..So I met my 6th grade playmate Keena in the psytchiatric unit. We were never really friends til we ended up in the looney bin together…ha ha! She grew up up in many foster homes because her parents didnt want her. She also suffered sexual abuse at the hands of the foster system. I know she was molested or raped and the last family that took her, just used her as a maid and as soon as she turned 18, they threw her out on her ass. My mom & I took her in a few times because she had nowhere to go. I wasnt about to let her sleep on the streets. She got involved with married men, men who didnt love her in a functional way, she got knocked up with a couple kids, etc…poor girl. Anyway, we were inseparable in the bin together. I remember one night we decided to not go to sleep and watch the sun rise from her room window….it was spectacular…what a memory. We became pretty good friends…I sometimes wonder what ever happened to her…sadly Im no good at keeping in touch with people. Then there was Damon…now this boy…he was something else. His story was published in the paper. He was only 19. He was drinking with some buddies out in the wilderness type of areas as did alot of underage youth would do in a small town…I did my share! Anyway, I guess the story is, they were drunk, hanging out, everything was cool til the 2 guys ganged up on him, both raped him, slit his throat with a knife and left him for dead. Some how, by the grace of God, he was wandering down the side of the road in a daze and someone saw him. I saw the thick rope scar across his neck…it went from one side to the other. Its a freakin miracle that he survived. That event really really f-d him up BAD. I watched him have meltdowns and just cry…I know he blamed god sometimes. He was so sad! I remember him asking me how God could have let this happen.r
I remember one time he wanted me to come back to his room to talk but I didnt because males & females were not allowed in the patients rooms together. I felt really bad because I knew something wasnt right with him…he seemed SO unstable. Anyway, it wasnt but a little while later that he came out and his hand was totally mangled and bleeding…alot. Apparently he lifted his matress, tore up the boxspring and was punching into it…repeatedly. I felt so horrible and guilty for not just talking to him…I wonder what he’s doing these days…..is he still alive? So yeah, thats Damon….sweet sweet Damon.
Now onto my release…everytime I was released from the psychiatric unit, I was terrified to leave and so sad to leave all these people who understood me and were just as f-ed up as I was. Anyway, life and mental pain continued as normal and I began to slice, cut, burn my arms, and bruise my knuckles punching concrete or walls. It was a way to numb what I was feeling and it worked WELL…it killed severe depression and sadness and apathy was born.
Everytime someone hurt me, I would internalize and hurt my self. I have used serrated edged knives, shaving razors ( I removed the razor), broken ..glass, Ive burned myself with cigarettes, stuck huge safety pins in my arms and closed them, how impressive is that? and punched concrete til my knuckles swelled and bruised. Apparently my mom used to beat her hands with a hairbrush..like mother like daughter! I prayed every night to die in some way or in my sleep. I didnt really want to die, I just didnt want to exist anymore. The depression was SO overwhelming plus I frequently had anxiety attacks…they made me feel like jumping through a glass window. I was living with my mom still at this point and I was just terrorizing her life with all my freakin craziness, manic episodes, self injuries, etc.
I remember one time she caught me hurting myself and she called my psychiatrist crying…he told her to call the police since I was a danger to myself…oh man did I freak out! The police? That really made it too real…That might have been the 2nd or third time I ended up in the nut house…I have a hard time recollecting memories in order.
I was always terrified of going into the psychiatric unit, but hated leaving…the irony.
Anyway, so Im back in there and I snuck a shaving razor in there so I could shave my legs…no big deal…I thought. I hid it in my light fixture. I brought it up one day in conversation to some patient for whatever reason, I dont remember why. Well as it turns out, , she was brought in because she overdosed on drugs trying to kill herself. She told the staff she was contemplating suicide using my shaving razor. Man was I in trouble. They accused me of purposely planting it so she would off her self…I was like what??? I was beside myself! Ive been alot of things in my life, but a killer I am not. Ive never even hurt an animal!
It actually went down on my psychiatric record that I did that on purpose. My psychiatrist totally didnt believe me. He was acting very angry and cold…. I mean, it felt like the twilight zone. Thank God, nothing legal was done…I dont think there was any proof of anything and luckily that lady never did anything to herself….I went to highschool with her son by the way….I think she was a teacher…how weird is that?? Im going to stop here because Im feeling a little all over the place….I will resume tomorrow.