Wednesday, March 24, 2010

An Abusive Home (Part III)

My stepfather one night decided it was a good idea to photograph my sister and I. She was 13 I was 11. Not just your average pictures, I am talking child pornography. We were only babies still. We were afraid if we didn’t listen to what he told us to do we would be beaten, my mother was only in the next room sleeping.

By the time I had reached the age of 12 I was deeply disturbed by everything that had happened to me thus far in my life. No child should ever go through what I did. I had tried to commit suicide 3 times (that I really did want to die) had cuts and scars on my arm from cutting, because I was so numb from the pain I needed to know that I somehow was still alive, if not emotionally at least physically. I had been hospitalized (medical) for one major suicide attempt thinking there was no other way out, because I felt so much pain inside it was unbearable. My soul was so wounded and scared that I felt like everything was beyond repair and that I had nothing to live for. I felt as if I didn’t have a mother that loved me, the only person in this world that understood me had died when I was only 10. My sister and I always fought, my brother and I were never close due to age and gender differences. My step father was physically abusive, he had even given my sister a black eye. My mother after everything came out even entertained the idea of taking him back, that was the night my sister got a black eye from him. I tried to call 911 for help but she (my mother) took the phone from me. I knew what they were doing was wrong and was child abuse.

I had a brand new prescription for Wellbutrin and Tegretol. I took ever single pill got up in my bed and prayed to God I would never wake, because my life was too much for my little soul to handle. I was tired of the abuse and being questioned by police about what happened with my step father. I remember easily drifting off thinking my soul would finally take flight and become peaceful. I remember waking up at some point and puking and then laying right back in my vomit, I didn’t even care I just needed to be at peace. My mother found me just in the nick of time to save my life. It took 5 EMT’s and firefighters to hold me down to get on the gurney, I don’t even remember this. Even in my medicated induced coma I still knew I wanted to die. How very sad (and preventable!) this was. I stayed in a medicated induced coma for 5 days, I had tubes to breath for me as I had stopped breathing on my own, a tube down my nose to pump my stomach, the stickies on your chest to monitor your heart. I remember my first breath of my “second” life. I took in my first breath and I realized I couldn’t breath that something was fighting against it. I apparently had my arms tied down from trying to take out the tubes and what not in my unconscious state. I easily lifted my left arm and tore the tube out of my mouth (and down my throat) so I could breath and then back into the medicated induced coma I slipped. I remember waking up at some point looking over my shoulder looking for my mother, only to see my step father one of the major reasons I had done this to myself. I slipped in and out of my coma a few times before fully waking. How could she let someone that had physically, sexually and emotionally abuse me and one of the main reasons I had ended up in this state come into MY room?! I will never pretended to understand why my mother did the things she did or allowed what she did, nor do I really care to.

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