history 1

this entry i’m going to dedicate to my ex. i’ve never shared this story with anyone, not even with my therapist.
i tried to kill myself 3 times in 2 years. i used to be very embarassed about it. i still am. some people are very judgemental towards suicide. my mother being one of them. so due to the amount of guilt i felt i chose to ignore my suicidal attempts together with everything that happened prior to each attempt. today i’ll be focusing on one of them. the second pathetic attempt of trying to have control over my life.
it was new year of 2011. i started seeing this girl a few months before that. it was a rough start. we basically started sleeping with each other because we just separated from our partners. both of our exes cheated on us. the sum of 2 betrayals created a lot of power issues. apart from that, we had a lot of other psychological issues. my PTSD just kicked in. i had no idea what was going on with me. and P…well…she apparently loved me too much. we’ve spent new years with some friends, got hideously drunk (as always) and on the way back started having an argument. i was feeling sick and she was feeling insecure (as it turned out later). she tried to talk to me…i tried to get into bed. she was getting more and more agitated. so she punched me in the stomach. i tried really hard to not vomit. i laid on the floor holding my stomach and then literally started crawling into bed. she finally left me alone. we didn’t say a word. in the morning she said she was sorry. i said it was ok. i don’t know why i said that. possibly because i couldn’t deal with drama. i was too hangover and i was about to meet her mother. i chose to ignore what happened. as she explained weeks later that night she realised how much she loved me and it made her very angry because she was convinced that i didn’t love her back. in her world it was always a valid reason. every time she expressed her anger it was somehow my fault.
a week after that i went home to visit my parents. it was 6 months after i split up with my long term partner of 5 years. it was time to tell my mother. my mother has serious issues with me being gay. first time i came out to her in an e-mail. she cried, and she begged me to say it wasn’t true. not much else she could do. i was in another country. i didn’t go back for a year. she asked me to come visit. i missed my niece and nephew, so i went. she pretended nothing ever happened and we never spoke about it since. this time since my long-term relationship ended i thought it was necessary to tell her. and i did. she cried. then she blamed. i was ‘her failure’. my brother was a hero. i was a loser. then she called me a slut. i got up and left the room. i locked myself in my room. she was banging on the door for quite a while demanding that i open the door. i did. she slapped me on the face. i tried to push her away. she pushed on the bed. and started choking me….with her bare hands. strangely, i just gave in. i relaxed and stopped fighting. i think i almost liked the idea of dying that way. i was suddenly completely calm. possibly because of that she came back to her senses… got up, and stormed out of my room. the next day she brought me aspirin in the morning (we both were drinking the night before). we never spoke about that event.
i went back. PTSD kicked in with full force. the experience of being attacked by my own mother definitely pushed me off the rails. Every night I was waking up from the sound of my own screaming. Every day I had such bad panic attacks I couldn’t get up from my bed. I was taking valium every morning….day… Any stimulation was giving me migraine attacks. I was very scared of being alive.
Then I moved in together with P. I couldn’t deal with ANY change so it was a bad idea in itself, nevertheless, I ended up living with her and her friends. This is when my life turned to HELL.
P was very insecure. I wasn’t allowed to express my opinion on topics she didn’t have any knowledge of. In fact, I wasn’t allowed to talk to other people at all. Everyone was a threat. According to her all my friends were somewhat evil. She talked a lot. And she demanded my attention 24/7. Her emotional outburst started becoming more and more violent…every week we had something broken. and then she broke her hand (by hitting against the wall). I took her to the hospital. She was off work for 6 weeks. That was the worst part for me. She was around ALL the time and I had to respond to her every action. She couldn’t deal with me ignoring her, so she made sure I didn’t. I had to engage every minute I was awake. If I wasn’t awake she would enter my room back and forth slamming the door. I’d carry on pretending I was asleep. And then I started shouting….I started shouting like mad. After every social interaction we had with other people she’d make a scene. And I’d shout. Only she was clever. She’d make a scene when nobody could see. I shouted whenever I was angry. Her friends started judging me. Every time P would break their things they’d assume it was me. I asked her to explain her friends that it wasn’t me. I doubt she ever did. I had no energy to work on my public image. The only thing I wanted in life is to hide. I switched from valium to gin. I started going to bars just so I could avoid going ‘home’. Gin and vodka became my best friends. I had no real friends around me. I was not used to being weak, so I chose my own company. Plus gin, of course. At some point friends did come to visit me but I got so hideously drunk, some people found me on the street. It was February. I was so cold I couldn’t move. I don’t remember that, actually. I think I might have had a psychotic episode because I remember not remembering who I was. Or may be I was just THAT drunk. I don’t know… I remember running away….and then there’s just emptiness in my memory from that night. At the same time my health started deteriorating. I barely ate, and drunk every day, so my body started giving up on me, which of course bothered P very little. She did realise by that point that I was losing the plot, but in stead of doing something about it, she became even more insecure. Possibly, she was scared that I was still in love with my ex. I wasn’t. I was just going mad. Every night I had nightmares. Every day I had to treat my anxiety with booze. P was constantly violating my physical and emotional space. I had nowhere to go. I couldn’t go stay with my mother… And none of my friends knew I was at the point of breaking down. So I broke down. One night after yet another horrendous row with P, I drunk half a bottle of vodka. Moved table to block the door, put music on really loudly, took all the valium I could find, and was preparing myself for a great departure. Honestly, I was having a great time. I think I was celebrating my own funeral. Then P managed to break into my room. I’m not sure what happened next….I think we tried to wrestle as I refused to go to the hospital. But pills were kicking in and then I don’t remember anything. I don’t remember next 3 days. Apparently, I was taken to the hospital. Apparently, P called the ambulance. I obviously survived. But my only reaction to that event was disappointment. I felt defeated. I felt completely powerless. And of course my misery didn’t end there. It was still very much the beginning of the end. The end that has eventually lead to a new beginning.

