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So I'll explain a little bit more about the relationship my mother and I have. My parents divorced in 2002, so that's 5 years and about 5 months ago. Ever since I was a kid, I loathed my father. I didn't know why, I just didn't.
I didn't trust him. When I was a baby, I started crying if he held me. When I became a toddler, I didn't listen to him at all. By the time I was nine, I could win a debate against him. I totally ran over him. He was an alcoholic, a gambler and a pathalogical liar, which I didn't realize until after my parents split and I realized I really detested him. My mother and I were always best buddies, we understood eachother whithout a word. She fought for me like a lion when I needed her. Whe I was a baby, I was always sick. She found out I had food allergies and asthma, but no doctor would believe her -they thought she was just being hysterical. When they finally tested me, they found out she was right, and I was always so sick because I was allergic to pretty much everything they feed babys(milk, cucumber, fish, chocolate, pineapple, oranges, pork and much more). All the stuff in babyfood. And I had asthma, and bronchitis. Later, she fought to get me into a special class so I wouldn't be so bored all the time, since I did my schoolwork in half the time the other kids needed. She fought for me to get therapy, while noone thought I was crazy enough I guess. But now she can't fight for me anymore.
I tell her pretty much everything, about friends, boyfriends, girlfriends, things on my mind, the bands I love, people I hate, how I feel, and she knows I cut. I;ve been doing it on and off for about 5 years(yes, since the divorce) so I wouldn't be able to keep it a secret anyway.
I know it hurts her. It kills her to see I hurt myself, I know that. But she does know. By now she has realized that she can't fight for me this time, that this is my fight and noone but me can save me. Still, she knows when I'm down, and she can explode on me when she realizes once again that I don't care as much about myself as she does. We get into huge fights, and at the end we're always crying and telling eachother we're sorry and how much we love eachother -and we really do. I love my mother more than I love myself.
For a while, the only thing that stopped me from cutting was thinking about how much it hurt my mom when I did, and that still works sometimes. I've already let her down so much. The reason I can't kill myself is because she'll die inside if I do. I owe it to her to get over this.
When I was five, I was in class three. In our schoolsystem you learn how to read, write and calculate in class three. When I started, I was able to read, write and calculate. When the year was over, I couldn't add 1 and 3, and I was so depressed I told my mother I didn't want to school anymore. I told my mother I was a burden to everyone and that I wanted to die. I actually meant it -I climbed into the highest tree around, and let myself fall. It was about as high as a house with 4 floors. Miraculously, I didn't break anything, I just bruised a lot and sprained every joint in my body. She never knew I did it deliberatly.
After all that drama she took me to get an IQ-test. It turned out my IQ was at least 146, and probably above 150, but they couldn't be sure because I was so depressed(it messes with your head, so yeah).
I skipped a grade, so I went from third to fifth. I was still bored, so they gave me extra work and extra projects and let me read all the time. I was such a 'promising' child, I guess. And when I got to high school, everything fell apart. At 12, I was in class 2, I failed, so I had to do the year over. It was the year my parents split, so everyone thought it was a temporary thing, and I would be fine. That's when I fell into the deep dark hole called depression. I was also suddenly in puberty, so I did what selfdestructive teens do -I skipped school, I made out with a lot of guys, I picked fights with teachers and students alike, I was always at parties, never home, and I started to cut.
I still remember the first night I hurt myself. Well, it wasn't really the first night, but it was different. As a kid I let myself fall out of trees(but not very tall ones, except when I was five that is), I ran into fences, I played roughly with dogs because I knew they would scratch me, I bit myself until my teeth were permanently set into my arm.
But that night was different. I was all torn inside over a guy, my boyfriend at the time. I didn't know what to do with myself, I was alone, and I had a bad itch on my lower arm, on the soft part that goes from your elbow to your wrist. So I scratched, and when the itch had gone I just kept on scratching. I bit my nails at the time so I probably scratched really fucking hard, cause when I stopped, that soft flesh was a bloody mess. It burned like hell, but I felt better, calm, relaxed, strong.
So the next time I was all messed up inside, I grabbed the piece of glass I had saved from a broken teacup, and I cut myself. I knew it was wrong, but hell, the whole world was wrong, so I didn't really care. Well, I cared, but it didn't bother me. It seemed like such a natural thing to do, the next level after letting kids hit your arms with sticks until it bruised.
When my mother found out, she was outraged. She was all fucked up over the divorce, and I pretty much fell apart at the same time, so she was in over her head. For about a year, we fought like crazy. I only got worse, and I didn't understand, or didn't want to understand that I was just adding to the mess. Then we got therapy, family counseling for my mom and me together and a therapist just for me.
The family therapy surely worked, we finally talked about a lot of stuff. Also, I was getting over my dad. After twelve years, I realized I fucking hated the bastard, and experiences I had supressed came to the surface. I wrote a lot of angry letters, and I confronted him once -when he laughed in my face. Later, he wrote he was so flabbergasted that he might have laughed out of surprise or something, which was off course all bullshit.
A year after the divorce, we moved away. I had to leave the guy I told you about in the previous entry.
I didn't want to move, but the first year it seemed to go okay, I got new friends and stuff.
The year after that, I really fell apart. I broke down, bad. The friends I thought I had disappeared, and I was pretty much all alone. I didn't have the kind of friends I had in the other town, the kind that force you to live and tell you all the things you need to hear but don't want to listen to. I didn't have the guy.
I became isolated. And it lasted until about a year ago.
I can tell ao much more about this, but not now. I get in a weird state when I talk about this, and I have to work later, so I'll go now.
It's strange to think that strangers will know this. I haven't even told some really close friends this, not this elaborate.
Well, so long and goodnight.
x
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WOW...I can tell that something that you supressed really messed you up inside, I am glad to see that you are writing about it, it can be very theraputic...just try to write when you feel the need to cut...Your mom sounds like she loves you very much...you are very lucky to have her and she you..you will help each other, I know it!
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Posted by Rajah1116
on 2008-01-17 09:32:09
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| Views: 27
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