Abuse & Mental Health

I've been depressed for a long time. It's something that has taken up most of my life, to be honest. I remember being 5 years old and looking at my mother and soon to be stepfather and saying "I wish I had never been born". My mom didn't even know how to react to that. My stepfather made me break down the sentence and define each word, thinking that maybe I didn't understand what I was saying. But I knew. I knew then, and I know now. That feeling has never gone away, and throughout the course of my life it has only progressively gotten worse. These days I don't say I wish I had never been born as much, it's usually more like "I don't know how to do this" or "I don't want to do this anymore".

So, what has made my life so difficult that I have wanted to unalive myself since I was 5? That's a good question, one that I don't know that I have the answers to. At least not all of them. My brain has done some weird things over the years to cope and survive. Let's see how much of it I can remember.

When I was a kid, I had an imaginary friend. I don't remember the name or what kind of creature it was, but I remember having one. I told my imaginary friend all the things I couldn't say to the adults in my life. I was often told that I was too young to understand the adult concepts happening around me, but I understood more than they thought I did. The time my biological father kept me out past the agreed on time he would bring me home, I knew that my mom was going to be worried and scared. There was also just nothing I could do about it. I was a kid, and it wasn't my responsibility to communicate between my parents.

I remember clear as a bell the day I asked my biological father why he had beat up my mom in front of me. I asked him point blank "Why did you push mom that time you came over to our apartment?" and all I got for an answer was that I was too young and wasn't remembering clearly before the subject was dropped. That was the first time I realized my dad was a liar. Not just some clueless innocent who accidentally made plans when he was supposed to come see me, not some idiot who forgets things. Nope, he officially became a liar to me that day. Suddenly lots of things about him became very clear to me, and I didn't like it.

It wasn't long after that conversation that he stopped being involved in my life at all. The sick thing is, despite knowing he was not a good person and despite not wanting him around anymore, I still felt abandoned and developed a strong needy streak. Especially towards my stepfather, because he was the person who was going to step in and replace that lost father figure. Right? Wrong. I was so wrong.

I stopped hearing from my biological father completely by the time I was twelve. I started spending a lot of time with my stepfather then. We had built a bedroom in the basement for me, so I would have privacy from my little brother. Outside of the bedroom was a workbench where we had set up a TV, DVD player, gaming consoles, and our family computer. My stepfather and I would sit down in the basement watching movies and TV shows constantly. Or I would help him play through video games he was struggling with by looking up walkthroughs and cheat codes.

For a while everything was fine. Nothing weird or abnormal about it at all. Until this one day where I was getting ready for bed and he asked for a hug. I was still all about hugging my parents goodnight at that point, so I went over to oblige. Only this time he had me sit on his lap, and then hug him. Weird, but okay. The hug lasted a very long time. Again, weird but nothing alarming. I went to bed as usual and everything was still fine.

The next day he asked me if the hug was okay. If I minded that he had me sit on his lap. I said it was fine, and that it wasn't too weird. He seemed relieved. Long hugs in his lap became normal, and I suddenly wasn't hugging anyone else as much. I felt special, that he cared so much about me. I finally had a dad who loved me and would be there for me. Or so I told myself.

One day, I was sad. I didn't even really have much of a reason. I was already experiencing symptoms of depression, but because I didn't know how to talk about what I was feeling and I didn't know how to describe the feelings I was having, it just came across as random sadness on random days. He asked me what was wrong, and the only thing I could think of that would make me feel sad was that I was missing my grandfather who had passed away. I started to cry because saying that made the realization that I really did miss him more apparent. "I know something that will make you feel better." is what was said to me.

The next part is a little blurry. I was still crying, but somehow my clothes came off and he performed oral on me. I didn't like it, it didn't make me feel better, and my first thought was "How is this supposed to help me?". But when he finished and looked up at me expectantly asking "Did that help? Did you like it?" my response was "I guess." I was thirteen at the time.

For the next year I would endure him touching me, kissing me, and constantly trying to get me to allow him to perform oral on me again. I hated it, but I felt like there was nothing I could do. To this day I don't know why I didn't tell my mom or grandmother. Overall, it doesn't matter. Suffice to say that the next 13 years were full of sexual assault by my stepfather. I won't go into anymore details 1) because a lot of it is hazy and blurry, and 2) it would get extremely repetitive and monotonous to listen to me lay out all the details.

So where does this tie into my mental health? I'm so glad you asked.

At 16 I had my first "split". I started hearing an angry voice that would scream about how what was happening was wrong. I tried to ignore it, but eventually it took over and would do things that would get me in trouble. I'd go out and do things like buying a phone, or asking to go out with friends, or I'd talk about boys and really piss him off. I wouldn't normally do any of that, and when I think back on those times all my memories are grey and hazy. Like I'm looking at them through a grey veil.

As the years went on, I'd start to hear more voices, and they'd start to take over more often. I was rarely fully myself. I also experienced severe depression and generalized anxiety. I tried going to therapy but because I wasn't ready to share what was happening to me I was just mislabled as having bipolar disorder. I desperately tried to get away. I got my own apartment twice (he convinced me to move home both times), I stayed with a friend a couple of times...I always ended up back home though.

By the time I was 26 I knew something had to change. I was interested in a woman I worked with, and I didn't want to lie to her about what was going on. I confessed about the abuse and how long it had gone on. I told her about the time I told my mom and she didn't believe me. I told her about all the times I'd tried to escape and failed. My newfound girlfriend said it was okay, that it wasn't my fault, and helped me find the resources to leave for good. I ended up in a domestic violence shelter, and as a result I bounced between 3 shelters here in Mass and also in Connecticut.

But I was FREE. I was able to start processing what happened to me over the years and it was both miraculous and terrifying. I did what I could to overcome my own issues long enough to find an apartment far away from my parents town, and I began to live.

Today, I am a little over 9 years free of that situation. I still have alters who sometimes take over for me when I can't cope with life, and I still suffer from depression and anxiety. It's so much better than it used to be, even though it's still bad. I have existential dread almost daily and have to be careful or my ideations can get the better of me. I see a therapist weekly, and I'm hoping that I can start doing some trauma work soon. I guess we'll see.

So, what is the point of this story? I guess the point is that despite all the tragedy I've faced, I'm still here. I'm still chugging along, fighting to stay alive day by day. It's a long road, recovering from abuse, but it can be done. We may not come out the other side perfectly, but we can come out the other side. I look forward to the day where I have a good day with no bad things at all. I know it's out there, I just have to find it.