WHEN YOUR SUICIDE ATTEMPTS ARE JUDGED

My talked to me today. She told me her husband’s band is having a record release party on the 20th. Of course I wasn’t invited. Then she told me the lead singer’s son shot himself in the head and is in a coma. He is 19. He was being evaluated by a Psychiatrist but they weren’t sure of his diagnosis.

My sister went on to say how she feels worse for people like him who “really” mean it when they try to kill themselves. I took this as her saying she really didn’t feel empathy or sympathy for me because I my attempts weren’t serious enough. 

I only have ugly scars and some issues with stomach from having it pumped a couple of times. I’m not sure if the charcoal times did any damage. My left pinkie and the finger next to it are numb a lot from nerve damage I caused but none of that counts I guess.

Would she have understood better if I had used a gun or a rope? Would she have loved me more when she thought of me than she does now?

I don’t know. I’m also beginning to not care what she feels or anyone else feels. It’s time to think of how I feel for a change. What makes me happy?

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YOU WANTED SOMETHING POSITIVE

I’m positive I’ve sat in a room filled with people thinking “How do they do it?”. 

I’m positive I’ve faked more smiles than given real ones.

I’m positive no one really wants to know your truth because it’s too hard.

I’m positive I’ve sat alone with my headphones on, my head in my hands, rocking back and forth, trying to drown out the painful static in my head.

I’m positive I don’t need anyone asking me “Have you tried…?” because I’m pretty sure I have.

I’m positive I’ve stood outside a crowded bar and wondered if I’ll ever be able to be my true self. Or is the drunk me actually my true self?

I’m positive I am alone in the real world.

I’m positive I am barely hanging on and question why everyday.

I’m positive more could be done for people like me but isn’t.

I’m positive I’ll be here tomorrow.

TAKE IT OUT ON ME

I suppose many people still blame me for the things I’ve done in the past and for the views I have now.

I am stubborn about specific topics like Religion and 12 Step Programs. This is most likely due to personal experiences that I can’t get past. It’s also partly because of the extensive research I’ve done. I try not to blindly judge without looking at all sides. There are times when I fail and I’ll be the first to admit it.

I honestly believe that we wouldn’t be losing so many people to addiction and suicide if there was more of a correlation between the Mental Health Community and Alcohol-Addiction treatment. 

I don’t remember anyone asking me WHY I first started drinking or what feelings I was trying to avoid. Was I afraid at the time or did I feel like I didn’t belong anywhere?

All of these questions would’ve been important clues. No one drinks a case of beer because they like the taste, especially not if it’s Black Label Kingers. 

But what do I know? I only spent over 20 years in Hell and now have over 9 years of sobriety without a program but with a DIAGNOSIS which helped more than anything else did.

Broken Ties

Best Friends, The Toxic Twins, Inseparable, No Secrets Kept

Thirty Years of Laughter and Tears That Turned Into Nothing

The Role of Overseer Got Too Much

I Didn’t Know Your Level Of Disgust

I Didn’t Know Mine For You For Everyone

For Keeping Silent, Eyes Turned

Now Shunned, Exiled I’m Broken

You Could Have Told Me How You Felt

But That Isn’t You Keeping Everything Bottled Up

Are You Happy Now?

Without This Albatross Across Your neck?

I Protected You Or Don’t You Remember?

Isolation, Regret, Shame, Guilt

Did You Ever Really Care Or Was I Just The Jester

To Be Let Go When I Didn’t Want To Play30138000-1243997657

Ignorance Is Bliss Until It Isn’t

You Aim To Be The Ostrich Burying Her Head

I Long To Be The Phoenix Rising From Ashes

To Begin Again

The Time I Thought I Loved

There came a time when I slowed down my partying ways and applied for a full time job at a Video Rental Store. It was one of the big chains. The stores I worked at were owned by a husband and wife. The wife and the “District Manager” handled the day to day problems of all 10 stores. He golfed.

I loved my job because I loved movies. I would work whenever they would let me. I moved pretty fast up the ladder. I was there a month when I met the Manager of one of their other stores. He was handsome, witty, and had greenish blue eyes. When he talked to you he made you feel like you were the only one in the room. I was sort of sober at the time, always sober at work, and not used to men being nice to me.