Advertisements

4 Responses to “history 1”

  1. I read your words and realize that my own troubles are just carpet burn compared to your wounds. I am glad you are able to write about your experience and release it into the world. Trapped inside it just rots and festers. At least on a page you organize your thoughts and feelings and see the madness of what you lived. We are blogging acquaintances but I feel such empathy for you. Be well my blogging friend.

    • Thank you my blogging friend. I’m really thankful for your kind words. Writing this blog has been a very useful thing for my healing process. In my “real” life nobody knows about the kind of troubles I’m dealing with. I don’t share my weaknesses with others. So I’m thankful for this opportunity to express ‘my voice’. Thank you for listening and responding. It means a lot.

      • I am not sure I would call your pain/sorrow a weakness. It is a source of fear – yet I think you are turning it around building strength and wisdom from harsh lessons that people should not have to learn. Weakness would be to accept and do nothing – you are taking steps. Your steps may seem like small steps perhaps and the journey is long – yet you will be surprised how far you have journeyed when you take the time to look back.

  2. it’s a weakness because it makes you vulnerable. i tried to hide it all my life for this very reason. i opened up once…in my last relationship…and i was treated in the most horrible way as a result of that. unfortunately, sometimes people use mental health problems of others as a way to scapegoat someone. i was blamed for my own issues and my ex’s issues. she took no responsibility for her actions what so ever…because she was…you know…’normal’. and i admitted that i wasn’t so, so that opened the doors to all sorts of blaming. i’ve learnt my lesson the hard way. i’d say it’s better to keep these things private until you know you can trust another person 100%.
    overcoming trauma, bad experiences, etc does make you stronger. but you must be careful with what information you give away. people are often very quick to pigeonhole someone, especially if you are different, especially if you have mental health problems. throughout history people have been scapegoated for this. that’s exactly why everyone plays ‘normal’.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: