The first time suicide crossed my mind I was maybe 12 years old. Along with typical teenage angst, my parents were constantly at war with eachother. Police were called. Threats were made. Bruises were laid. So many tears were cried, I felt nothing. Numb. I remember distinctly standing over the sink washing dishes and one of the glasses shattered. This feeling hit me ... what if I run this sharp piece of glass down my arm?
At 15, on a hotel balcony on a gorgeous sandy beach next to the blue ocean, I imagined leaping off. Angry with life, confused about why I felt invisible, hurt, heartbroken and sad.
At 19, my sister introduced me to the wonderful world of meth.. I had just flunked out of college and was feeling so hopeless, so meth was my comfort. Only I did it in secret, alone, never any needles but too many scary encounters. I lived it. I loved it... until I nearly overdosed. remember laying in my bedroom at my mother's house, shivering and sweating, coming down.. detoxing. It honestly felt like I was going to die. And it would have been okay. It only went downhill from there, as I learned I was pregnant by a younger guy I hsd slept with once. He reacted badly to the news and denied it was his child, so when I finally convinced him to drive me to the clinic, it took two failed attempts. When it was actually time for my appointment, he left me to go through everything alone and left me waiting, wondering if he'd even return to get me. (He did.) Then I dated that asshole for three years. He liked to hold me down and scream in my face. Once he threw a bottle of spit from his nasty chewing tobacco habit at me while I was out with friends. He ruined my white dress, my friend's boyfriend threatened to beat his ass, and cops were called. That ended that relationship.
Twenty-one was a bad year. Living alone in my own for the first time, I turned my focus to meth to get through the days. I wonder how I ever managed to keep a job. My loft had a working stove but not a working oven, so my health was seriously neglected. One weekend I felt so bad after work I walked into my mom's house, weak and in tears, and asked her to take me to the hospital. After IVs and tests, doctors said my potassium level was so low it was affecting my heart. Not good since my diagnosis of a heart valve defect earlier in life.
At 23, my life changed with the decision to move to a bigger city out of state. At first I latched onto the wrong people to do drugs with and my "friend" and neighbor of a year took everything I owned when I kept my stuff at his place while moving into a new apartment. When I returned to pick it up, he refused to answer the door and that's the last time I ever saw him - through a peephole.
The next few years were great. No drugs, no hurting myself. I was also drowning myself in martinis nightly, so of course life was wonderful. At 26, my husband and I got married and the first year was full of therapy.
To be continued...