Walk My Walk

You think you know me.  You see me day in and day out.  You think you have my number and have me all figured out.  You think that you can push my buttons and I won't say a word because you think I'm a push over, you think I'm weak.  But you don't know me.  You know nothing.  You haven't walked my walk.  You don't know how strong I really am.  All you see are the times I've broken down, but you don't know the strength it takes to carry what I carry every day.  So come walk my walk.  I bet you can't hack it, I bet we find out who the weakling really is.

You see I already know about your perfect life and your perfect childhood because you can't stop telling everyone about it.  How you were raised by loving parents and had such a fun childhood full of wonder and adventure.  Where nothing ever went wrong, at least nothing really major.  How you grew up with your siblings and had normal sibling rivalries.  How perfectly wonderful and normal for you.  I also love how you are such a drama queen and complain about every little tiny thing that goes wrong in your life, oh how I would love to have your problems.

So now let's walk my walk for a bit.  You see I grew up with divorced parent, which I know isn't all that uncommon.  I also had the lovely experience of being physically beat relentlessly by one of my mother's first boyfriend's after the divorce.  After that my childhood was a blur of moving from school to school while my mom tried her best to put food on the table.  There was also years of emotional abuse and trauma that I can't even begin to describe to you.  Plus sexual abuse when I was a child.  These abuses carried into my adult years. 

Besides a beyond miserable home life because I was always the "new kid", and an emotional wreck, I was tormented at school.  I would use the word bullied here, but that doesn't even begin to describe what I went through.  At one point I was beaten black and blue by a group of kids using their textbooks, I was in the 4th grade.  I was physically and verbally tormented on a daily basis from 2nd grade through my Sophomore year of high school.  That kind of abuse leaves a lasting mark.  By the time I was a Freshman I had enough.  I wanted out and for good.  I attempted suicide, and at the time I wished I had succeeded.  I spent the night in Critical Care and then about 2 weeks in a psych ward.  I turned to self injury after that to ease my pain.  I would burn myself on purpose to make myself feel something.  I was so numb from all of it.

We are now into adulthood, and where I stand now.  Even with medication and intensive therapy every day is a struggle to get out of bed.  Every day is a battle on making myself feel worthwhile to those around me.  Every day I question my own sanity.  And yet, every day I pick myself up and I try.  I try my best to make it through another day.  Even with the weight of all that I have been through riding on my shoulders.  Even when all that pain comes crushing down around me and all I can do is curl in a bawl and cry so hard the sobs make me shake uncontrollably.  Even when all I want to do is hide from the world for the rest of my life because I am so scared of getting hurt ever again, I try.  I get out of bed most days and I try.  Are there some days when I just can't?  Yes, and on those days I feel miserable and I loathe myself for existing.  I can't function, and I can't breathe.  All I want to do is hide.

And this isn't even dealing with all the things that can trigger me into a panic attack.  The smell of certain men's colognes, a certain phrase or tone of voice, even certain movies or songs.  These types of things can all send me into a total panic and make me relive the abuse all over again. Sometimes I don't even realize something is a trigger until it happens.  Go ahead, live in fear of not knowing when something is going to make you relive your worst nightmares.

Speaking of nightmares.  Do you think I get many good night's sleep with this history?  How often do you think my subconscious decides to replay these events in my head?  Do you know how many times I've had the same dream of standing outside the house we lived in when my mom was dating the guy who beat me and listening to myself scream but I couldn't get inside to rescue myself?  Do you know what it's like to wake up in a cold sweat with your throat hoarse from screaming at the top of your lungs?  I do.

So, the next time you want to play your stupid little games to make ME feel weak.  Just don't.  Because I am not the weak one here.  I am strong.  I have been through the hottest fires and the toughest shit.  I have been through more in this lifetime than many will go through in several.  So just stuff it.  I am tired of your crap, and I am tired of being the butt of your jokes.  Your time is coming because I am standing up for myself starting now.

Laughter Does Not Equal Happiness

This week the entertainment community, and dare I say it the world, was shocked when the comedic genius Robin Williams committed suicide.  I've read the news reports, and I've seen the comments.  So many of them are so misguided and so harsh.

People are saying they don't understand because he was always so funny, or that suicide is so selfish or cowardly.  I am here to tell you that no, you don't understand.  As someone who has been so low and in such a dark place as to feel there is no way out but to commit suicide, I can tell you it is not a cowardly act and it is not selfish.

When you are in that place your mind is so twisted that you truly believe you are doing the world a favor and that those you love will be better off without you.  You believe you are doing the right thing.  And it takes more courage than you can ever imagine to take the actual steps and make the commitment to take your own life.  I was lucky, I didn't succeed and I got help.

Another thing people are saying is that how can someone be so sad who was always laughing?  On the day I tried to die I went to school, and I laughed with my friends like there was nothing was wrong.  Nobody suspected a thing.

One thing those of us who suffer from depression are good at is putting on a mask and faking it for the world.  What we need is for those who are closest to us to look for those small clues that things really aren't okay.  Have are sleeping habits changed?  Are we acting a little more withdrawn?  Have we stopped doing some of our favorite activities?  Have we stopped having sex (for those of us that were having it regularly)?  If we were on antidepressants have we stopped taking them without talking to a doctor?

These are all reasons to be concerned.  Don't confront us though.  Ask if we need help.  Ask how you can help.  Let us know you are there for us.  Let us know we are loved and needed.  If we push away don't give up.  Keep offering.  If you are really worried for us, and we say or do anything that makes you think we will harm ourselves or others please take action.  It's better to have us alive and angry at you for a little while than not.

With that said I only hope that Mr. Williams has found the peace he was looking for.