The Journey of a Survivor

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I have been reading Being and Nothingness by Sartre. In one passage he suggests that its not the misery that motivates us to want to change—it’s the realization that things can be better. I have really been thinking a lot about this…towards the end of my drinking I was so incredibly miserable and yet I continued to drink. I had the sweats, shakes and vomited every morning and into the afternoon. My depression was so severe that many nights I sat drinking scotch with my loaded shot gun—suicide seemed to be the only option I had left. Somewhere deep inside there was this little grain of hope that things could change…I knew if I drank one more day I was going to kill myself, so I called a detox center and they got me in the following morning. I spent 10 days going through some pretty nasty withdrawal.   In my case I think Sartre might have been right—it was not the misery of drinking that made me want to stop—it was the desperate hope that things could get better—I had to believe that being sober was better than drinking before I could get sober. I had been sober before and I was just as miserable sober as I was drinking. This time when I got sober, I created a recovery plan and actively tried to change my life instead of just not drinking. So, for me, the most influential thing that got me sober was the realization that things could get better—that there had to be something worth living for—that dying was not all that was left for me.  <a href=”http://technorati.com/claim/rvrd5w27bm” rel=”me”>Technorati Profile</a>

This post contains triggers. I am a cutter and I don’t hide my scars. My scars speak of who I am, what I have gone through and who I am becoming. My numerous scars represent the violence that happened to me—the sexual abuse and neglect. They scream that I was raped as a child, they scream that I was beaten and tortured, they scream that I am hungry, they scream I need help, please help me…they softly whisper you are okay, the pain is gone, you are safe… There is no shame in cutting myself—it was a way to cope with overwhelming emotions. It was like taking a vacation—getting out of hell for a brief moment.

Today, my scars are part of who I am—there is no denying my past—it happened—it will never go away—no matter how much the world ignores it. So, go ahead and close your eyes and pretend you don’t see them…I don’t wear them as a badge of honor—I am not proud of them—I am not shoving it in your face, but then again I am not going to hide them to make you feel comfortable—to let you live in your “perfect” world of ignorance. So, ask me if you want or acknowledge them if you care…I understand that not everybody is strong enough to say something, but admit it in your heart…silently honor my innocent little child that the world failed to protect.

I am on a good run—almost 3 months without any major depression. I am stable on my meds and therapy is going well. I have determined that not being depressed does not mean you are happy all the time. Since I don’t have the escape of sleeping 16 hours a day or the intrusive thoughts to buffer me form reality—it seems like the world is constantly in my face. There is no escaping reality. My pdoc forgot to tell me that not being depressed would be so much work!

June the 1^st is going to be a big day for me. I graduate school, my parents arrive for a visit and I quit smoking. The stopping smoking is probably what scares me the most—I can handle the graduation and the parents.

…although I have been successful in life, I feel like an imposter–like somebody is going to discover who I really am and then I will have to go back to where I came from. It’s like there is my old world and then this new world that I am in…the old world is alcoholic, violent, white trailer trash. The new world is the professional, educated, peaceful, employed world. In many ways I don’t yet feel like I fit in the new world and I sure don’t feel comfortable in the old world. Its like I am in limbo in-between the worlds. I feel a little insecure and uncomfortable with my place in life. I continuously deny my accomplishments and have abandonment issues. Like I have not allowed myself to accept or feel good about getting my graduate degree–I feel like somebody is going to take it away from me. I often feel like my pdoc and T are going to stop seeing me–that they will soon discover that I am not worth their time–they are part of the new world. I think sometimes I sabotage myself because I don’t believe I deserve to be successful. I really feel like I have made it through most of my issues in therapy–all of them except this one–this is the one that is holding me back–keeping me from being happy. Well, and my clinical depression but I think that is chemical. No amount of therapy will make that go away.

The abuse that I suffered at home made me painfully shy and terrified of the teachers. Every adult in my life had hurt me and I expected no less from the teachers. Because I was so scared to talk, they assumed I could not read and placed me in the “turtle” reading group. I will never forget this because it told me I was slow and bad. The truth was, I was extremely intelligent and a very good reader. The humiliation of being in the slow group was intense—I will never forget being called a turtle. I could never answer the questions in math because my brain just quit working when I was faced with going to the board or talking in front of the class. I remember the trembling and I often cried in class because I was so scared of being humiliated.

