The never ending torture…..

Living in the crazy, twisted, fucked up world of mental illness you are bound to come out with some issue’s of your own. I’ve had the pleasure of being blessed with depression, anxiety, PTSD from my childhood to name a few. I don’t usually open up to the world about my dents but I guess if I’m going to call myself a dented can I should start showing some of my dents. 

In the beginning…..

I remember when I first moved out of my mom’s house . I’m pretty sure that’s when I first realized how screwed up my world was. It was so twisted that at the age of 12 I didn’t understand all the deep aches I felt inside and I found that if I released the pressure from my body with a sharp blade it seem to release the pain that built up inside. I started to finding pleasure in cutting myself. I would hide in the corner of my dad’s blue dining room on the floor next to the stereo and play Bohemian Rhapsody over and over again as I scraped my initials into my arms and legs with a sharp object. 

I remember turning the song up and singing it loud as tears would stream down my cheeks.

“Is this the real life?

Is this just fantasy?

Caught in a landslide

No escape from reality

Open your eyes

Look up to the skies and see

I’m just a poor boy, I need no sympathy

Because I’m easy come, easy go

A little high, little low

Anyway the wind blows, doesn’t really matter at all.

Mama, just killed a man

Put a gun against his head

Pulled my trigger, now he’s dead

Mama, life had just begun

But now I’ve gone and thrown it all away

Mama, ooo

Didn’t mean to make you cry

If I’m not back again this time tomorrow

Carry on, carry on, as if nothing really matters

Too late, my time has come

Sends shivers down my spine

Body’s aching all the time

Goodbye everybody I’ve got to go

Gotta leave you all behind and face the truth

Mama, ooo (anyway the wind blows)

I don’t want to die

I sometimes wish I’d never been born at all.”

I did this for months. My father would look at my skin and shake his head in disgust when he would see the marks or heard the music playing. That phase stopped but only after a good friend of mine discovered what I was doing and did whatever he needed to to stop the behavior. To this day I can’t thank Marc enough for his friendship, it was my friends and extended family members that got me through that rough time.

Over the teenage years the depression deepened …..

I always felt like I was alone mainly because I never let anyone in enough to see my messed up world. My life didn’t get easier after I moved out of my mother’s home instead I just moved into more bullshit. My father was so preoccupied with himself and racquet ball that he never dealt with any emotional issues. I think staying away was easier then to try and deal with three teenage girls who all where screwed up in the head. It didn’t take many years for my father to get into a new relationship with another woman who was just as mentally ill as my mother if not worse. Somehow I was always lucky enough to be the scapegoat again of the cray cray going on in my house. My soon to be step mother would torture me by  writing me nasty letters about what a bad person I was, she would leave dirty, bloody pads open on my bed to piss me off, she would constantly tell me what a whore I was, and how fat, and ugly I was, and how I was worthless just like my mother. She seem to hate me more then my mom so when my father looked at the situation he saw a girl, a child he started loosing hope in. I to this day believe my father loves me but doesn’t like me and thinks I’m somehow to blame for the abuse I suffered as a child. 

The joy’s of anxiety…..

It was in my early 20’s when I had my first panic attack. I was one of the lucky ones who just decided popping a pill like Xanax was my cure or drinking with my friends solved my issues . Unfortunately that cure turned into a battle with prescription pills for the end of my 20’s and by the time I hit my thirties I learned that with all off the bullshit in my life..I was bound to feel the way I do and lucky enough to have actually survived my childhood.

I share this story with you because even though most of the time I feel alone in this world,  I know I’m not. I know I will always battle depression , anxiety , and PTSD but it does not mean that mental illness automatically makes you a bad person. It doesn’t automatically mean you abuse your children. It doesn’t have to define you or even control your world. 

The key to winning the battle in depression…..

Here is the thing I have learned how to handle my anxiety and depression without the crazy medications. Yoga, breathing exercises, running,  writing, and even sometimes just punching the crap out of my pillow to get it out can manage 90% of my symptoms. The other 10% is me accepting my dents for what they are. 

I’m not a perfect person. If anything I have more dents in me then most. My dents are my signature and I am proud to wear them with honor.  With my history and lack there of I have been able to raise my children and be proud that they don’t know what a crazy fucked up world is. What they know is they have a mom who loves them and has never missed any school event or any important moment , has given them everything she can including a safe environment. They will never have to be abused by my mother or step mother. Those are reasons to be proud and I am so extremely proud of my children and what kind of mother I am.

I have been given nothing but shit my whole life. I have managed to turn shit into gold and that my friends is something we all should hope to do. 

2 thoughts on “The never ending torture…..

  1. Your writing is exquisite….and may be one of the best ways to cope and help others who lived through the hell of an abusive home. Be everything they wern’t… are a good mom…bless your heart.


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