I can hear the cracking in my brain, the rattling of old thoughts from the past, and I know now is the time to begin again.
After writing the post to the teens of the KRV and everywhere, I found myself uncomfortable with the subject of suicide.
I just reread what I wrote to the kids, and it sounded good, and had meaningful intention, but it didn't quite foretell what would happen to me two weeks ago. And my brother, swinging from his string, strung out on alcohol, is there too.
In a moment of pain and confusion, both physical and emotional, I convinced myself that my only option was to kill myself. Honestly, it is not the first time I've tried, and I knew the whole issue of the teens from the Kern Valley High School who committed suicide recently, was bothering me in a way I couldn't understand.
Listening to conversations amongst the kids about the suicides brought up my own fears and anxiety. I hadn't any idea how to talk about it with them, since I have never resolved my own issues.
In fact, I was so uncomfortable, becoming miserable even, because I have not rooted out the problems that still to this day make me a potential suicide.
At 11, I ate up a bottle of aspirin. My parents had divorced, and my new situation was far worse than the previous one, and I didn't have much in the way of desire to continue the farce that we were a family and this was simply how everyone lived.
I wasn't stupid enough not to look at other families and other people and realize that something was very wrong.
These issues still exist, I can't escape them, I can only face them. They are not mine really, they are the secrets of others. The ones I feel I can't even address in my own mind let alone a public blog.
But it's time.
Basically, I'll go through the list of things that got in my way that tormented me, that made me feel worthless, scared, out of touch, afraid to communicate my feelings, and finally, so full of angst I sought relief from attempting to kill it all, I guess. I wanted it all gone.
Sexual abuse: chronic feeling of shame that I couldn't stop it or stop it earlier; confusion of love and sex; feeling like I had no ability or right to have boundaries for myself; a need to hurt myself began early on, but unlike suicide, this was a self punishment type of thing, whereas suicide is an escape.
Physical abuse: post traumatic stress syndrome meaning I haven't and probably won't forget the fights. I already had so many issues with the sexual abuse, next came the new feelings of being hit, bruised and bleeding. But there was also the new me, who began to fight back. I had forged a fire in my soul by this time, and no one was going to beat on me without a response. Yeah, I responded all right, and the fights were over the top, as I was angry with me, with the world, and I hated alcoholics. I was just telling a friend, that I used to drink to get along with the drunks, that I never really liked to drink, it was a defensive mechanism.
Emotional abuse: I think of all that happened it was the emotional abuse that did the most damage. A fist can cause a black eye, but consistently telling a child they are worthless, will cause blindness. I am blind to my own worth. The messages were confusing, and I was confused as to why I was under attack. It was much later in life that I was even able to understand that the people who did this, were and still are, very much insecure and intimidated even by a child.
I wasn't an average child, I am and was bi-polar. My chemistry changed early, I could give a crap what all the experts say, it came right along with all the strain of living a life of pain and confusion.
Built to fight
It became apparent the world was not a safe or honest place, and it is still not. There are liars and bullies everywhere, and they still bother me, and I still fight back.
I'm becoming tired of seeing a world of deluded people who have nothing to give, only a sense of false hope.
I have hope, I believe in the unbelievable, mostly because I lived it. I tried at least six times to seriously escape this mess we call life. Each time something happened which kept me alive another day. The rope broke. My mother kept me awake and made me eat, not knowing I had taken all my grandmothers sleeping pills and was hallucinating wildly. The gun jammed. My brother and sister drove six hours to find me after I was attacked, packed with pills and alcohol.
Why I'm alive is really a big question.
Now, my brother, on the edge for years and years, does not want to die, he just refuses to live. He is afraid.
Embarrassingly, I made an attempt two weeks ago, when I was spun around by hopelessness, and found myself staring my brother in the eyes. I told him, let's do it together. I let him know his drinking himself to death is no different.
In that moment, I saw his fear, and he saw my intention to die. It scared us both.
I knew he would go off the deep end, but then he needed to. Now, after two crazy bi-polar nights, he is going to a doctor.
Hold on...that subject is on its way, but there is a reason we are doing this.
There is NO place for someone without money to DETOX. Yes, Governor Brown, you can cut that budget for mental health even more, as you spend twice as much on people who have no outlet for help...from alcohol.
Legal and advertised, booze, parties, yes, it's all right until it ruins your whole life and health. Add some tweek or crack, and you've got a person who is costing more than a DETOX bed.
But we have discussed that we will detox him at home, or a daily ER visit, then use another drug called "antibuse." Apparently, this drug will make my brother very sick if he tries to drink again. His will power is gone, like many these days, and he decided this would be the route that might be successful.
We're on our way to be judged and then drugged.
But we must talk now, all of us, the order of the bi-polar disorder, as mental health budgets are missing all around the country. People are killing themselves and others and its time to find a way to deal with all of this.
I'll be back with the rest of the story, as there is a lot to tell.