****WARNING- this is not a lighthearted post and may be difficult for some people to read. If you yourself are having suicidal thoughts please reach out to a doctor or a loved one. You can also call the suicidal hotline at 800-273-8255. Speak out and don't keep it in***
She stopped looking both ways before crossing the street;
she stopped wearing her seat belt in the car,
and she stopped counting the pills before she took them.
She wasn't trying to kill herself,
but she did stop caring whether she lived,
The thoughts of not wanting to exists consumed me. It was peculiar how much the thoughts and feelings were like what you would see in the movies. There was a million voices surrounding me, but I was the only one that could hear them. My psychical feeling was that of a deflated balloon.
I am a natural humorous and outgoing person. Not one person around me could tell by looking at me that I wanted it all to end. But I would cry in the bathrooms at work, or alone on my bedroom floor. Then after I pulled myself together I would drink until I couldn't feel anymore. The fact that the feelings only grew stronger and stronger no matter how much I tried to fix it scared the shit out of me.
I remember one night, I drank about 3 liters of wine. I was at a such deep low that all I could do was cry. I text a few people... My brother telling him Im sorry and tell my nephew I love him. My best friend my password to my phone, and a few others. The next morning I woke up late for work. I didn't remember ANYTHING that happened but the texts I read helped jog my memory. I made a sad attempt at suicide. I say sad attempt because there is no way that what I did would have actually done the trick. At the time though, I thought it would. When I came to the realization that I had finally reached that point, I was in shock. All I could go was hold my hand over my mouth, gasp and then fall to my knees in tears. I was terrified that I had reached that point and if I was capable of that, what else was I capable of. Feeling like shit, I pulled myself together and went to work. There were two people out of the dozen I saw that day that knew because I told them. But for the most part no one knew what had happened, or how bad my heart was hurting.
That's the sad part about it. Not sad for myself. I feel sad that no one noticed how bad I was hurting, and cannot imagine who else goes on with life feeling the same. Can you imagine the person you are joking around with and laughing, was in the bathroom floor the night before taking a knife to their thigh just so they could feel something real?
Once I had the realization that I was scared of what I was capable of and terrified of death, I spoke out. I told several people and asked for help. My aunt was my saving grace because she got me back into therapy. At that point, my healing began. I started speaking my real truths and not what I thought others wanted to hear. But I was still hurting, and I still had those low nights. My behavior was still reckless and destructive. I was very reluctant on taking any kind of medication to help with my mental health. The reason being was my family has a history of addiction, and I didnt want to add to the family tree. There was a crossroad I was met with and had to make a decision. Either keep down this dangerous path that would more than like end my life too quickly, or keep seeking help and go see my doctor.
I thought about having myself admitted two or three times, but wanted help, not sedation. Unfortunately, the mental health system isn't what it should be. It took a lot of courage to make a doctors appointment. To go into the room where I go for a cold, feeling healthy, and telling them that I need help. To admit my faults and say things I never dared to say out loud.
I am four months into my medical treatment, and on 3 antidepressants. I am still a work in progress, but starting to feel like myself again. I truly believed I would not get the woman I was before back. That my demons had finally taken over who I was and turned me into a person I didnt want to me. Happiness is a thing for me now. I go weeks without crying and its been about two months since the feeling of not wanting to exist has crossed my mind. I still have my bad days and low points. But, coming from where I was to where I am... Holy Shit!
Glor;ous is tattooed on my wrist to remind me that life is glorious and worth living.
Speak out, and seek help. You ARE worth it. Life is worth living even if you don't see it just yet.
So far I have attempted to start FOUR blog posts. None of which had a purpose to appeal to an audience I have but, to release what is on my mind. Do I want to write something sad that is on my mind? Do I want to write about when I was suicidal? Or the heartbreak I recently experienced? Or did I want to write something meaningful? Did I want to write about an experience so I can stop reliving it over and over again in my head? BRITTANY WHAT DO YOU WANT!?
THAT is the hardest question “what do I want?”. You would think it would be a fairly simple answer. That some part of me would have things figured out or at least have a general direction. The truth is, I have no fucking clue what I want. I don’t know what I want to wear. I don’t know what I want for dinner tomorrow. I don’t know which direction I want my life to go in. I know nothing. I know nothing about myself. Recent self-reflections, although I have been told about it my whole life, has determined that I don’t give a FUCK about myself and give too many fucks about everyone else. There I said it! I admitted to it. Now what…?