I never did my homework because I did not have a place at home to do it—at that time 7 of us lived in an old 2 bedroom trailer. Also, no adult would even think about helping me. My life at home was consumed with trying to get enough to eat and staying away from the violent adults. One time in the 4^th grade, my teacher talked with my grandma about me not doing my homework. It led to the worse beating of my little life. As children, we had a rule—never, ever, interfere when another was getting beaten—often it just made things worse. But, my brother was scared for me, so he stepped in and ended up getting beat too.  

I hated school. The ridicule and humiliation was absolutely cruel. Words can’t describe how I felt when I sat in a desk amongst my peers. Of course I got bad enough grades they tested me to see if I was smart enough to be in the 6^th grade. I tested as a genius and was reading and comprehending at a college level. How did I do that? Sometimes I think of the potential that was wasted all those years—really grade school through high school.

So, I pulled myself together in my 20s and went back to school. I spent 2 years in a junior college learning enough math to qualify for a major university—that was my one major weakness. Basically, I just never learned it. My time at the major university was difficult—to say the least. Some semesters I was tutored everyday. But, I persevered and applied myself. During all this time I also had a full time job, so life was not easy. However, I graduated cum laude and was phi beta kappa. It took a lot of hard work, but I did it. I was the first and so far the only person in my family to go to college. This quarter I finish my masters degree. Somehow, I just never gave up—they never won—I won.   

Well tomorrow I defend my masters. Wow, it’s been a long road getting here—4 years of schooling for my masters degree. I have been working full time and going to school, so school feels like it has taken forever. The good thing is I will have no school loans from my masters. I still owe money from my undergrad, but I am slowly paying that off.

I am tired of school. I am ready to graduate. Really, I think I am burnt out on school. I spend 2 years in a junior college, 4 years in my undergrad and now part time graduate school for 4 years. I am ready for a break. Through all my schooling I have held fulltime jobs to help pay the bills.

The hardest part right now is facing my masters committee. I have to defend my work and prove I know what I am talking about. Prove that I have learned enough to earn a masters degree. That’s a lot of pressure. I am so horrible at talking in front of others…I am afraid I am going to forget everything I know. I don’t really have great self esteem so this is going to be real hard on me. I am terrified of failing. I should be hitting the books right now, but I am too nervous.

It’s pretty amazing that a person like me is getting a masters degree. Considering my background I could have just given in and been an unemployed alcoholic like the rest of my family. I have fought and clawed my way through all this. It has not been easy—being the first in my family to go to college has been a challenge. I have had no support—my father said I was wasting my time—I should be at home having children. But, here I am—ready for the big day. I hope I am lucky tomorrow—that’s what its going to take—a little bit of luck.

I am frustrated. I am doing everything I am suppose to be doing—therapy, support group, journaling, taking my meds like it is a religion, getting outside of myself and helping others …is there something I am missing? I am trying so hard, but it does not seem to help. I have determined my actions have no impact on my moods. Shit, I might as well quit trying—all I am doing is spinning my wheels—wasting my time and energy. I am wasting your time. I am wasting therapist’s time. You know, it is almost cruel to get a month here and there that feels almost good—it is a reminder of what I am missing in life. I get my hopes up, but then they are immediately shattered. Maybe I should just stop all my meds and just give into the depression—let it take me down. Just give up and stop fighting. I am eventually going to end up there anyway. No matter what I do—its all a big lie—its all just a waste. I gotta question if this is even worth it—a month here and there where life is tolerable—spending most of my time going down or being down. This is just not fucking fair. Why the hell me? What did I do to deserve this? What the hell is wrong with my brain and how come you can’t fix it? Jesus, I wish you had a magic wand and you could make all this go away—make me a normal person. Life is such a battle. I am tired of fighting. I am just plain tired. I am tired of living like this. How much longer? We can raise my meds…until we max them out just like we maxed out the wellbutrin, just like we maxed out the abilify. Then what? Then what are we going to do? And while we are maxing out the meds am I going to be up or down? And at what point are you going to get frustrated and tell me there is nothing more you can do for me? Then what? Then what the fuck am I going to do? Are people chronic like this forever? Is it always going to be like this? I keep replaying your words—when you said there is always something we can do…does that mean I am going to keep cycling like this and we are just going to keep trying new things? Does that mean I am never going to get stable? I know your words meant don’t give up…so I try, I try not to give up, but I don’t know…it gets harder and harder everyday.