At first I stayed away from him. “Nice” was outside my comfort zone. But the next thing I know the bosses had made me Asst. Manager and him Manager of our own store. This meant I couldn’t avoid him. I would get butterflies in my stomach on the way to work. It was horrible. At first I  tried to be a bitch but I just got in trouble for it. So after that I was just my self.

I hadn’t been myself with anyone in so long it felt great. We laughed constantly. He would come to see me when it wasn’t his shift. Customers thought we were married and owned the store. The flirting was out of control. I kept thinking “why doesn’t he ask me out?” or “why isn’t he taking anything further?”. A few years went by where we went on like this. I would hear a rumor of him dating some girl. I would ask him about it and he would say “don’t believe everything you hear”. He would get upset when I was upset about gossip I had heard. He came to my friend’s apartment one night at midnight because I told him I would be there. It was an hour away for him. I kissed him and don’t remember what I said exactly. He left around 3 in the morning and had to open the store for me because I was hung over. Why would you drive all that way to see me at midnight if you didn’t want to be with me? I couldn’t figure him out and it was slowly driving me insane.

He would say and do little things that led me to believe he felt more than he did. Don’t call someone beautiful, don’t touch their breast, don’t pull them on your lap, don’t spend extra time with them, IF YOU ARE NO INTERESTED! If you want to just be friends SAY IT! Don’t pussy foot around it for 10 years! My father even loaned him a large sum of money in an emergency. This was huge for my dad because he is very protective of his money. My dad was paid back. My mom loved the guy. When he would call the house he would spend extra time on the phone talking to her. He didn’t come to her wake or funeral even though most of the other company employees did. When I returned to work after my mom died the owner had put him in my store to cover for me. She wanted him there for a few more days while I adjusted to being back. For some reason he was rude and itching to pick a fight with me. I lost it.

I called the owner to tell her to get him the hell out of my store while at the same time he was outside on his cell calling her too. I think we reached our breaking point at a manager’s meeting 2 years before when I was asked to contribute money for his wedding gift. I had no idea he was seeing anyone, engaged, let alone getting married. You can imagine how I felt. The day before he was at my store flirting in my office, and said he had to show me something on his laptop. It was a girl from our State in a porn movie. I laughed it off because that’s how he was. When I thought about it later I wondered how his fiance would’ve felt about him watching porn with a woman that he was close to alone in an empty store at night.

It was around this time that I ruptured a disc in my back. I also had 2 bulging discs above it and 2 bulging discs below it. They also found 2 pages of other problems. No one would operate because it would set off a domino effect. I had 4 epidurals with no relief. Finally the company couldn’t hold my job any longer. Video stores were closing everywhere so it was only a matter of time before they started closing ours. I got out at the right time.

I didn’t talk to the guy from the video store for a few years. It wasn’t until I joined Facebook and he friend requested me that I thought about him. By this time he had children. I was hesitant but accepted anyway. In a way I’m glad I did. I got the closure I needed. He had matured quite a bit and had heard about what I was going through. He apologized for hurting me and not being honest with me.

That being said he was messaging me too much and I was responding. I thought again if I was this guys wife how would I feel? So I told him the truth. I told him he probably meant well but I didn’t think it was a good idea for us to talk. He understood. I was sad. He knew me so well that just by reading a simple post he could tell something was off. He would immediately message me to ask what was going on. No one else did. No one else does.

I’ve closed my Facebook account because it’s too much for me. I know half of what people put on there is a fantasy. They aren’t going to talk about their shitty days all the time. It’s only happy, happy, joy, joy, all the time. I can’t take it. It makes me feel more alone.

I haven’t met anyone like him since. Someone I feel comfortable around sober and I’m attracted to. I don’t exactly put myself out there either. I’m too tired and worn out. It’s easier to be alone.

