I'm not going to lie...I got lucky.
I still can't tell you what happened, entirely. All I know is that I was trying to die, and then I wasn't. For 21 years, there's been this underlying self-hatred in me that I couldn't figure out. Two years ago, I saw the demise of my dignity, my innocence, my self-respect, and all that I counted safe. My will to live had gone to shit. And then, I started getting better. What the dripping fuck.
I do know this: that on Sunday 2 weeks ago, I was driving around looking for a place to die. I was resigned and determined. I was numb and I was going to end it. And I know something else, too: without a select group of my friends, I would without a doubt be fucking dead right now.
So thank you guys, you friends of mine who got me here. Holydumbfuck. I wish I had words and actions enough to show you what you've done. I'm fucking happy to be alive now. I feel safe again. I LIKE myself. I wish I could fucking thank you properly for this.
Healing is a confusing territory. You look at your eyes in the mirror and start to say what you've always said, "You're fucking worthless." You look at your body, "You're fucking damaged." You look at your friends and family and think, "I don't fucking deserve you." You look at your life and say, "I don't deserve that either." But then you stop yourself, because you can't say that shit with any conviction anymore. It's so strange opening your eyes and looking at the same ceiling you've been staring at for years and not thinking, "Why the hell did I wake up?" It feels ok to laugh, and to smile. When people say, "You're beautiful," it doesn't hurt anymore. And you can look yourself in the eye for quite possibly the first time and know that somewhere in there is a kid who deserves a fucking chance.
Yes, there will be bad days, days where what you knew before seems safer than what you know now. There will be days for me where I will want to hide, there will be times when the memories are too much and I throw up or pass out. There will be moments when I look at myself and don't like what I see. I will still get scared around people who are angry because I'm waiting for them to hit me. It will seem safer for me to become the sick girl I was before. But you and I, we just have to remember that nothing good ever comes easy. Healing doesn't. I hit the fucking bottom before I got where I am now. But that makes it all the sweeter when you look back. And in the end, it's so much better not to be afraid. It's so much better.
I have to remember to keep working. Keep moving on. Keep getting better. After all, I'm still alive, right? Where there's life, there's hope.
Hang on,
Ness
Wednesday 30 March 2011
Tuesday 29 March 2011
Crystal Stair
This guy knew his shit.
I was introduced to this poem by one of my favorite drive-through customers. I don't know who wrote it, but this dude knew his shit.
Well, son, I'll tell you:
Life for me ain't been no crystal stair.
It's had tacks in it,
And splinters,
And boards torn up,
And places with no carpet on the floor --
Bare.
But all the time
I'se been a-climbin' on,
And reachin' landin's,
And turnin' corners,
And sometimes goin' in the dark
Where there ain't been no light.
So boy, don't you turn back.
Don't you set down on the steps
'Cause you finds it's kinder hard.
Don't you fall now --
For I'se still goin', honey,
I'se still climbin',
And life for me ain't been no crystal stair.
This is life, people. Don't you dare sit down, don't you dare quit climbing, or it will never get better.
Hang on,
Ness
I was introduced to this poem by one of my favorite drive-through customers. I don't know who wrote it, but this dude knew his shit.
Well, son, I'll tell you:
Life for me ain't been no crystal stair.
It's had tacks in it,
And splinters,
And boards torn up,
And places with no carpet on the floor --
Bare.
But all the time
I'se been a-climbin' on,
And reachin' landin's,
And turnin' corners,
And sometimes goin' in the dark
Where there ain't been no light.
So boy, don't you turn back.
Don't you set down on the steps
'Cause you finds it's kinder hard.
Don't you fall now --
For I'se still goin', honey,
I'se still climbin',
And life for me ain't been no crystal stair.
This is life, people. Don't you dare sit down, don't you dare quit climbing, or it will never get better.
Hang on,
Ness
Sunday 27 March 2011
Proceed With Caution. [This is a graphic post. It will be difficult for some of you to read. You can skip this one.]
Today's post isn't easy to write.
This is all the stuff that I've tried not to think about. These are the memories they tell me that I have to face in order to heal. And to tell you the truth, I'm terrified to go back there. But I don't want to carry this forever.
