Saturday, November 28, 2009

From a whisper to a scream.

I want so desperately for someone to understand what I'm going through. I want someone to stand up when I feel weak and grab the world in their hands and just stop it from rotating for one day. All I need is the world to stop moving, for people to stop rushing around starbucks, for duedates to die, for people to chill, while I catch my breath. My medicine is still not here. And my brain is still clouded with emotions that I can't even begin to understand. I say this everyday and I know it's getting old, but all I want to do is lay in bed. It's the only thing that makes sense.

Sometimes when life is hard, I just want to hide. I don't want to clean up the mess. And it's not that I don't know how. I know what I need to do. I need to chill out with the partying, I need to scedule a therapy appointment, take my meds, shower, and get back to class. I need to chill the fuck out. I just don't have the strength to do it. It was never not knowing how. It's always been the issue of strength and not having enough.

I had a break down today. I flipped out on my Mom and smacked my sister. I yelled at my mom and accused her of not loving me the way she loves my siblings. It's like ever sicne I was little my mom's seen me more as a responsibility, this emotionally handicapped job that she doesn't feel like attending to. It hurts so badly. It hurts every time I look at the way she laughs and gossips with my sister and then sighs at the sight of my messy hair and smudged mascara.My 27 year old perfect sister (no really, she's fucking perfect) yelled at me and tried to stick herself into something she had no business dealing with. My Mom started to cry, as I smacked my sister, and asked me why I do this to the family. Everyone was standing in the kitchen looking at me like I was a monster who ruins everything. So, I flipped out. I lost control. I started pulling my hair, kicking the chairs around, screaming and crying, breaking their stupid shit that they buy to show everyone we're wealthy. They just cried silently in response and dodged the flying bullets that my insults became.

I've been hurting a lot lately, but i've also been numb. It combs in and out like waves. There are lulls or lapses, where the pain slips away and I feel nothing, but that does not bring me peace. It's like the rain stopped, but the sky's still shitty and gray and the grounds all wet.

I know what I need to do. I need to get shit off my chest and talk about this stuff. I'm letting it curl up with me. And that is so monumentally painful. It's like I'm living with a ghost, this transparent being that exists in the small valley of my hopes.

I will tell you something in an effort to get it off my chest. Life can be really shitty, I mean fucked up, disturbing, dark, twisty, shitty. I mean the shitty you don't like to think or write about. the shitty that's so ugly that you don't give it the time of day. You suffer from because it's easier than dealing with. We each have a story that brings about this shittiness. Here's mine.

When I was seven years old my Mom got tired of me. She was tired, just so tired. She had four kids and my dad was living in d.c. I was Add and all over the house, running around, breaking things, begging for attention. She was tired. She couldn't take care of me. And she hated that, but she accepted that she needed a break, came to terms with it, and took a mental health break. She abandoned me for a summer. In the midst of stress and frustration and sleep deprivation, she dropped me off at her sisters for a summer in Philadelphia. I stood there with a lump in my throat, clutching my stuffed animal, and watched her drive away. I thought that was the worst thing that could happen to me. I seriously thought, wow, what's gonna top that? But then my uncle's hand wrapped around my shoulder... and he started squeezing it and massaging it. And the next thing I knew, when no one else was around, he was asking me to sit with him on the couch. He made me pinky promise that what would happen next would be our secret. I was such an idiot. My gut told me that what was about to happen, this so called "game" was evil. But I just wasn't sure. So, I nodded my head, and took his pinky in mine, and promised never to tell. For the rest of that summer he licked, poked, and prodded my naked body. He molested me unashamedly. It was like living in hell. At night, I wouldn't sleep, because I was so afraid to wake up and find him standing over my bed or something. I never ate, because he always made me sick to my stomach. When I went hoem I was afraid to sleep, because I didn't want to talk in my sleep (something I am notorious for) and reveal the darkest secret I've ever posessed. So, I didn't sleep. I didn't eat. I lived in pain and silence. I threw tantrums, I disrespected teachers. I screamed a little every day hoping to get the disgust I felt over myself and body out of my system.  Nothign worked. Eventually I told some people, not my family. I told my therapist. I told Kait. I told Leslie. I opened up a little. And that felt good, but I never felt entirely healed. Then one day I couldn't take it any longer, my mom was planning a holiday trip to my aunt and uncles and I just told her everything. I started crying. She started crying. My dad started crying. they felt so guilty. I held that secret in for six years.

I don't always talk about it, but it doesn't mean that I don't think about it. I am a 19 year old young woman with a rather superior iq. I smoke pot, I go to the local university, I have friends, am fairly popular. I fit in and don't stick out as far as appearances go. But inside, I feel like I'm a different species. And I don't know what to do, or to say to myself, to make that feeling go away. I just know how to hide and lay in bed.

I want to be brave. I want to be someone 13 year old girls look up to and what to be like. I want to be just like Leslie (with some minor changes of course). I want to teach and be a scholar. But I don't know how to do that when my mind and body feel so weak.


  1. I have a lot of respect for you after reading that. You're brave to let people get close and talk about it.
    Sometimes you need to just take yourself out of your situation and hide in your bed for indefinate amounts of time. Thinking or sleeping or just in that sorta numb state where you stare at stuff but aren't really thinking about anything.
    I'm not ready to talk about my own experience, cannot even fathom doing that just yet, but you've given me a tiny bit of hope that someday I might be able to. Thankyou for sharing your story.

  2. You are a brave and amazing person, and I look up to you, because you tell me things and you give me advice, you're like a big sister who's thousands of miles away.
    I feel like I can tell you anything, my secrets, my past, what hurts me, what sneaks into my head when I'm trying to fall asleep and I can't seem to find a way to let it all out.
    I hope that one day I'll meet you, and know that I will be following the advice you and all your friends gave me tonight.

  3. I am 24 and recently realized that sharing the stories is a huge release, so you're definitely ahead of the game. It's the after effect that confuses people (and me). My mind goes, "Okay...what now?"

  4. Kim I cried reading this. You are such a strong person and you have made it through so much and are still able to love me unconditionally. You know I will be here for a lifetime. You are my heart. We are two halves of a whole. I will be your strength when you have none. I love you.