 

BANG, BANG, BANG

I’ve always been afraid of bullies. I’ve always hated bullies. When I drank I sometimes became violent if I felt I was the object of bullying or ridicule. I shouldn’t say sometimes because it was often. When you surround yourself with people who have their own issues and the only way they can make themselves feel better is to make others feel bad, that’s what happens. I fought a lot when drinking in my younger years. As I became older and learned that there are people bigger and badder than me I became afraid.

As a child I was always afraid of my father. I loved him very much but I saw the violence in him. I knew his strength. I had reason to be afraid. I didn’t think he would ever hurt me.

As he grows older he is becoming more violent towards me. I can take a lot of things from him but not this. For some reason he thinks it is acceptable to pound on any door I am behind. Whether it is my bedroom or the bathroom. I startle easily, I know this. When he sees my reaction it angers him. It’s something I can’t control, like the tremor in my hands now or the stuttering while trying to explain what just happened on the phone with my sister. She was too busy with friends over and then a Cub Scout Meeting. I’ve lived in this house for most of my life and now I think I have to leave it. I am afraid.

He’s never actually hit me. He’s just raised his arm. For me that’s enough. This isn’t the dad I know and love. But I’m no longer the daughter he loved. I can’t stop crying.

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FINE LINE BETWEEN GREED AND PAIN

mg_nikki-sixx_ovation-heroin-diaries_02-500x500I’m trying so hard not to call out certain people here. But my anger is getting the best of me. When I watch an interview with a musician that I once admired and I’m personally disgusted by him, it saddens me. His new band’s songs are of salvation, isolation, desperation, sorrow, outcasts, misery, panic, consequences, stigma, remorse, understanding, insight, and yes hope.

During the entire interview he yawned. Yup. He literally yawned. While discussing what they wanted to do with their new music, how they each had causes, one discussed bullying, the other Human Trafficking, and our friend here the Heroin epidemic (yawn). Very professional.

I realized a few years ago that he was taking the pain and anguish from the life stories of his fans, internalizing it and using it to write. Yes, he had addiction problems, major ones. He also I believe had depression. But some people are just not able to feel or access their own pain. They do not want to examine too closely what the root problem may have been. They can skim over it in writing a book but they don’t say “It ripped my f*cking heart out. I fell to the floor, unable to breath and howled until I had no voice.”. “It destroyed me to the point where I wanted to die, I didn’t care.”. It’s where a dry drunk or dry addict is born. They are more dangerous to be around than anyone else. They’re still the same asshole they always were, they’re just sober.

Fans have a habit of telling their life stories. I’ve been guilty of it. I mistakenly thought a person understood exactly what I was saying and where I was coming from. I admit to being manic and in the middle of a med change. I also caution anyone with celebrity status to probably NOT communicate with someone who is openly admitting to a diagnosis of Bipolar Disorder and other mental health issues. You might think that you are doing something nice, and if you leave it at one exchange than you probably are. If you continue the conversations but really have no plans of adding them to your Christmas card list, I suggest you don’t engage to begin with. Don’t get me wrong. Some are very understanding and some have been there themselves. But some still have delusions of grandeur, just like me.

There are so many artists that write from a place that they know. Blue October and Justin Furstenfeld is a superior example of writing from a place he knows and then we get the joy of hearing his music change and grow as he does. I don’t know how he has been able to do it. I admire him greatly. He could’ve written from his dark place continuously and made money off of the millions of people that identify with Depression, Addiction, or Suicidal Thoughts. He didn’t. He makes me have hope. I know everyone’s illness is different but when I watch him sing Fear and I watch the video I feel some peace. It’s only for a short time but I’ll take it.

I’m sure there are many artist’s that find inspiration from someone’s life story, current events, the media, their own life, but sometimes I think it’s different. When you go out of your way to cultivate these stories you cross a line. I doubt Stephen King is going to his local Mental Hospitals and asking patients to tell him their most horrific dreams and hallucinations. Is it apples and oranges?

When you go to another Country and photograph it’s beauty and reality I get it. But how far is too far? When you photograph the same underage, underweight girl being forced into prostitution that you photographed 6 months ago, at what point do you intervene? At what point does it stop being a “Statement photograph” or a “Statement Song” and just becomes you doing nothing.