Where to begin? I guess the beginning...you've already seen the end.
Back in 2008 and 2009, I was seeing this guy. I'm not going to give him a name, but we were kind of dating, I guess you could say. I say 'kind of' because he kept saying we were, then we weren't, then we were, and so on. Fuck that shit. Anyway, he was the first guy to say 'I love you' to me, I was naive, he was such a rebel, blah blah blah. Fact of the matter is, I should have listened to my friends when they said to stay away from him.
One day, he pulls out his stash of weed and says, "I'm not taking you home unless you smoke this with me." What the fucking point of that was, I'm not sure, but I smoked it. I now know that I'm allergic to marijuana. I also know that I was stupid to put myself in that position.
A few weeks later, he decided that I was going to start playing games with him. In order to be able to get home, I had to do whatever he had in mind that day. This usually involved taking off all my clothes, letting him touch me everywhere he wanted to, performing oral sex, and unfortunately letting him do the same. When it was time to stop playing games, he'd take me home and I would take a shower and usually throw up. I kinda feel like throwing up now, actually.
The sad thing was that part of me thought that this was how love went. Part of me was pretty damn sure that everybody did this and that sooner or later I'd get used to it.
He liked mind games too. He'd ask me questions, all sorts of questions that I didn't want to answer, or he'd ask questions to see how I would react to whatever game he wanted to play next. It made me fucking sick. One day he asked me what I'd do if I got raped and if I'd blame myself and I fucking wish I'd answered differently. But I didn't really know that this wasnt how love worked. So I told myself I'd get used to it just like all the other girls did.
Sometimes, I just couldn't handle it. I created Baby to handle it for me. Baby was strong, Baby couldn't feel sick like Ness did. Baby played some of the games because Ness couldn't do it anymore.
On february 8th of 2009, playing this particular game wasn't enough anymore. I had told him countless times before to please never make me have sex with him but this time that was the game we were gonna play. I feel sick writing this, I feel so fucking sick right now but I have to do this or I'll never be rid of it. Anyway. I didn't have time for Baby to take over. I was there, helpless the whole fucking time. He made these awful noises, these horrible noises that I can't get out of my head sometimes. It hurt. It hurt real bad. I was so fucking scared. His fucking skin. He was everywhere and I tried to fight but I just couldn't get him off of me. I can remember the room, I can remember his hands, how he smelled, I can remember everything and i fucking hate it. I was sick and I still get sick.
I was saving that. I was fucking saving myself for someone who loved me. I wanted to decide when my 'first time' was, I wanted to decide who to share that with. And I didn't get to. I didn't get to do it. He just fucking took it. He fucking made me worthless. Made me afraid. Made me want to hide.
He told me that I was damaged now.
When I got home, I rubbed my skin raw trying to get the filth off. It didn't come off and I realized then that this was permanent. This was rape, and it wasn't going to go away.
He was right. Damaged.
I wanted die. The voices in my head told me to because I was worthless now. I'd been violated, ripped to shreds and I'd never be worth anything.
It took a really, really long time to come back from that. I'm hoping this blog helps somebody out there because this shit isn't easy to write. I have what I'm pretty sure is PTSD now...I throw up, pass out, get flashbacks, nightmares. I'm terrified of feeling trapped. If somebody touches me and I'm not expecting it, I freak the fuck out. I'm afraid of the dark, I'm afraid of the fucking city that it happened in. If I hear the word 'rape' or they put it in a book or I see it in a movie, I freak out inside. Everything comes back and I have to run as fast as I can or get in my car and drive really fast. I used to straight up pass out but I'm getting better with that one.
Anyway. The reason for this post is that for the first time, I feel like I'll be ok if I write it. I have revisited all of these horrible, sickening memories and for the first time, they haven't gotten the better of me. I hope this helps me get better. I hope if you read this and this shit happened to you, then reading the rest of the shit I've posted on this blog can help you see that just because somebody took what wasn't theirs and made you afraid and fucked you up and called you damaged and ruined your life and broke you into pieces...you're still worth it. And if you try hard and you do what needs doing and you remind yourself that you're worth it, that you're still special and you're still the same person you were before he broke you, you're gonna be ok. You're the same little girl who used to dream of wearing a big white dress on your wedding day. And guess what? You can still fucking wear white. It wasn't your fault. Your innocence may be fucking gone for good, but you are innocent of this crime. You're the same girl who was ok before this and one day you'll be ok again. I am. And god help the ones who taught us what it is to fear...but hold out for the one who will teach you what it is to love.
