I have sat here and debated, for however many odd days, what it is that I had to say. I felt that I had too much to say to just put it in a few short sentences because I have been begging for a way out other than the obvious for months. Searching for somebody to save me, when only I can save myself, although I cannot do it alone. I am tired of broken promises, lies and all the yelling. To struggle as I am, hurts far worse than what I expected. I thought I was cured, I thought I was okay; I thought that temptation had passed. But it seems there will always be an allure to the things I shouldn’t do. I suppose it is the same for everybody. I find myself doing things purposely that I know will hurt me.
Whether it’s physically or mentally, I find that breaking point and I push and nudge until everything cracks. It’s a set of self-imposed tests. How long can I last in the middle of lunch surrounded by people until I panic? Yet again, I thought I was better, I thought I was cured. I went from obsessive my freshman year, hyper focused my sophomore year to avoidance this year. It used to be that I HAD to sit in the back or the side of the room so I could keep an eye on the people in my class, I would freak out obsessively if I thought something could hurt me. Then, I OCD’d myself into oblivion, counting steps, things had to be just right, perfectly ordered, which is difficult when you’re living in a rental house and everything is chaotic. But I did, everything was in its place. I’m a neat freak, but I’m very lazy. My room is always messy, but I know where things are. But while I lived in that house, everything was immaculate. My bathroom, because for once, I had my own space without battling for elbowroom in the mornings to get ready, was uber-organized; the towels folded perfectly, everything in it’s place. If I got a water drop on the counter, I couldn’t leave the house unless I had re-cleaned the entire bathroom floor to ceiling. It gave me something else to focus on instead of how I was falling apart. I had so many breakdowns the three months I lived there. Hair pulling, silently screaming, crying on the floor until I was under control enough to cut myself open to release the rest of the pain. And then, I would go to bed and the entire process would repeat the next night. I was never completely healed the entire time I was there.
For a while, I deluded myself. She was back and acted like she wanted me again. And for somebody who never let go the entire time she was gone, I thought things would go back to the way they were. I thought I would be…I thought I could be, who I was in the beginning. But I am not that same person. I thought that the feelings I felt were real. They hurt enough to be real. But it wasn’t until somebody loved me completely, that I realized the truth. All her and I had was a shared curiosity. We thought we loved each other, so we tried to build the future based upon the other. But she needed somebody who could take care of her and I needed to feel special. We weren’t 13 any more. And her coming back was nearly as hard as watching her go the first time. I wasted two years of my life worrying about this girl who had a million things placed before me. I was her back up plan, because she knew I wouldn’t turn my back on her. And I cannot turn my back on anybody. I have never been able to.
Now, I just avoid the things I dislike. I dislike people; I have eaten lunch in the commons maybe 5 times all year. Because I had other options, I knew that I didn’t have to be in there. Brittanie presented a solution to my anxiety of all those people. We would walk the halls with our other friends during lunch and thus I had my solution. And then I found that one of my favorite teachers ate lunch in her classroom, so thus, way out number 2. I feel as if I’m regressing to 5th grade. I did the exact same thing in elementary school. For different reasons, but the same patterns.
Running Start in a way has condemned me and saved me all in one. I knew that I would eventually crack. So it was almost a relief when I did. But I got to avoid the crowded halls at Lakes because I got there early and then because I didn’t have class, I could go early to my next class and avoid the things I was running from. And even now, I leave my blue day, third period a few minutes early so I can already be out of the hallway when the masses appear, because they are things of my worst nightmares, second only to my father.
Things have never been easy with my father. He went from physically abusive to emotionally abusive. And he has always known which way to shove my delicate balance. When I was in 7th grade, I used to wish that one night he would take it too far and kill me so I wouldn’t have to. The first time I ever cut, I was 9 years old. And I am still cutting occasionally because of him. I once thought I had the ability to leave. But he has twisted my thinking to the point that I consider how he will feel if I leave before I am 18. Because I have felt abandoned my entire life, I resist anything that might cause that feeling in somebody else. Even in him, he who tormented me for my entire life and continues to still. And now I have permission to leave this hell, and I cannot.
I no longer have anywhere to go. The options and arms that were originally open to me when I turned 16; no longer exist because I could not involve the government in securing my freedom. I have lost all faith in people from the state helping me. I have tried the legal way before and they took me out of his line of fire, but put me back in the very next weekday. And it did nothing but make it worse.
They decided that my circumstances were nothing of interest to them. Because they believed him and his lies that he always tells to make me the incorrigible child. And he will spout these lies to anybody who will listen. I have been told to confine in my mother in the thought that maybe she would stick up for me. And when I did, she told me that the occurrence of violence from him and aimed at me was all in my head, that he had never hit me. My own mother is blind to how much I have been hurt.
So whom do you tell when nobody will listen? What words do you use to make people see? Yes, I am sure I could hurt myself and somebody would come and rescue me again and tell my parents that I need therapy or hospitalization. I do not need to be locked up for daring not to be abused and handling the pain in the only way I could. I need to be released from the hell that I was unwillingly put into. I have cried for help, in not so many words, for months. And maybe I am too cryptic, but I don’t want to disrupt somebody else’s life so I can finally live my own.
These are the words I have dared not dreamed of saying because I thought nobody would listen.