Fuck, even the supportive comments in that post hurt. I was so hurt and so upset yesterday. Some of my comments were kind of stupid and childish, but I was so upset that no one seemed to care about the rest of my blog entry or my feelings about being dumped. I wasn't just feeling sad about being taken out of C's life. I was sad about losing my family, encompassing all of them. I cried all day yesterday because I went back and reread every single email that K wrote to me and my responses to just see if you guys were right. Reading recent love letters and then recent fuck you and goodbye letters from someone you so deeply love and thought would be your very last chance at a family for the rest of your life is so heartbreaking. Just writing about it now creates streaking snotting puddles on my face.
Now that I've had a day to cool off, it still hurts that people believe that children, C in particular, and their own children need to be sheltered from me and that CPS would take away my children and I should give away my pets because I would hurt them in one way or another. I attempted suicide after years of searching for help. I started therapy. I went to doctors for medication for the first time since I was 14. I even went and had my body checked out in case it was what was hurting me. Therapy left me more raw and the medication did not provide enough.
I even went to the ER because I was searching for help. They put me in a hospital where they stripped me naked and made me turn around in circles without my clothes so they could document every mark on my body. As I was naked they asked me questions about each mark and where it came from. They made me wear a hospital gown and placed me in a place where men were screaming in Arabic and other people were constantly being restrained. One woman (or teenage boy, I'm not really sure) paced the entire until in the same path all day long. Men screaming in Arabic and following me around proposing marriage and begging me not to cry fucking terrified me to the point that I could not leave my room to eat or anything else. I was basically frozen in time. I was seven again. Screaming Arabic reminds me of the man in the Middle East who I watched be beaten by police officers with a type of stick that looks like bamboo but makes whooshing sounds as it whips through the air. I watched the blood spatter everywhere. I felt myself pee my pants, or my shiny yellow dress and to this day I feel so guilty that I never told them to stop. I have no idea if he was critically injured. Laying on my white hospital sheets I held myself in the fetal position with the pillow over my head trying not to hear the man beg me to stop the beating. Trying not to hear the most horrific animalistic screaming I've ever heard and the laughter that accompanied it.
This is the help I got. No med change, no therapy, not anything. Basically they held me for five days in a prison full of my worst fears and then let me go. That's it. I so badly wanted help and searched for a million programs but my insurance would not pay for any of them and they would not accept loans. My insurance does not pay for trauma treatment at all. I was screaming for help and no one came to my aide and then I realized there was no help for me. There would never be any relief.
I could not sleep. Once I did not sleep for nearly 5 days. They gave me some very powerful drugs that knocked me out for two days. It only helped for those two days and then I was back to 3 days awake, crash for 15 or more hours, then 3 days awake. When I did sleep it was nightmare after nightmare, panic attack after panic attack. I have had PTSD most of my life, but it blew up after I pumped my body with hormones for the egg donation. My flashbacks exploded in my face hurting every part of me. I needed help in the most painful way and there wasn't anything I could do about it. I was hurting so badly.
Wonderful people from this blog talked to me and even texted me trying to be there for me, but it wasn't enough to stop the past from haunting me. One evening my girlfriend and I were sitting on the couch watching a movie and I realized I was about to have a flashback and a panic attack. I went to the bathroom to freak out where my girlfriend couldn't see and saw all my sleeping pills and sedatives and in that brief moment of extreme suffering I decided I couldn't handle it anymore. I thought everyone would be relieved to be rid of me. In that moment I thought leaving my body would be best for everyone so I poured all those blue and white and some weird color pills into my hand, chucked them in my mouth and swallowed. It went down so easily. I did it again. My thoughts as I did this was that I would finally be able to sleep and I would finally stop hurting. I felt happy. I felt hopeful. I felt relieved. I laid on my bed watching the ceiling fan thinking wow this will be the last thing I ever see and then I realized the first thing my gf would see in the morning would be my body. And then I realized that would hurt her and leave her with so much pain and guilt, and stranded with five animals and a huge amount in bills.
Then I thought about C and K and D and L and how much I would miss of their lives and then I became scared. I changed my mind. I didn't have enough strength to yell or move my body, but I did have my phone right next to me, might have even been on my chest. I reached for that phone and very slowly began the message to my girlfriend. I'm not sure how long it took me to write it, but it felt like forever. I wrote, I'm sorry, I love you so much and there is nothing you could have done. I just can't do it anymore." I wrote this message just in case she might not see it in time. She came in and all I remember are flashes for the next three days. I didn't want to die. I didn't want to hurt anyone. I just didn't want to hurt anymore. I wanted help and there wasn't any help available and I couldn't survive anymore. Does that make me dangerous? Does that mean I don't deserve to be apart of a family and watch someone I created grow up? I got help. I'm getting help. I got good doctors who talk to me for more then ten minutes before they fill a prescription. I got meds that help me a feel a little stronger even though they are pretty dangerous. I'm taking them in order to survive. I got therapy. I am making a ton of mistakes as I go down this path, but it's my first time and I'm getting lost occasionally. I am walking alone in the dark with only a tiny key-chain flashlight and I'm scared about a lot of things that are happening to me as I push through the rocky sticky jagged path encompassed with bricks and yellow jello (the worse kind I can think of).
I am doing everything I know how to do so that I can stay alive, so that I can LIVE. I am documenting it here and putting it all out here as a way to take some risks in life and maybe help someone else or at the very least have someone witness it. Does that not count for something? Does that not matter at all because I made a huge mistake that could have had fatal and really painful consequences? Does that mean I should lose everyone I love, especially someone I created? Does that mean I don't deserve to be around children because I need a bit of extra help to deal with my prison camp of a childhood? Does that mean I don't deserve to be loved semi-unconditionally? I hurt people. I didn't mean to. I lashed out at people who were hurting me and scaring me as they pulled away. But does that mean I deserve to be left when I'm hurting the most? Does that mean I don't deserve to be told that people are leaving me in person? Does that mean I don't deserve at least one therapy session and an attempt to talk about it and work things out? I always only get one strike in life and love. One mistake and people disappear. Most people get a family that they can totally take for granted and not be grateful for every waking moment. I will never have that because everyone who has tried to be my family has always expected me to be super grateful and low maintenance because their love is always laced with a bit of charity and pity. And no matter how much I try to believe people love me and won't hurt me, I can't. I know it hurts the people in my life and I try not to let it show. It hurts me too. It hurts not being able to feel loved. Why don't I ever deserve love and compassion and a family who stick by me in life with no motivation behind it except that they just love me? Why can't I have that? Why do I deserve to lose everything because of a really huge mistake? Why do I deserve that in your eyes JenB and even the some of the people I know have nothing but compassion for me? Why? Why can't I have that? What do I keep doing that makes people run from me as fast as they possibly can without looking back as the dust and rocks hit my chest? All I want is love but I can never seem to accept it or hold onto it and it's killing me. I just want to feel loved and have it be true. I just want to sleep and live life like a normal human being with normal human problems. I don't want to be dangerous to anyone, including me.