You're fucking perfect. And so am I.
Hang on,
Ness
This is all the stuff that I've tried not to think about. These are the memories they tell me that I have to face in order to heal. And to tell you the truth, I'm terrified to go back there. But I don't want to carry this forever.
Where to begin? I guess the beginning...you've already seen the end.
Back in 2008 and 2009, I was seeing this guy. I'm not going to give him a name, but we were kind of dating, I guess you could say. I say 'kind of' because he kept saying we were, then we weren't, then we were, and so on. Fuck that shit. Anyway, he was the first guy to say 'I love you' to me, I was naive, he was such a rebel, blah blah blah. Fact of the matter is, I should have listened to my friends when they said to stay away from him.
One day, he pulls out his stash of weed and says, "I'm not taking you home unless you smoke this with me." What the fucking point of that was, I'm not sure, but I smoked it. I now know that I'm allergic to marijuana. I also know that I was stupid to put myself in that position.
A few weeks later, he decided that I was going to start playing games with him. In order to be able to get home, I had to do whatever he had in mind that day. This usually involved taking off all my clothes, letting him touch me everywhere he wanted to, performing oral sex, and unfortunately letting him do the same. When it was time to stop playing games, he'd take me home and I would take a shower and usually throw up. I kinda feel like throwing up now, actually.
The sad thing was that part of me thought that this was how love went. Part of me was pretty damn sure that everybody did this and that sooner or later I'd get used to it.
He liked mind games too. He'd ask me questions, all sorts of questions that I didn't want to answer, or he'd ask questions to see how I would react to whatever game he wanted to play next. It made me fucking sick. One day he asked me what I'd do if I got raped and if I'd blame myself and I fucking wish I'd answered differently. But I didn't really know that this wasnt how love worked. So I told myself I'd get used to it just like all the other girls did.
Sometimes, I just couldn't handle it. I created Baby to handle it for me. Baby was strong, Baby couldn't feel sick like Ness did. Baby played some of the games because Ness couldn't do it anymore.
On february 8th of 2009, playing this particular game wasn't enough anymore. I had told him countless times before to please never make me have sex with him but this time that was the game we were gonna play. I feel sick writing this, I feel so fucking sick right now but I have to do this or I'll never be rid of it. Anyway. I didn't have time for Baby to take over. I was there, helpless the whole fucking time. He made these awful noises, these horrible noises that I can't get out of my head sometimes. It hurt. It hurt real bad. I was so fucking scared. His fucking skin. He was everywhere and I tried to fight but I just couldn't get him off of me. I can remember the room, I can remember his hands, how he smelled, I can remember everything and i fucking hate it. I was sick and I still get sick.
I was saving that. I was fucking saving myself for someone who loved me. I wanted to decide when my 'first time' was, I wanted to decide who to share that with. And I didn't get to. I didn't get to do it. He just fucking took it. He fucking made me worthless. Made me afraid. Made me want to hide.
He told me that I was damaged now.
When I got home, I rubbed my skin raw trying to get the filth off. It didn't come off and I realized then that this was permanent. This was rape, and it wasn't going to go away.
He was right. Damaged.
I wanted die. The voices in my head told me to because I was worthless now. I'd been violated, ripped to shreds and I'd never be worth anything.
It took a really, really long time to come back from that. I'm hoping this blog helps somebody out there because this shit isn't easy to write. I have what I'm pretty sure is PTSD now...I throw up, pass out, get flashbacks, nightmares. I'm terrified of feeling trapped. If somebody touches me and I'm not expecting it, I freak the fuck out. I'm afraid of the dark, I'm afraid of the fucking city that it happened in. If I hear the word 'rape' or they put it in a book or I see it in a movie, I freak out inside. Everything comes back and I have to run as fast as I can or get in my car and drive really fast. I used to straight up pass out but I'm getting better with that one.
