I'm not going to do that.
Instead, I'm going to let you read my life story... eh basically.
I hesitate on calling it that because my life isn't over yet but I guess you'll get to follow me on the rest of that journey when we get to it huh?
My story starts pretty broken.
When I was born, I didn't have a father. The man my mother was married to when she had me told her that if I wasn't a boy that he was leaving and that's what he did. That man however, wasn't my biological father even though I had his last name for 15 years.
BUT
Luckily (in my opinion), I grew up in a Christian home.
WAIT.
DONT LOSE ME HERE.
I promise this isn't a blog shoving Jesus down your throat. Just here me out.
Okay.. where was I?
Right. My life at home.
It was alright. It wasn't the best but it was bearable. I was taken care of physically! I was fed, clothed, bathed, educated but also at a young age: neglected emotionally. My single mother, like most, struggled to raise me and continue to go school. I was often times left to play by myself and feed myself once I could push a chair against the pantry, climb it, and get food. I was often put in the care of my grandparents. My grandfather was my life saver. He was my role model, my support, the stable man in my life. When my mom remarried when I was 5 years old, that didn't change. My step- dad caused a lot more trouble than he was worth. I remember countless arguments and fights and slamming doors and tears and him leaving and us having no idea where he went or if he was coming back. That went on for 12 years.
Wednesday. March 3rd, 2004. I was 8 my grandpa died. My world was shattered. Rocked. The love and support and only great man I had ever known, crumbled beneath my tiny feet. I had no one. My step- dad we found out was cheating on my mom. My mom and grandma fell into deep and serious depressions and I didn't see much of my cousins or aunts and uncles either. The whole year was a blur to me. I just remember being alone. I didn't cry. AT ALL. Not at the scene when I saw him dead. Not when they rolled his lifeless body out of the house on the stretcher, not even at the funeral. I held it in. I became my mom's support system. I had to be strong for her. I couldn't let her, or anyone for that matter, see how broken I was inside. This eventually led to nowhere good.
Growing up, my step- dad was still the worst. I didn't have many friends. I did have one though. Her mom and mine worked together at the school we went to. She made me laugh. Kept me entertained and distracted from my pain. I can honestly say I don't remember a lot between the ages of 9-12. However at the age of 13, I met my biological father. I had begged my mom to her breaking point because I thought that any man or father had to be better than my step- dad.
I was wrong.
The first time I met him was fine. I met my step- mom and things seemed like they were going to be great. I started making plans to spend every other weekend with them. The first weekend I went I got to meet my half- sister (age 17), my step- sister (age 6), and 2 step- brothers (age 6 and 13 respectively). It was a lot to take in but they treated me like family. A month and a half went by and things were fine. I didn't see much of my dad or hardly talk to him but I was having fun with my step- mom and my brothers and sisters. One day while my dad was doing yard work and my mom was out with my older sister and younger brother and sister, it was just me and my brother who was the same age as me. I don't want to go into detail. I honestly don't remember the details. But. Things happened. He didn't rape me. But other forceful things were done and I didn't go back after that weekend. And I didn't tell anyone why. Those emotions? Yep. Kept that bottled up too. I refused to show weakness. It was a survival mechanism at that point.
And as if things haven't seemed to go bad enough in my life already, I made things worse.
"How?" you ask?
- Self Destruction-
Middle of my 8th grade year, I developed an eating disorder. I began to leave school ALL the time because I was "sick." I began failing my classes because I was simply never at school because I was "sick." I was disgusted with myself. I hated my life. I thought that if I changed my body, it would change the circumstances around me and things would get better if I was prettier or skinnier. And as if that wasn't enough damage to my body, I began cutting myself. The "cat scratches" on my arms and the "razor cuts" on my legs began to appear more and more and people began to ask and I drilled them with lie after lie. I felt hated. Worthless. Like a failure. Like I wouldn't amount to anything. All of that was pretty easy to believe when I got bullied at school for my weight and for my grades because I had to go to tutoring because I was failing because I never showed up. People asked because they were curious. not because they cared and I knew that.
Then one person came along who did care.
I don't know why she cared. Why she wasn't scared to love me or to get me help but she cared and I hurt her so badly because I let her in and took advantage of her compassionate spirit.
She talked to me. She listened. She let me vent. She let me cry. I told her stuff I had never told anyone in my life. I told her things I had kept inside myself for so many years. Needless to say, she became my best friend and I thank God that 6 years later, she still is.
