Sorry for my absence. I’ve been trying to get through some things. Trying to get through depression, trying to find my self-worth and at least realize I am worth something, trying to live instead of just surviving. You know life. I just let it get the better of me for a while. Just so you know, this is going to be a rather long post and a very personal one. I apologize if this brings up any traumatic events for anyone else. I just need to get this out.
I’ve been battling with some deep feelings of self-hate for years. When I was 16, I was sexually assaulted. A guy I was dating decided that he couldn’t wait for me to be ready any longer. He felt that he owned me and he chose to show me that I was nothing more than property. He invited me over and when I got there, some of his friends were there too. They held me down and took turns. When I tried to tell, I was told that I would be put on trial and proved to be a whore. My name would be in the paper and on the internet and everyone would know what happened. I was told no man would ever want me after something like that. Needless to say, I never pressed charges.
When I was 17, I was assaulted at a party. I told my friend who told me not to worry about it. She told the guy to apologize and that was to be the end of it. I couldn’t even cry. I felt that I had done something to deserve it. She continued to invite the guy around. The only reason that I even felt I was wronged was that his entire demeanor would turn to guilt when he would see me and leave.
They say you attract the vibe that you put out. So the next few guys I dated treated me like crap. Treated me like a doll to be played with and put on a shelf when they were done. It turned into a sick cycle of self-abuse. Because I hate me, I allow you to treat me any kind of way. Because you treat me any kind of way, I feel like I’m not worth it. Around and around we go. I started taking Ativan. It started on prescription for panic attacks then it became more than that. It got really dangerous. I overdosed on my 22nd birthday. I told the hospital it was an accident. It wasn’t and they didn’t believe me. Thank God, they didn’t believe me.
Two years of state-mandated treatment. Probably one of the best things that ever happened to me. Sometimes you have to get out of your own head to see the world as it is. The world can be a horrible place, but it is so beautiful. I am so beautiful. I am so worthy. I am an amazing person, an amazing mother, an amazing daughter, an amazing girlfriend. There is always room to improve on anything and everything, but I am amazing. It took me years to be able to say that. It took me even longer to be able to say it without tears in my eyes (even though from time to time I still struggle to hold back tears when I say it).
I still have nightmares from time to time. I still don’t care for crowds. Within the past three years, I can say that I started learning how to live. Before, I was just surviving. I learned I love to cook. I mean I really love to cook. I love to sew. I love art museums and wine tastings. I love being around friends, my actual friends. I love life. I love the life. I love living. I love the beach and pie. Oh my goodness, I love key lime pie. I love waking up to see my son’s face every morning. I love the relationship that I am in and in the same breath, I know that he must treat me a certain way or I will leave. I know that I am lovable. I know that I am lovable.
So, please excuse me for my absence. I need to take time to myself. I needed to relocate myself. I need to remember my worth. I needed to get back to a place where I could say, I love me. I had to remember to do more than survive. I had to remember to live.