You know all my life I have felt like I was the broken toy that people have only ever wanted to play with when they have nothing better to do.
From a young age, approximately 8 or 9 possibly younger, I learnt that emotions were a disadvantage and I built up walls around myself and shut down my emotions.
By the time I was a teenager I was the stone face girl who was great at mimicking the emotions she was supposed to be feeling, my mask was always on. I smiled, I laughed, I played my part on the stage that is life.
But I never felt apart of things I always felt separate from the world around me, just a girl watching from the side lines that no one really cared about. Now this may or may not have been the case but that’s beside the point.
I was like a robot, I got up, got dressed, went to school, sat with a group of people who wouldn’t have noticed if I wasn’t there, went to classes and was taught by teachers who wouldn’t have noticed if I was there… I was the invisible girl.
I was quiet, brooding, numb but in the back of my mind there was always the quiet hum of self hatred, and anger.
I didn’t want friends… I didn’t want to be noticed… Quite simply I wanted to disappear, to cease to exist.
Those that I had let in knew I was a ball of anger and some of them knew the basic details of my first prolonged encounter with sexual abuse from my childhood… Though none of them have ever been told of the 2nd person whom also used me as a child to further their sexual gratification. I didn’t exactly blame myself but I feel I played a part in it and for that I hated myself.
The only physical contact that I could tolerate as a teen was when I was drunk or stoned or both. Which usually lead to me letting a guy feel me up or worse. Sexual interaction was not something I sort out nor was it something I enjoyed but rather something I felt I needed to give to make others happy. That would inevitably fuck me up later on when I was full of shame and self loathing which manifested with me being violent to myself.
I remember one night being so far gone that I lost control in front of my friends, sitting in my best friends lounge room drunk out of my mind at the age of 16 punching myself in the head as hard as I could hysterically crying after giving a guy a head job in the school grounds that night because he had asked and I didn’t know how to say no and I just hated myself so much after the fact. The next morning I vowed to myself no one would ever see me hurt myself or cry ever again.
My self hatred grew in my teen years and I started cutting my legs. No one knew this, I always wore long pants and I was good at wound management. I have no scars from cutting I was careful to leave no evidence of my cutting in my house and I was careful not to cut deep so that I would have no scars to explain away.
I couldn’t tell my best friend about my issues she had so many of her own and I felt I needed to be ok for her, I needed to be a rock of rationality for her and for all my friends. I felt that if I could not offer them anything that surely they would no longer wish to be around me and even though I shied away from having friends I still need some but deep inside I felt unworthy of these people, that if they were to see who I truly was they would turn away from me in disgust. So I cut in silence in my room, dressed my cuts and continued as I always had. Only 1 person ever noticed my cuts and questioned me about them.
One of my room mates had noticed that I almost always had some kind of dressing on my leg asked me if I cut myself. I was mortified, terrified that she had discovered my secret and promptly told her that I of cause had not cut myself, why would I do such a thing, no I was just clumsy and was always knocking my legs on things at work. Whether she believed my lie I do not know as she never asked me again about my legs. It was a terrible lie and a lie that was born out of fear.
I tried to kill myself, I took a handful of drugs with a bottle of vodka. I didn’t die… I thought to myself you can’t even die right, you even failed at this. it wasn’t a cry for help I genuinely wanted to die that night. I had had enough, the numbness was slightly fading, my father had once again shown me I was worthless, and the pain and despair I felt was intoxicating. I truly did not want to live when I downed those pills and bottle of vodka. And no one noticed… after the fact when I clearly had not died and I was no longer a zombie from the cocktail that was running in my blood, the realisation that no one had noticed hit me. This just helped to further my dark inner thoughts I told myself why would they notice, you’re not important, you’re just trash, they would probably be better off anyway.
At about 23 I had stopped cutting, and was slowly starting to let myself feel emotions again. Real emotions. And once I let myself do so, it was terrifying, I wished I had never opened myself up because I couldn’t turn them off again. My depressions were worse, my need for my friends became greater, I needed people to actually care about me and I found it hard to work out who was there to use me and who was there because they loved me and I concluded that everyone was there to get something from me. So I fell back into my please others role for fear that if I didn’t give them what they wanted they would surely leave me, I was worthless after all wasn’t I?
Music was my saviour, music whispered to me as I drifted to sleep, it filled my heart and made me feel like I was not alone in the world. Music saved my life.
Just before I turned 31 I lost my best friend… she didn’t die, she decided we could no longer be friends. We had known each other and been close friends since we were 6 or 7. We had lived together, gone on holiday overseas together, we were like sisters.