Going into my freshman year of high school I had lost 70lbs in about two months over the summer when my eating disorder really started to take control. My best friend brought me lunch every single day and walked with me to the next class. I ate and kept it down because of her. Because she cared. She gave me the courage to speak up and tell my mom. I watched her cry because she was so hurt that I was hurting myself. I didn't want help but I did it for her. My mom got me into counseling where I refused to talk. I didn't want to be there. I hated every second. I didn't see anything wrong with me. I thought I deserved the punishment I was inflicting on myself. I lied. To my family. My best friend. Everyone. Told them I was okay and so my mom took me out of counseling. Then the cycle started over again. Sophomore year came along and I didn't have my best friend in any of my classes. I sat with her at lunch. She still brought me lunch but she had no idea what I did after because we didn't have the same class. I lied to her. Told her I was keeping it down and doing better. Sometimes she'd ask to see my arms and I showed her past scars and she believed me. Truth was I had just gotten better at hiding the other cuts. The next year and a half was nothing but lies and breakdowns. I actually began to make a lot of friends but no matter how hard they tried, no one could break the self- destructive cycle I was in. I began drinking and smoking and partying. I escaped reality any way I could. I found my identity in those parties and the guys I slept with. I hated my life more than anything and began to have suicidal thoughts. Not just thoughts but I knew exactly what I was going to do to kill myself. By my senior year, I had been to 3 counselors. None of them helped. I didn't let them.
In February of 2014 I attempted suicide for the first time. I dropped my friend off at school, made sure she had a different ride home, told her I had a doctors appt, and went home. I raided our medicine cabinet and downed 8 oxycodone pills without thinking twice. About the time they started to kick in and make me drowsy, a woman from the church I had began to attend, called me just to see how I was doing. Normally this wouldn't happen because she knew I was in school but for some reason, she did. I answered without thinking about my actions and she immediately knew something was wrong. She asked if I was okay and what I had done. I spat out the truth and didn't think anything would come of it. Didn't think she cared enough to do anything really. We got off the phone and she told me to keep texting her. Non- Stop. So I tried. My messages didn't really make sense but I didn't fall asleep which is what she wanted. The next thing I know, there's a frantic knock at my door. I opened it and there was my small group leader in tears. The woman had called my small group leader and she immediately took off work and rushed to my house because she knew I could die any minute. My small group leader proceeded to lure me into her car so we could ride around and 'talk' about what I had done and why. About 20 minutes into the drive, she told me she was taking me to the hospital and that I had to consent or she had to call the cops. I lost it. I broke. I have never cried that hard in my life. I eventually consented and then she called my mom and told her what had happened. She called the girls in my small group, with my consent, and asked them to come be with me and pray for me. As I was getting checked in with triage, my mom came bursting through. I have never ever seen my mom so hysterical. Not even when her dad, my grandpa, died. It was one of the worst and more unforgettable moments of my life. As they took me back to a room in the ER I got to see my best friend. We sat on my bed and she put her arms around me and we both lost it. Completely. I hated myself for hurting her. Hurting everyone. I was sorry that i hurt everyone but myself. That I didn't acknowledge or apologize for until much later. I spent a week on the dreaded 5th floor. The Behavioral Unit. I was made to talk to a doctor. I was put on lots of medication for depression, anxiety, and bipolar disorder. During that time, my best friend came to see me a lot. I needed that. When my family came, it was nothing but fights and tears and ended up in my best friend staying as long as she could to calm me down. I broke off relations with my family that week. They didn't call or come see me. I didn't want them to. After a week of more lies just so I could get out of there, I got to go home and two days later, I was scheduled to go back to school. A world, again, where I had no one.
The hospital set me up with a counselor and I started to see her. I liked her okay. She was my favorite out of the others I had seen in the past. Things were weird at school and I had one girl who talked to me so I naturally clung to that because no one else would really talk to me. As the year went on and the pain I had caused people started to subside, I began building my relationships with people again and by the end of the year things seemed fine except I become dependent on some anxiety medication that had been prescribed to me. And by dependent I mean I do not remember the last two days of my high school career. The second to last day was field day and I had always hated it for some reason. So to "lessen my anxiety" I took about 20 pills before going to school. About halfway through the day I started to not feel good and tried to stand up to get water and almost collapsed. The next thing I remember was sitting in a wheelchair and passing out and waking up at home. The next day was a complete blur. It was my last day of high school. Ever. I downed the rest of my anxiety medication which was about 30 pills on top of the 20 the day before that weren't completely out of my system. I don't remember anything about that day except walking into the auditorium and passing out in front of the entire student body. They had to call an ambulance where I was taken to the ER and had to have an IV put in. Another suicide attempt. I didn't admit that to myself or anyone until months after but that's what it was. And I'm ashamed of all of my actions in 2014 to this very day even as the year is coming to a close.
Now I go to Liberty University in Lynchburg, Virginia and my life has changed tremendously. I have no utensils to cut myself with. Nor do I have that desire anymore. I don't take any medication. I won't let myself become dependent again. I'm under such great leadership and influence in my life at school and I have grown with God tremendously. It's been a crazy but great and life changing few months here at Liberty and I have loved every single second of it.
2014 is soon coming to an end and I have 2015 to make up for all I've screwed up this year. I have new friendships and strong walk with the Lord and although things are still so hard to deal mentally some days, I am confident in a God that will lead me through it.
So this is my story up this point.
I know it's been long and probably dragging so I may not post again for a couple of weeks but this is just the beginning of it all.
I hope for someone that this will make you realize that YOU CAN SURVIVE THIS SOMETIMES SUCKY LIFE. I'm alive today because of God's grace and intervention and I hope you know that you are NEVER alone in your battle. Ever.
*Philippians 4:6-7*
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