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Cleaning up my mess
I used to write on this site when I was in middle school, it's been awhile since then. I'm a junior now and a lot has happened. I'm honestly not sure where to begin. My entire life has been messy and at seventeen, I think that the emotions I feel go beyond being a hormonal puberty monster.
I've struggled with drug addiction this year. I almost feel like an impostor by saying I was an addict, and I'm not sure if I could even call my drug spree a bender, but I was a mess. It started with weed and vapes, then alcohol, then molly, acid, shrooms, coke. I got used to mixing drugs. I wanted to do pills, addy or oxy.
Then winter break started, I isolated myself in my room for the whole two weeks. Sober and depressed, it was too cold outside to go and get high in a parking lot. I quickly fell in love with sobriety, and with that, I fell back in love with my ex who I left for drugs (not that I ever truly stopped loving him). We've had a rough past...
I didn't know how to cope with my traumas (something I'll get into in a minute). He was a horny fourteen year old boy; and I was thirteen, sexually traumatized, somehow sex-repulsed and hyper-sexual at the same time. Teased him over the phone and wanted all of these things but froze in-person. I was probably bipolar, I accused him of sexual assault (I didn't ever call it S/A, but I said he pressured me--he never pressured me, I felt pressured by myself and acted like I was ready for sex when I wasn't--I led him on, basically) and made fun of him. I cheated on him and he found out about it, I told him that I thought he was still okay with us being in an open relationship, I'm not sure if I believed that or lied so well that even I believed it. I'd freeze when it came to anything sexual with him, but was happy doing all of that shit with my friend (same friend who introduced me to weed in 7th and 10th grade).
I'd cuss him out when we got into arguments, send him pictures of my self-harm, and vent all-day every-day. He called me an attention whore after we broke up (which I was) and that's when I blocked him. We didn't talk for two years, maybe. When I reached back out, the first thing I told him was about how I overdosed and was sent to the psych ward. At this time, I still had my eyes closed to the affects I have on people.
A year of being friends later, and we dated again. We only lasted for two months before I broke up with him to get high, and we stopped talking again. I didn't stop thinking about him, but when I did, I forgot him by smoking or snorting or drinking. When he rejected my attempt to be with him a third time, by god, I spiraled. I spiraled so hard that it might just be the reason why I'm a better person now. That was the first time during winter break that I went out to go get high. I ate 3 mushrooms and then smoked and drank until everything was spinning. It was pitch black outside, maybe around 8 or 9 PM. My friends and I were at a park. I lied my back on the concrete ground and stared up at the sky. I felt warm, I felt like I was going to fade away into the Earth, the night sky looked like Van Gogh's starry night, swirling stars. When I was able to get back up, I kept drinking and smoking and laughing with my friends. I knew that the happiness would fade, and that the drugs were a distraction, but I let myself enjoy how it made me feel for a final time. (I relapsed a couple of times after that).
The last time I got high was 12/30. I was at a live rock concert with my friend, I only took a hit of her pen, but I started to have an anxiety attack. I dressed up that night and some of the men and boys there were staring me down like I was prey and they were predators. One guy purposefully bent over and inched closer til he bumped his ass into my hand, then ran away giggling. The loud music, the men, the strobing lights, my trauma's stuck on my brain. I sat down and my vision started going black, my ears started ringing, I was passing out. My friend kept me awake but every minor movement made my body heat up, I felt like I was on fire. For a moment, I thought I was dying, my vision and hearing wouldn't come back in and none of my senses were working, I was completely blind. When I came to, I vomited everywhere. All over my favorite knee-high boots, all over my legs and the stairs I sat on, I couldn't stop. I vomited and vomited and vomited until my vision went black and I fell on my back. My friend lifted me up and woke me up again, my guardian fucking angel. Once I was well enough, I messaged my grandma, but my vision was double, my hands were shaky, and it took me five whole minutes of erasing and re-writing to send her 7 words. "can yoy pick me up from _______ _______". There were people laughing and walking over me the entire 10 minutes I was fading in and out.
This wasn't the first time I'd been like this, but it was the scariest. I didn't think I was going to wake back up. So I didn't choose to be sober, I didn't have a choice. It was vomiting and fainting and hitting my head over and over and over, or sucking it up and sobering up.
My ex and I are back together, we got together on Friday the 13th (our first anniversary was Halloween lol). I believe I'm a better person than I was. I am head over heels for him. Sometimes, I get those funny feelings, that voice in the back of my head thinking shitty thoughts. But, I'm better than I was, yeah? I don't let that shit eat me up anymore. I don't go ignore him to get high anymore. I would never, ever, cheat on him. I feel comfortable venting to him, but I also love just talking to him and hearing his voice and seeing him, he is a very pretty guy.
Now, about that trauma, why I was the way that I was. Where do I even begin...
1) For starters, I'm a bastard child, the third child of my parents, but conceived during an affair. My entire life, I've watched my dad cheat on his girlfriends, and my mom cheat on her boyfriend (who we lived with). She almost got us kicked out multiple times for bringing home men.
