Well, this is it. The final piece of the puzzle, you could say.
Now, before I start, I wanna put a little disclaimer that I’m going to be talking about some pretty dark topics. If you’re triggered by self-harm or suicide then please think twice about reading this. I don’t want anyone to get hurt because of what I have to say.
I left off last time when I finally cut off my abusive ex-boyfriend. And like I said before, I was relieved that I didn’t have him hovering over my shoulder. He wasn’t monitoring my every action. I felt free.
For a little while at least.
What I didn’t realize was that the things he said and did cut deeper than I knew at the time.
Sure, he was gone but I still felt like absolute shit. His words echoed in my mind and that, coupled with the other drama that was going on in my life, didn’t help my mental state.
Because apart from him, I have an estranged relationship with my father.
I’ll give a very condensed version of these events simply because I really don’t feel like going into full detail right now.
My dad and I don’t see eye to eye on a lot of things. On top of that, we’re both extremely stubborn so trying to talk things out never gets us anywhere.
He actually kicked me out of his house (around the time I started dating Dick) but then about six months later I ended up living with him again (just as things really started going downhill with said dick). Around the time I broke up with my ex, things were getting especially shitty with my dad. Even though I was trying so goddamn hard to have a good relationship with him, my dad just couldn’t accept me as a person. Much less his kid. He didn’t seem to realize that as a human, I make mistakes. It happens to the best of us and since I’m as far from “the best” as you can get then you can be damn sure I make mistakes.
In short, I was an emotional wreck.
My depression was getting worse but I couldn’t tell anyone. I felt like I had no one to turn to. I couldn’t even escape in my dreams which became nightmares every time my ex showed in them. It got to the point that I didn’t want to sleep. I was cutting or burning myself every night but even that didn’t feel like “enough” anymore.
I attempted suicide.
I swallowed a full bottle of sleeping pills and tried to throw myself off a bridge.
People passed me by as I looked over the edge. None of them said anything.
Just as I was about to fall, a stranger pulled me back. She got me to a hospital where I was rushed into the E.R.. At this point I was completely out of it. The rest of that night is blur really.
But it’s because of them that I’m alive to write this now.
I ended up going to a psychiatric hospital where I stayed for a week until I was no longer considered a threat to myself. Then came a group therapy program and now individual therapy.
And even now, I’m not sure if I’m happy to be alive.
I keep asking myself existential questions about my purpose and worth.
Why am I here?
I don’t know and it’s possible that I never will.
My life is still a complete clusterfuck of emotions and meds. I’ll have good days and bad weeks. My mornings consist of waking up at 10 AM (if I’m lucky) and staying in bed, staring at the ceiling until I can muster the will to get up. I spend most of the day doing homework that I would have been able to do in an hour tops six years ago.
Surprise! If you thought this was going to have a happy ending, then you’re dead wrong.
I’m fucked up in all the wrong ways and still in this bubble of loneliness. You now, if bubbles were made of concrete and steel.
But there you go, the whole uncensored truth. More or less.
And now I’m just completely drained and exhausted.
So until next time,
~ Quill x