Anyway. The reason for this post is that for the first time, I feel like I'll be ok if I write it. I have revisited all of these horrible, sickening memories and for the first time, they haven't gotten the better of me. I hope this helps me get better. I hope if you read this and this shit happened to you, then reading the rest of the shit I've posted on this blog can help you see that just because somebody took what wasn't theirs and made you afraid and fucked you up and called you damaged and ruined your life and broke you into pieces...you're still worth it. And if you try hard and you do what needs doing and you remind yourself that you're worth it, that you're still special and you're still the same person you were before he broke you, you're gonna be ok. You're the same little girl who used to dream of wearing a big white dress on your wedding day. And guess what? You can still fucking wear white. It wasn't your fault. Your innocence may be fucking gone for good, but you are innocent of this crime. You're the same girl who was ok before this and one day you'll be ok again. I am. And god help the ones who taught us what it is to fear...but hold out for the one who will teach you what it is to love.
You're fucking perfect. And so am I.
Hang on,
Ness
Saturday 26 March 2011
Proceed To The Nearest Exit
Fucking jump.
I like to bitchcliff jump. Meaning that several times during the summer, I drive all the way out to my cliff jumping spot, climb to the top of the biggest rock, stare down at the water for 45 minutes, and retreat to the bitch rock. The bitch rock is a substantially smaller outcropping with a substantially smaller risk of imminent belly-flopping injury.
This year, though, I reeeeally want to jump off the hard-ass rock. Every time I think about it, I get this nice little adrenaline rush. Then I remember that I'm making plans for the near future and I get an even better rush because I'm going to fucking be around this summer to see these plans through. Holy fucking hell, people. This is so cool.
This time last month, the only reason I would have considered planning a jump would be to ensure that my head smashed into the side of the rock on my way down. THAT would have been the reason for any and all subsequent adrenaline rushes. Holy fucking hell, who does that.
To date, I have had only 2 panic attacks since Sunday. I used to get at least 2 panic attacks almost every fucking day. I haven't tried to hurt myself once. I've stopped starving myself and have been controlling something else instead: my music. I have felt something along the lines of happiness every day just because I'm alive. I'm making plans with every intention to see them fulfilled. This has got to be the greatest thing in the world.
Hang on,
Ness
I like to bitchcliff jump. Meaning that several times during the summer, I drive all the way out to my cliff jumping spot, climb to the top of the biggest rock, stare down at the water for 45 minutes, and retreat to the bitch rock. The bitch rock is a substantially smaller outcropping with a substantially smaller risk of imminent belly-flopping injury.
This year, though, I reeeeally want to jump off the hard-ass rock. Every time I think about it, I get this nice little adrenaline rush. Then I remember that I'm making plans for the near future and I get an even better rush because I'm going to fucking be around this summer to see these plans through. Holy fucking hell, people. This is so cool.
This time last month, the only reason I would have considered planning a jump would be to ensure that my head smashed into the side of the rock on my way down. THAT would have been the reason for any and all subsequent adrenaline rushes. Holy fucking hell, who does that.
To date, I have had only 2 panic attacks since Sunday. I used to get at least 2 panic attacks almost every fucking day. I haven't tried to hurt myself once. I've stopped starving myself and have been controlling something else instead: my music. I have felt something along the lines of happiness every day just because I'm alive. I'm making plans with every intention to see them fulfilled. This has got to be the greatest thing in the world.
Hang on,
Ness
Friday 25 March 2011
What To Do In The Event Of An Emergency
Sometimes, it helps to remember.
So, when I feel the need to remind myself that everything has changed and that I am getting better and that I don't need to be afraid, I look through texts my friends have sent me. Here's one of my favorites.
"The strongest materials are formed in the harshest environments and far outlast and outshine all others. You may have gone through Hell but you made it out."
Hang on,
Ness
So, when I feel the need to remind myself that everything has changed and that I am getting better and that I don't need to be afraid, I look through texts my friends have sent me. Here's one of my favorites.
