*TRIGGER WARNING* This might be a little bit hard to handle. But this is just part of the whole story. Maybe I’ll write my life story one of these days. Please don’t read if you feel sensitive about abuse.
I tried to kill myself three times. The second and third was just an interval of a few months. The third was actually somewhat an unconscious attempt, as I just walked for hours in the middle of the road wishing that a vehicle will hit me and I end up dead. That was during my dark years.
But let me start with my first one. It was in my junior year. My parents were always fighting, shouting at each other and my older sister was always shouting at me too. It has been going on for years and I didn’t even know when it started. I felt that there was no love in our house and everybody hated each other. I was doing badly in school, I was not good at keeping friends and I felt left out. I felt so alone and that no one understood me. I tried to overdose myself by taking all the medicines that I can find at home. I didn’t know what they were but I just drank it all, three handfuls. I even wrote a suicide note before doing the deed, all ready to face eternity. I went to bed and thought that I would never wake up again. But I did. And I just felt so weirdly exhausted. Unfortunately, or fortunately, the capsules and tablets might have turned out to be just a mix of vitamins or paracetamol or antibiotics, I don’t know, but it didn’t kill me.
Then, I met someone who changed my mind in attempting to do it again. He was seven years older than me. He was already in college and I was treated like a princess. I fell inlove, or so I thought. I loved the attention he was giving me, I felt cared for, appreciated and important. He later on broke my heart, but with the confidence I gained from him, I continued living.
Problems continued at home, friends and lovers came and went. Four years later, I hooked up with someone new and as soon as I saw the opportunity, I ran away with him. He was broken just like me, and I felt that he was the only one who understood me. We lived together for about two years and eventually got married, out of our parent’s persuasion and traditional beliefs. Although he didn’t believe in marriage and claimed several times that it was just a piece of paper, that didn't stop the deed. I caught him cheating on me while I was pregnant but after a week, he went back and I forgave him. But, it’s not all happy ever after, as living with him was living in hell.
I was a battered girlfriend who became a battered wife. My husband, or rather, X-husband is bipolar. But I didn’t know that yet during that time. I just had hints that something was off. He basically has two sides and both extremely opposite from the other. When he is calm, he tends to be very sweet, romantic and the shy prim-and-proper type. He had this certain innocence in his smile that nobody would expect the real monster within. He easily gets irritated. And when he ticks, he’s so angry that all the curse words will come out of his mouth. Words that I didn’t know existed, even words I didn’t realize can be used as a curse word, you’d hear it from him. Petty things irritate him like forgetting his wallet or license, and he blames it on me. And when he gets frustrated, he hits me. Even when we are in the car, while he was driving, even in front of our baby or while I have him on my lap. I would cry and hug our baby and bury my face in his hair. I knew he felt my heartbeat, my sobs, my sadness, and strangely he was always just quiet and sitting still whenever this happens.
During the first instances, he hit me on parts of my body where people will never see marks. Like part of my arm hidden under the shirt sleeve, my back, my legs, my stomach, or anywhere hidden by clothes. But he was mostly fond of punching me on my head. He does these so many times that I already lost count. Later on, he became more violent and he didn’t care anymore if I had visible marks on my arms and even a black eye. One time he even poured a pitcher of ice cold water on me because I forgot to heat his dinner. And whenever someone sees a mark, I always made excuses and never said to anyone what was really going on.
At first, I was always arguing back, fighting back, trying to block his punches with my arms but he eventually wins, until I came to a point where I just kept still and silent. I got tired of the arguments and shouting back just takes too much energy, to no avail. I realized that the more I fight back, the more punches I get, the more pain comes my way. Until the time came that I just felt numb. I just didn’t care anymore. I lost all affection to him, I lost all the feelings. I was not attracted to anything about him any longer. I even questioned what love truly means. I don’t know anymore. Because of this, I was not able to give him the duties of the wife and either he forces me to do things, or forces himself to me.
There were times that I cry in the middle of the act and he slaps me, sometimes until he’s done or other times he yells at me on how worthless I am and orders me to get out of the room. Then, he either locks me out for hours, or I end up sleeping on the sofa until the next day. I felt disgusting and disgusted, by him and myself. I often prayed that he finds someone new again and just leave me alone, this time. And leave me for good.
I felt like I was going crazy. There were times when he’s at work and I’m alone at home, I hear voices screaming at me in my head. Sometimes they're all mumbles and lasts for only for a few seconds, sometimes the voices abruptly increases then decreases. Other times, I hear older women yelling like a voice passing by or circling over my head in lightning speed.
One night, in the middle of a fight, I tried to slash my wrist in front of him. I really wanted to die already. Stop all the pain, get away from him. But I only got a hold of a bread knife with a serrated edge which made it difficult to cut through the skin. So I needed to run it back and forth, just to make my wrist bleed. He saw everything but he just laughed at me and even dared me to just do it. He left me bleeding. I felt so weak physically and emotionally that I didn’t even feel the pain of the cuts. I lost consciousness. I thought I was already going to die.
Then I woke up, and the bleeding had stopped. I didn’t know how long I was out, but he was nowhere in sight. I cried. I tried to stand up, but my legs were weak. My hands were shaking. I was terrified. With all the energy I have left, I tried to hurriedly pack my clothes and whatever things I owned that I saw. I thought that this was my chance to run away. But in the middle of it all, I heard the car in the garage. He came back. In an instant he was beside me. He saw what I was doing and stopped me. He begged for forgiveness, hugged me, and cried too. He made promises and it seemed genuine. As crazy as it may sound, I still forgave him. I was afraid of him but I was still holding onto the hope that he will change. And everything will be alright.
TO BE CONTINUED...
