 4 Fs up to 3 Cs and a D. I passed and was able to move up to 10th grade.
However, after school ended, I was admitted back into the hospital for anger. I had thrown my porcelain piggy bank into my mirror shattering both. There was a good reason behind it, too. It was 7 months since I ran away, and my dad refused to take the bars off my windows. My parents rushed me back to the hospital with me screaming in the backseat that I hated them. I was only in there 2 weeks, and by then, I was scared. There was a posessed kid, a beached whale that was always ready to leave-- that is, until a cute guy was admitted, and 2 big black guys that had anger issues worse than mine. July 2nd, 2006 was my last cut.
My grades did not go past Cs in 10th grade, except for the A in PE which was no problem because of all the running and walking I did in the previous year. In April, 2007, my mom finally divorced my dad, and moved out of the house. I came with her. She didn't move very far. Just closer to my school. I was now a mile away from my school, but 7 miles away from my dad.
Because I was at a magnet school, we had a block schedule. I don't know which of my retarded parents had the sick sense of humor to make me see my dad every thursday and every other weekend, but if you do the math, you will see that it's complicated to carry books around if you transfer houses in the middle of the week. DX
So in May, we decided we would put me in a regular high school. However, this was the school 2 blocks away from my mom's house and I had never even been on its campus, let alone know anyone there.
I started there as a junior and made friends quickly. I told no one of my past because I didn't think it mattered. I was different. I hadn't cut for over a year, and I was happier. My grades had completely reversed leaving me with As and Bs and only one C (there were no As, and only a few Bs in my U.S. History class).
I didn't have boyfriend until the beginning of April that year, but that's a story for the next blog (it was *terrible.* the most unhealty relationship you could ever be in.)
I just finished junior year and established a lot of good friends. I can confide in a couple of them, and one even knows about my whole past (everything that I just wrote here and more.) I love my friends and I can't wait until September when we all reunite again.
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