"The strongest materials are formed in the harshest environments and far outlast and outshine all others. You may have gone through Hell but you made it out."
Hang on,
Ness
Thursday 24 March 2011
Happy Is A Yuppie Word
I just want to point this out...
Right now, at this moment in time, I am happy.
I am not afraid. I am not depressed. I am not angry. I do not want to die.
It's such a clean feeling. It's so new. And I don't know how I lived without it. But I'll tell you this: I don't want to go back to the familiarity of being dead inside. No matter how foreign the territory of 'being ok' may get, I'll take it any day.
Fuck yes.
Hang on,
Ness
Right now, at this moment in time, I am happy.
I am not afraid. I am not depressed. I am not angry. I do not want to die.
It's such a clean feeling. It's so new. And I don't know how I lived without it. But I'll tell you this: I don't want to go back to the familiarity of being dead inside. No matter how foreign the territory of 'being ok' may get, I'll take it any day.
Fuck yes.
Hang on,
Ness
Hope Is A Phoenix
Hope is something that I won't trade for anything.
Life, without hope, is totally pointless. This I know.
Somehow I lost my hope...maybe I lost it when I lost my innocence, or my dignity, or my self-respect, or my will to live, or any of the other things I've misplaced in my 21 years. Wherever it went, my life went to shit without it. I stopped hoping that one day, my ass would be worth saving. I stopped trying to get better. I started begging my friends to let me go, to give me their permission to die. I didn't want to live with myself anymore...with no hope, you can't get better. And I will be the first to say that I was sick.
Let's play a game: I like games. Visualize whatever you hate most in this world. What makes you fucking sick to your stomach? What makes your skin crawl? What do you hate so much, you wish you could just smash it to death with your bare hands? Now imagine that thing inside you. Imagine that thing inside your mind. That's how I felt every day. I didn't want to be saved because that meant whatever I hated would survive too. I wanted to kill us both. Because hope had abandoned me, and that meant that I could never get better. Which means that I had to die.
I'm not sure what brought my hope back. All I really know is that over the course of my life, there have been people who have cut through the bullshit I like to use as a smokescreen and they have seen me for what I really am. I couldn't even see me for what I was, but they could and they did. These people have shaped me, have broken me down into pieces and then built me back to what I am now. And it is to these people that I owe my life, because they made it worth something to me. I guess that's because it was worth something to them. I can't figure out just what it was on Sunday that made me feel like it was ok to stop hating myself, but something was said or done or something that just kind of changed my mind about killing what I hated, which was me.
Somebody pointed out to me that this was a decision. Yes, I had forgotten. Suicide became my 'hope' for awhile, then it became an expectation, then a reality. But it wasn't some impending event...it was my decision. And one's mind, when made up, can be changed.
Holy fucking shit, are you kidding me. Slapped in the motherfucking face.
Hope is a motherfucking phoenix, people. Sometimes, when things get real fucking dark, it dies. But it always comes back.
Hang on,
Ness
| Hope — n | |
| 1. | ( sometimes plural ) a feeling of desire for something and confidence in the possibility of its fulfilment: his hope for peace was justified ; their hopes were dashed |
| 2. | a reasonable ground for this feeling: there is still hope |
| 3. | a person or thing that gives cause for hope |
| 4. | a thing, situation, or event that is desired: my hope is that prices will fall |
Somehow I lost my hope...maybe I lost it when I lost my innocence, or my dignity, or my self-respect, or my will to live, or any of the other things I've misplaced in my 21 years. Wherever it went, my life went to shit without it. I stopped hoping that one day, my ass would be worth saving. I stopped trying to get better. I started begging my friends to let me go, to give me their permission to die. I didn't want to live with myself anymore...with no hope, you can't get better. And I will be the first to say that I was sick.
Let's play a game: I like games. Visualize whatever you hate most in this world. What makes you fucking sick to your stomach? What makes your skin crawl? What do you hate so much, you wish you could just smash it to death with your bare hands? Now imagine that thing inside you. Imagine that thing inside your mind. That's how I felt every day. I didn't want to be saved because that meant whatever I hated would survive too. I wanted to kill us both. Because hope had abandoned me, and that meant that I could never get better. Which means that I had to die.