What I want has never mattered to anyone else, so why should it matter to me? And most certainly, why now? I can answer that for myself… BECAUSE I FUCKING MATTER. Yup… it almost took 30 years for me to realize that I matter. I spend too much time thinking about what others think of me or how they feel about me, that I forget to stop and do that for myself. I am always so busy that I can't take time for myself. Or that is what I tell my many therapists who have all told me that I need to. But what takes up this time? I have so many questions. I need to speak to a supervisor because I am clearly not in charge.
I can list a million little things that I want off the top of my head. Years from now though, none of those little things will have a big affect on my life. Gotta think BIG Brittany! You can do it… what does Brittany want most of all? OH! WAIT! I KNOW! IT’S BEEN THERE ALL ALONG! OOOO Pick me! Pick me! I will tell you.
Brittany wants to learn to love herself the way she loves others. No… not just in the “I am woman hear me roar” or “body positive” way. But the true honest love. The kind where you love the demons as much as the angels. THAT kind of love.
My whole life I was taught, not just by my mother, to hate aspects of me. To dislike certain quirks of mine. To be different. Change how I spoke and how I carried myself. Even how I looked or how I dressed. Although I put on a good act that I do it now, its not true. I am self-conscious and more than anything just want to go unnoticed.
I want to love all the fucked up parts of me. The parts that people make fun of because they can’t understand. Like when I get uncontrollably angry when I am over stimulated and frustrated. When I cry because I don’t know what else to do. The parts that are naked; psychically and mentally. Me without eyebrows. I want to love the good parts too, not just high five myself. I want to love my intelligence and my tenacity. Love that I am a survivor of abuse and trauma. I want to love my creativity and embrace it more often.
I want to love myself more than I love others.
I have continued to put others first and myself second. It’s time I come first. I’m done apologizing for who I am and what I’m not. I am a work in progress and continuously changing. If you don’t like it, I accept that. In the end… I am the one alone with my thoughts. I am the one staring in the mirror while putting on my makeup. I am the one attempting to earn a decent living. I am the trying to survive this life. Not only survive but thrive.
I deserve the world. And if no one is going to give it to me, then dammit, I’m going to give it to myself. ♥
In the end, only three things matter: how much you loved, how gently you lived, and how gracefully you go of things not meant for you. -Buddha
In my short 30 years life, I have learned quite a bit and yet not enough. One thing I am working on is the power of letting go. Letting go of what I don’t have control of and giving power to what I do. Each and every day I am baffled by how far I have come and how much more I need to grow. A while ago I learned that letting go allowed me to mature more than I knew was possible.
This is a letter to my mother. Not for her but for me.
It has been over a year since we have held a conversation. Over a year since I have told you what was going on in my life or how my day is going. Over a year since I have told you my fears or my accomplishments. Over a year since I have said, "I love you" and for you to say, "I love you more".
I have made the decision to not include you in my life; yes. However, it would be a lie if I said I hadn't missed you or thought about you. There have been days when I felt I needed your hug or your smell. The illusion of a safe place... You weren't always bad at the mom thing. Although those thoughts and feelings do make their presence occasionally, I still stand by my choice.
I have no control over your personal thoughts, feelings or actions. I do have control over if I allow myself to live around it or live without it. Because I wanted you so bad to be the mother you will never be, I made the decision to live without it. It was not an easy choice to come to and there have been many sleepless nights where it has been on my mind.
Recently It was brought to my attention that you feel like you did an excellent job as a mother. I congratulate you on those feelings and will not convince you otherwise. Instead, I free you of any anger or resentment I have had towards you in the past. After this letter, the thought of you will not get one fraction of my energy. I have chosen a path in my life that I no longer given time and energy to things that don't make me happy or bring me joy. One thing you did as a mother well is teach me how to disconnect and learn to live without you. Had you not done that so well, I wouldn't be strong enough to learn to let go of my anger.
I wish you nothing but the best on any adventure life gives you. Thank you for giving me life and leaving my all the family photographs. Initially, I was incredibly sad that you let them go so easily. However, the very selfish part of me is grateful I have them to hold on to.
Again, I free you, as well as myself, of any anger or resentment and wish you the best.
Sincerely Your Only Daughter,