I could never confide in her the depth of my problems, if I even tried I felt like she made it a competition on who was more fucked up, and clearly she was the winner, so therefore I had no right to complain. So she never knew of my cutting, of my attempt to kill myself, of how much I truly hated myself nor my greatest fear which was that one day eventually everyone would work out that I was not good enough for them, that I was beneath them and that they would all eventually leave me and throw me away like the trash that I am.
She did just that, I couldn’t be what she wanted me to be, I couldn’t do what she wanted me to do. She was asking me to choose between 2 friends. To throw a friendship away, to throw someone away, out of my life and I couldn’t do it. The thought of it pained me, it tore at me, I cried and agonised over it for days, it ripped me apart and I couldn’t do it. So my best friend, my sister that I had chosen, the one person i thought would always be in my life, the one person I had told myself would never throw me away did just that.
Via text message.
I was plunged head first into a depression that engulfed me, but I had to function at the same time, I wore my mask, I laughed, I joked, I smiled and with every faked happy emotion I felt myself die a little more. Because I blame myself for losing her, it was my fault I was not enough, she realised I was not good enough, she realised I was beneath her. SHE REALISED I WAS TRASH.
She severed me from her life, she deleted and blocked me from all her social media within 10 minutes she no longer existed in my world. Nor I in hers. It was as if the she was an imaginary friend that I had had for 20+ years had finally disappeared like I had taken the pills that killed Fred in Drop Dead Fred.
It was the greatest hurt I had ever felt in my life and I was sitting in a taxi… My life was shattered on the way to a concert in a smelly taxi in the middle of Sydney.
And I did the unthinkable I cried in front of my friends… I couldn’t help it but I still hated myself for doing it. I fought crying and I had lost and I had broken a promise to myself. I was weak.
I sat in the depression I embraced that depression, to the world I was the same person I had down days yes but they didn’t know the depths of my depression nor did I want the too. I didn’t want to be saved from my depression, the depression was my friend. I whispered to myself every dark thought I have ever had about myself. I lay in bed for hours just thinking about how much of a waste of space I was, how ugly I am as a person. How unworthy I am to have the people in my life that I did have. I pushed away from people in my life, only talking to them when I had to, i cut myself again only once I needed the release, I needed to hurt myself, I needed to treat myself like the trash that I was. I would secretly drink so I could sleep. I would sleep for whole days, it was an effort to talk to people.
And then the depression started to lift, so what do I do… I seeked out her social media and I found away to check in and see that she was still alive. But looking at her social media hurt me, it made me sad. I missed her terribly but for all I could see she didn’t even think about me 20+ years and I ceased to exist in her world no second thought. This again confirmed that if I killed myself no one would care… The only thing stopping me was a tiny voice inside my head reminding me that my mum would care. But I lay in bed at night thinking over all the different ways I could kill myself. I could hang myself, score some drugs and take an overdose, slit my wrists, jump in front of a train, jump of a cliff, suffocate myself and I would go on and on with different ways to die. That’s how I put myself to sleep every night (I still do) and the only thing that stops me is a whisper that says you can’t do that to your mum, a tiny whispering voice of rationality that kept me from the oblivion I so wanted.
Its funny how one experience can snap you out of things, my depression has been with me my whole life and to be honest it is always there, even in my happiest of moment if I want to I can feel and dwell on the darkness in the back of my mind. And for 12+ months I have been actively in depression mode sometimes embracing it and holding it close, other times fighting it and pushing it down. Sometimes its strong and other times it is just a sadness that wont leave.
Tonight I did something stupid I sort out her social media once again… She has a blog now and I read it. I hurt again now because I realise now that I never really knew her and I never let her really know me. I read her inner thoughts or at least the ones she is willing to give to the interweb via a blog and I see I was just another person she used and it hurts so very badly, because I still am mourning the loss of her, I still feel the tear marks from her being ripped out of my life. I still feel like I was never good enough for her but now I feel like she knew all along that I was never good enough but that she kept me to get what she could out of me or because she thought I was pathetic or something I don’t know
I know I shouldn’t look to others to make me feel anything about myself but if I look to myself I have nothing but negativity to give… I just know that right now in this moment I feel small, weak, worthless, and so many other emotions but I hurt, I’m sad and I kinda wish I could go back to that numb girl with her outward anger and lifeless eyes. I was after all born with an IUD in my head that the doctors removed upon my birth. That IUD was supposed to abort any fertilized eggs from planting itself to the wall of my mums uterus - If only it had done its job.