---
photo credit: Upstairs by Rui Luís
I tried to kill myself three times. The second and third was just an interval of a few months. The third was actually somewhat an unconscious attempt, as I just walked for hours in the middle of the road wishing that a vehicle will hit me and I end up dead. That was during my dark years.
But let me start with my first one. It was in my junior year. My parents were always fighting, shouting at each other and my older sister was always shouting at me too. It has been going on for years and I didn’t even know when it started. I felt that there was no love in our house and everybody hated each other. I was doing badly in school, I was not good at keeping friends and I felt left out. I felt so alone and that no one understood me. I tried to overdose myself by taking all the medicines that I can find at home. I didn’t know what they were but I just drank it all, three handfuls. I even wrote a suicide note before doing the deed, all ready to face eternity. I went to bed and thought that I would never wake up again. But I did. And I just felt so weirdly exhausted. Unfortunately, or fortunately, the capsules and tablets might have turned out to be just a mix of vitamins or paracetamol or antibiotics, I don’t know, but it didn’t kill me.
Then, I met someone who changed my mind in attempting to do it again. He was seven years older than me. He was already in college and I was treated like a princess. I fell inlove, or so I thought. I loved the attention he was giving me, I felt cared for, appreciated and important. He later on broke my heart, but with the confidence I gained from him, I continued living.
Problems continued at home, friends and lovers came and went. Four years later, I hooked up with someone new and as soon as I saw the opportunity, I ran away with him. He was broken just like me, and I felt that he was the only one who understood me. We lived together for about two years and eventually got married, out of our parent’s persuasion and traditional beliefs. Although he didn’t believe in marriage and claimed several times that it was just a piece of paper, that didn't stop the deed. I caught him cheating on me while I was pregnant but after a week, he went back and I forgave him. But, it’s not all happy ever after, as living with him was living in hell.
I was a battered girlfriend who became a battered wife. My husband, or rather, X-husband is bipolar. But I didn’t know that yet during that time. I just had hints that something was off. He basically has two sides and both extremely opposite from the other. When he is calm, he tends to be very sweet, romantic and the shy prim-and-proper type. He had this certain innocence in his smile that nobody would expect the real monster within. He easily gets irritated. And when he ticks, he’s so angry that all the curse words will come out of his mouth. Words that I didn’t know existed, even words I didn’t realize can be used as a curse word, you’d hear it from him. Petty things irritate him like forgetting his wallet or license, and he blames it on me. And when he gets frustrated, he hits me. Even when we are in the car, while he was driving, even in front of our baby or while I have him on my lap. I would cry and hug our baby and bury my face in his hair. I knew he felt my heartbeat, my sobs, my sadness, and strangely he was always just quiet and sitting still whenever this happens.
During the first instances, he hit me on parts of my body where people will never see marks. Like part of my arm hidden under the shirt sleeve, my back, my legs, my stomach, or anywhere hidden by clothes. But he was mostly fond of punching me on my head. He does these so many times that I already lost count. Later on, he became more violent and he didn’t care anymore if I had visible marks on my arms and even a black eye. One time he even poured a pitcher of ice cold water on me because I forgot to heat his dinner. And whenever someone sees a mark, I always made excuses and never said to anyone what was really going on.
At first, I was always arguing back, fighting back, trying to block his punches with my arms but he eventually wins, until I came to a point where I just kept still and silent. I got tired of the arguments and shouting back just takes too much energy, to no avail. I realized that the more I fight back, the more punches I get, the more pain comes my way. Until the time came that I just felt numb. I just didn’t care anymore. I lost all affection to him, I lost all the feelings. I was not attracted to anything about him any longer. I even questioned what love truly means. I don’t know anymore. Because of this, I was not able to give him the duties of the wife and either he forces me to do things, or forces himself to me.
There were times that I cry in the middle of the act and he slaps me, sometimes until he’s done or other times he yells at me on how worthless I am and orders me to get out of the room. Then, he either locks me out for hours, or I end up sleeping on the sofa until the next day. I felt disgusting and disgusted, by him and myself. I often prayed that he finds someone new again and just leave me alone, this time. And leave me for good.
I felt like I was going crazy. There were times when he’s at work and I’m alone at home, I hear voices screaming at me in my head. Sometimes they're all mumbles and lasts for only for a few seconds, sometimes the voices abruptly increases then decreases. Other times, I hear older women yelling like a voice passing by or circling over my head in lightning speed.
One night, in the middle of a fight, I tried to slash my wrist in front of him. I really wanted to die already. Stop all the pain, get away from him. But I only got a hold of a bread knife with a serrated edge which made it difficult to cut through the skin. So I needed to run it back and forth, just to make my wrist bleed. He saw everything but he just laughed at me and even dared me to just do it. He left me bleeding. I felt so weak physically and emotionally that I didn’t even feel the pain of the cuts. I lost consciousness. I thought I was already going to die.
Then I woke up, and the bleeding had stopped. I didn’t know how long I was out, but he was nowhere in sight. I cried. I tried to stand up, but my legs were weak. My hands were shaking. I was terrified. With all the energy I have left, I tried to hurriedly pack my clothes and whatever things I owned that I saw. I thought that this was my chance to run away. But in the middle of it all, I heard the car in the garage. He came back. In an instant he was beside me. He saw what I was doing and stopped me. He begged for forgiveness, hugged me, and cried too. He made promises and it seemed genuine. As crazy as it may sound, I still forgave him. I was afraid of him but I was still holding onto the hope that he will change. And everything will be alright.
---
photo credit: Upstairs by Rui Luís
Posts
0 Comments
i love to chat and read about your own twisted thoughts. c'mon dont be scared to share them! i won't bite. in fact, if you have a blog or site, i'll surely visit and comment back. ★