2) My dad was a stealthy alcoholic (I didn't find out about his alcoholism until this year, but now all those bottles of beer and wine in our house make sense). Unlike my mom, my dad has (hopefully) stopped drinking (not that I can truly trust it with how many time's my mom's gotten "sober"). My mom was a full-blown, day & night drinking, screaming alcoholic. She'd get inebriated and cry about how her boyfriend abuses her, about how she's a horrible mother, about how I saved her life. When her and her boyfriend got into screaming matches, I would bring my little sister into my room and put on My Little Pony and put headphones on her ears so she wouldn't have to hear what they'd say. I have a recording of them arguing somewhere.
3) My mom tried to kill herself in front of me. She put a knife to her neck, my oldest brother and her boyfriend had to use full-force to keep the knife from reaching her neck. She ended up cutting my brother. I somehow ended up in the bathroom with her, her boyfriend told me through the door; "don't let mommy take any pills". I was young enough to still be calling her mommy.
4) My oldest brother1 raped me and our other brother2 (he is FtM). This is graphic now, but I remember laying on the floor of my mom's bedroom. He pulled his pants down and rubbed his against mine. I was young, too young to know what was really happening. I told him "to not stop". I started masturbating early and would play pretend sex with my dolls. My brother2 told me that brother1 would undress him for his friend who molested him often. I have a fear that our youngest sister was raped too, she used to put rocks in her underwear and I caught her masturbating when she was seven.
- My dad used to also masturbate next to me.
I'm a couple days away from turning seventeen. I feel old. I felt bitter and vengeful for a long time. But my heart's softening for the first time, my boyfriend is helping me soften up and trust again, I spend more of my days smile than crying and wanting to kill myself. I've been sexually, emotionally, physically, and psychology abused. I've developed an eating disorder, PTSD, clinical depression (all 3 diagnosed), I had a psychotic episode during quarantine (I believed someone was going to kill me for a couple of months) and I still struggle with some paranoia, I had an addiction to drugs and to self-harming, I might be bipolar--I don't know, my old therapist said I was "too young" to tell (she just didn't know enough about me, btw fuck HIPAA).
So what am I doing to clean up my mess? I'm journaling about the shit I've gone through and comparing it to my behaviors, and doing that helps me in reworking my mindset and develop healthy coping mechanisms. I'm not a shitty person despite having done shitty things. I was severely traumatized and neglected and forced to grow up at a young age. I rebelled and struggled and did shit I should've never done.
During my mania's, I fucked two strangers at a party and might have an STD, I don't know yet (I'm waiting to tell my BF until I get tested, if I'm wrong I don't want to have embarrassed myself and if I'm right--I'll tell him--but it's not like he can catch it from me when he's a thousand miles away). I fucked my friends rapist and guess what, I got traumatized by it. (This friend also traumatized me by telling me she was gonna kill herself every single day, I and dozens of other people had to talk her out of suicide daily. She also logged into my old discord account and slut-shamed me lol. She wouldn't call him a rapist for awhile, since she fucked him to "protect me" since I was going to hook up with him, but he was 16 and she was 12. I think that now she realizes it was fucked up that he was flirting with either of us.) During my mania's, I impulsively did drugs and during my lows, I relied on them to keep me afloat. During my mania's, I cheated on 4 partners, stole hundreds of dollars from my dad as well to impulse buy clothes and drugs, and screamed and hit my family. I'd argue with friends and cut people out of my life like it was nothing. I'd self-harm and purge and starve and hit myself.
I don't know how the fuck I stopped being so bat-shit insane. I really don't. It's a god damn miracle though because I easily could've gone down a dark path (darker than it already was). I struggle with depression now more than I do mania. I do my best to keep myself fed, but I hate living with my family. My grandma, cousin, and aunt drive me absolutely fucking insane. They don't have to do much for me to relapse because of them. I'm living with 3 generations (my grandma, aunt dad, me cousin), which is basically living with three generations of family curses (:passed down habits).
When I'm 18, I'm heading out to Canada to live with my boyfriend. I hope he visits since he turns 18 a few months before I do. We've butt heads, we've had issues, but we've both learned how to healthily communicate, all of our conversations are fun and light, and when I get insecure--I go to him and talk about it (without being abrasive) vs. letting it fester until I split on him. In the amount of time we've dated, I've split on him for an hour, only an hour, and only once. I've never been able to reason with myself and tell myself that it's not black or white; good or bad. This is huge progress for me, nearly a month of sobriety is huge progress for me, being able to talk about my trauma is huge progress for me, realizing that I don't have to stay miserable and that my craziness during my childhood and young teen years were because of YEARS of abuse. I am going to become a functioning, emotionally stable person.
It's going to take work, it might take more relapses, I might start smoking cigs (I might not) (this has been a debate for as long as I've been sober), I might be depressed for awhile longer, but I'm not going to hit rock-bottom again. I'm not going to let my maybe bipolar-depression continue to control my life, my emotions, and my actions. I don't think that mental illness is healable, but it's possible to cope with it. After all, it's all in my head, isn't it? I can't tell myself to just get up and go clean my room or feed myself, but I can get up, I can clean my room, I can feed myself, and I have been. I've been doing better bit-by-bit and piece-by-peice.