I just want to scream. I want people to understand why I've come to this decision, but it doesn't really matter because everyone is always caught up with the whole "anyone can be saved" bullshit. Everyone's life is hard yadda yadda yadda, get over it, go to therapy, take your meds.
My father was in the military when he met my neurotic Korean mother. He acquired brain damage during his time there as well as ptsd on top of being a bipolar alcoholic. My mother has borderline personality tendencies. My sister was born and then I came along two years later. My mother burned down our house, tried to stab my dad and was suicidal while I was in the womb. When they divorced she kidnapped us and left us with her sister and abusive husband. They kept us in a closet and generally neglected us for months until my paternal grandparents and my father found us and took us back to the US.
My father "raised" my sister and I while my mother was off gambling and moving around the country, sometimes calling and sending money from her many suitors when the guilt became too much. My father was extremely neglectful. We always had rotting food in the refrigerator, lived in absolute filth, slept on the ground of his bedroom in trash with ants everywhere while he drank nightly and watched porn and masturbated in front of us. On top of all this he would blow up over anything, and I mean ANYTHING. Couldn't find his keys? That's a two hour session of him berating my sister and I, telling us how worthless we are.
Teachers were worried that we were being abused because we'd come to school with dirty clothes and had extreme learning disabilities. I would sweat, shake and cry over the littlest things. At one point a teacher coerced me into telling people I had been molested, and I was confused because I had seen so much sex in porn magazines at such a young age and that led to my genitals being examined and then my dad being mad about it all.
My paternal grandparents were wealthy and anytime we'd call them crying they'd remind us that that they had it harder growing up, so we need to stop our crying.
My dad had his random male friends live with us through out the years leeching off us even though we didn't even have enough money to keep our electricity on.
Even though I was in special ed and was really emotionally fragile I still tried my fucking hardest. I'd run around in the snow barefoot just to toughen myself up, I'd listen to mozart every morning so that maybe it could give me the intelligence that I longed for. I'd shake and cry doing my homework at night, but goddamn it I was determined. Even when my sister and I were taken away from my father in put into a group home, I was so excited at the taste of freedom that I knew was coming when I finally could get away from that dreaded man.
At 14 one event changed everything. My ear had been acting up because all the cigarette smoke frequently gave me ear infections. Well my sister got mad at me and smacked me on the side of the head. This led me to put some ear drops in it, which led to a burning sensation. I freaked out and blew as hard as I could through the tube leading from the back of my throat up to my ear. Well from the point on that tube (eustachain tube) was permanently open leading to constant whooshing anytime i'd take a breath. I could hear my voice booming in my head at all times. It was maddening.
My mental health declined drastically from there. Even through all this I still did well in track and field and eventually got a full scholarship to a D1 school, but I couldn't keep it together. After seeing an ENT, who had no diagnosis or help to give regarding my ear I resorted to poking the opening in the tube with safety pins. I just knew that I wanted it to close up. I'd be in my dorm trying to study and get myself ready for practice with this loud static in my head with a mouth full of blood from poking that goddamn hole.
Everyone was just like "WHY CAN'T YOU BE HAPPY" "TRY A LITTLE HARDER" I just wanted to scream. I was trying. I was trying so fucking hard.
After a year of school I tried to overdose on xanax. I couldn't handle the fucking noise in my head and no one would fucking listen. My high school friends came to the rescue and brought me to another nearby college town, but I was still extremely suicidal. I soon became a hermit in a house with former sorority girls. I had no car and worked at a deli about 15 hours a week. I lived on 500 dollars a month and could do nothing but think of suicide. My brain was slowly deteriorating even further. I could barely read a sentence or think straight at all.
Well from then on I had boyfriend after boyfriend. I was displaying classic symptoms of borderline personality disorder at this point, but no amount of meds or therapy would help. That fucking whooshing would drive me over the edge each and every time. I was abusive and did a lot of things I'm very ashamed of. My impulses and logical thinking were so skewed from being under such constant duress that I could barely put two and two together regarding my actions and how they affected other people. I was just trying to self-destruct.
At one point I even tattooed my own face thinking that a tiny freckled would take away attention from other features that I despised. When I realized how ugly it was I proceeded to rip it out of my face with tweezers and then sew it up myself. I also realigned my nose that had been broken as a teenager with two cans of peas, knocking one into the other, which thankfully worked.
I eventually got involved with opiates and alcohol in an effort to destroy myself. I was finding it harder and harder to keep a job or live. The whooshing would never go away and there was no way to communicate that to other people. I finally figured out the diagnosis myself, patulous eustachian tube. When the tube is normally closed at all times for most people, mine was permanently open.
Well I learned that cauterization of the opening or the building up of scar tissue is one of the primary ways the two or three doctors in the country treat it. Most ENTs had no idea what it was or how to treat it and on top of that i never had insurance of stayed at a job long enough to even afford proper treatment, so I proceeded to use a screw driver to damage the tissue around the hole, which i continued to do for a few years. I couldn't tell if is working, but I continued to do it in moments of extreme anxiety.
Well I'm 28 now and finally my ear is healed. I've wasted years and years of my life in mental agony and hurt a lot of people. I've cheated and lied in a state of sheer mental confusion and psychosis. I'm looking back on all my failings and all the things that have slipped through my fingers all because of such a minuscule things.
People look at me with disappointment telling me how they thought I would be the successful one in the family, but here I am with three suicide attempts, 4 hospitalizations and herpes. I recently found out that I gave my boyfriend herpes as a result of my former promiscuity.
Well that last bit makes me want to die the most. I never wanted to hurt anyone. Now that my ear is healed the world is clear again. I can breath, I can think logically, I'm not in a state of overwhelming stress and confusion.
Take your meds they say. Will the meds make up for a life that could have been? Will the meds make up for all the failings and sadness and years of struggle?
I have no desire to keep living, and all those years I did it for my family. I didn't want them to hurt with my passing and now, now they look at me like I haven't been trying hard enough, that I just need to take my meds and shut up.
I'VE BEEN TRYING HARD THIS WHOLE FUCKING TIME. I've kept myself from jumping off a university tower. I've laid in bed for days at a time listening to that fucking whooshing with every fucking dreaded breath. I did it all for them.
Now I'm stuck with no college degree, 15 jobs that I've quit impulsively, scars all over my body from self-mutilation, years of pity from my peers, guilt for all the pain I've caused and an STD.
I want to die. I want to die so bad. I've resigned myself to working in a fucking grocery store deli and maybe loving in a two bedroom apartment with my cat and some other equally lonely person. I suppose I'll suffer for a few more decades so that my family won't be hurt. I'll stop talking to them all together, but they'll be fine no matter how much I suffer just as long as the family doesn't have to live in the wake of a suicide.
I'm smoking now in hopes that I get mouth cancer. Wish me luck!
I wake up every morning screaming why god? Why me? I was supposed to be something. I was supposed to make it. All I ever wanted to do was help people. I tried to save my money as a kid to put towards a sponsored child in Africa. I just wanted to be empathetic most of all, but instead I was turned into an impulsive monster.
Barely anyone believes me anyway when I tell them why I've been the way I've been for the last 14 years, but what are you going to do? No one really cares about the reasons for suicide. They see it from their perspective. A little bit of elbow grease and therapeutic chatting ought to do it, right?
Submitted February 27, 2016 at 12:42AM by aintitalwaysfunny http://ift.tt/1TccQcm SuicideWatch
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