I'm not sure what brought my hope back. All I really know is that over the course of my life, there have been people who have cut through the bullshit I like to use as a smokescreen and they have seen me for what I really am. I couldn't even see me for what I was, but they could and they did. These people have shaped me, have broken me down into pieces and then built me back to what I am now. And it is to these people that I owe my life, because they made it worth something to me. I guess that's because it was worth something to them. I can't figure out just what it was on Sunday that made me feel like it was ok to stop hating myself, but something was said or done or something that just kind of changed my mind about killing what I hated, which was me.
Somebody pointed out to me that this was a decision. Yes, I had forgotten. Suicide became my 'hope' for awhile, then it became an expectation, then a reality. But it wasn't some impending event...it was my decision. And one's mind, when made up, can be changed.
Holy fucking shit, are you kidding me. Slapped in the motherfucking face.
Hope is a motherfucking phoenix, people. Sometimes, when things get real fucking dark, it dies. But it always comes back.
Hang on,
Ness
Wednesday 23 March 2011
The End
Sunday, March 20th was supposed to be my last day alive.
Ever since I can remember, I have been depressed and I have hated myself. How a child who doesn't understand hate could hate herself, I'm not sure, but that's been the case all my life. Over the past few months, surviving was about all I could do.
I was obsessed with suicide. I knew it was coming, I just didn't know when or how. I did everything I could to destroy myself while waiting for the perfect time to end myself. A 21-year-old time bomb. I starved myself, I cut myself, I'd go without sleep, I'd go places where I knew I could get hurt. I was trying to die by a combination of methods that absolved me of any responsibility.
It all came to a head on Sunday. But things weren't ready. I had bills waiting to be paid and I didn't want to leave my family to pick up my pieces. So I decided to wait a week.
Fortunately for me, I have a couple friends that you'd probably envy. They've saved me before, but this time it was different. And without going into too much detail, I will tell you that one of my friends proved to me without a doubt that I am worth saving.
I can't really figure out how to describe it to you...it's like something snapped into place. I went from being the Ness that I had always known--a worthless piece of shit who didn't deserve to live--to somebody worth saving. I haven't tried to hurt myself once. I haven't thought about killing myself. For the first time in a really, really long time, I've been happy. And holy shit, it feels so good. It feels so good to feel like I deserve to live. It feels so fucking good to be alive.
Hang on,
Ness
Ever since I can remember, I have been depressed and I have hated myself. How a child who doesn't understand hate could hate herself, I'm not sure, but that's been the case all my life. Over the past few months, surviving was about all I could do.
I was obsessed with suicide. I knew it was coming, I just didn't know when or how. I did everything I could to destroy myself while waiting for the perfect time to end myself. A 21-year-old time bomb. I starved myself, I cut myself, I'd go without sleep, I'd go places where I knew I could get hurt. I was trying to die by a combination of methods that absolved me of any responsibility.
It all came to a head on Sunday. But things weren't ready. I had bills waiting to be paid and I didn't want to leave my family to pick up my pieces. So I decided to wait a week.
Fortunately for me, I have a couple friends that you'd probably envy. They've saved me before, but this time it was different. And without going into too much detail, I will tell you that one of my friends proved to me without a doubt that I am worth saving.
I can't really figure out how to describe it to you...it's like something snapped into place. I went from being the Ness that I had always known--a worthless piece of shit who didn't deserve to live--to somebody worth saving. I haven't tried to hurt myself once. I haven't thought about killing myself. For the first time in a really, really long time, I've been happy. And holy shit, it feels so good. It feels so good to feel like I deserve to live. It feels so fucking good to be alive.
Hang on,
Ness
The Beginning
Hello, my name is Ness. This is my blog.
I have been controlled for far too long by the things I fear. I am ready to come into my own.
This is the life story of an ugly duckling growing up to be a beautiful fucking swan.
I hope you enjoy the ride.
Hang on,
Ness
I have been controlled for far too long by the things I fear. I am ready to come into my own.
This is the life story of an ugly duckling growing up to be a beautiful fucking swan.
I hope you enjoy the ride.
Hang on,
Ness
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