Doll
July 24th, 2013, 12:09 PM
This may be a little bit long, as I feel I have to give a bit of back story to get you to understand my relationship with my mother.
When I was eight we moved from Atlanta, Georgia to a small town in North Carolina. For some reason this triggered a lot of psychological issues with my brother- he was already pretty bad, but this made it worse. He's three years older than me. He was physically and mentally abusive. He's stabbed me in the hand and tried to kill me multiple times. He wouldn't let me eat in the house because the sound annoyed him, so if I was he'd either start beating me or throw out whatever I was eating. My parents both worked all day so they couldn't really do anything about it. Lane, my brother, was also very suicidal- like he tried to kill himself about once a week. My mother had already lost a child and she has a lot of anxiety, also heart problems- so she didn't handle any of this very well. She was constantly in tears, and I was her rock. I had to comfort her while I was terrified, and I just learned to not feel anything. I wouldn't cry and I wouldn't look scared or anything. And so that just became how I dealt with things. And it's always driven her crazy that I don't talk about anything.
My mother is all about appearances- she was the head of the PTA, went to brunch with all of her friends every Sunday after church, etc. Very 50's housewife. So when she found out I was cutting, she freaked out and told me I had to stop because what if people found out? And every time she saw it she yelled at me to put on a jacket. She still does this, but now she constantly cries. She asks me why I'm doing this to her, and what she did wrong. My father just screams at me.
My depression and anxiety had gotten extremely bad at the beginning of my junior year, as well as an eating disorder that I had developed freshman year. My mother encouraged this at the time- she caught me throwing up and said it was fine as long as I did it in the bathroom. She had always told me I was fat.
The cutting was also getting really deep. So my mother sent me to therapy every other Monday.
I love my therapist, but I still have a hard time talking about all of this. I attempted suicide in February. About two months later, I went to a psychiatrist who prescribed me Lexipro. But I've never taken a single pill. I guess it's just out of self hatred. I don't deserve to be happy.
I kind of go through waves of depression and everything- I'll stop eating for three months, then eat normally for two. Then I stop again. Or I'll be really suicidal for two weeks, then fine for a while. I just go through waves I guess.
So this was during a good time, and I was okay for like a month. Then I got really bad again. But I couldn't tell my mother or anyone else for that matter because they thought I was taking this drug and that I was just magically okay.
But it's gotten to the point that I'm constantly suicidal, and I've begun binge eating all day- like I never stop eating. I feel panicky when I'm not. I've started taking sleeping pills because I don't want to be awake anymore. I don't want to leave my house or go to school or even go see friends. Two reasons- I'm just tired of life and I just want to stay here, and I feel like I'm too disgusting for everyone else to have to look at. Life just seems pointless to me now, and I've gotten so lonely that it's almost unbearable. I just constantly feel a need for affection.
Also, I'm afraid I'm going to turn to smoking and drinking constantly. I crave it all the time, because it makes me not think about things and just fall asleep. However I don't think this would be a good thing to tell my mother because both my father and my brother were alcoholics, as well as her father, so she'd freak out.
But I feel like I deserve all of this. I've started doing other, weirder forms of self harm, like dipping my tongue in cayenne pepper because it burns so much. I guess I'm just punishing myself.
And I feel like there's nothing wrong with me and I'm just whining, so I have no reason or right to be concerned or to want help.
But I'm falling apart and I don't know how much longer I can last.
How do I talk to my mother about this? How do I get her to actually listen to me, instead of just crying and "blaming herself"?
How do I get her to realize that I'm serious, and if something doesn't change soon, I'm going to end my life?
When I was eight we moved from Atlanta, Georgia to a small town in North Carolina. For some reason this triggered a lot of psychological issues with my brother- he was already pretty bad, but this made it worse. He's three years older than me. He was physically and mentally abusive. He's stabbed me in the hand and tried to kill me multiple times. He wouldn't let me eat in the house because the sound annoyed him, so if I was he'd either start beating me or throw out whatever I was eating. My parents both worked all day so they couldn't really do anything about it. Lane, my brother, was also very suicidal- like he tried to kill himself about once a week. My mother had already lost a child and she has a lot of anxiety, also heart problems- so she didn't handle any of this very well. She was constantly in tears, and I was her rock. I had to comfort her while I was terrified, and I just learned to not feel anything. I wouldn't cry and I wouldn't look scared or anything. And so that just became how I dealt with things. And it's always driven her crazy that I don't talk about anything.
My mother is all about appearances- she was the head of the PTA, went to brunch with all of her friends every Sunday after church, etc. Very 50's housewife. So when she found out I was cutting, she freaked out and told me I had to stop because what if people found out? And every time she saw it she yelled at me to put on a jacket. She still does this, but now she constantly cries. She asks me why I'm doing this to her, and what she did wrong. My father just screams at me.
My depression and anxiety had gotten extremely bad at the beginning of my junior year, as well as an eating disorder that I had developed freshman year. My mother encouraged this at the time- she caught me throwing up and said it was fine as long as I did it in the bathroom. She had always told me I was fat.
The cutting was also getting really deep. So my mother sent me to therapy every other Monday.
I love my therapist, but I still have a hard time talking about all of this. I attempted suicide in February. About two months later, I went to a psychiatrist who prescribed me Lexipro. But I've never taken a single pill. I guess it's just out of self hatred. I don't deserve to be happy.
I kind of go through waves of depression and everything- I'll stop eating for three months, then eat normally for two. Then I stop again. Or I'll be really suicidal for two weeks, then fine for a while. I just go through waves I guess.
So this was during a good time, and I was okay for like a month. Then I got really bad again. But I couldn't tell my mother or anyone else for that matter because they thought I was taking this drug and that I was just magically okay.
But it's gotten to the point that I'm constantly suicidal, and I've begun binge eating all day- like I never stop eating. I feel panicky when I'm not. I've started taking sleeping pills because I don't want to be awake anymore. I don't want to leave my house or go to school or even go see friends. Two reasons- I'm just tired of life and I just want to stay here, and I feel like I'm too disgusting for everyone else to have to look at. Life just seems pointless to me now, and I've gotten so lonely that it's almost unbearable. I just constantly feel a need for affection.
Also, I'm afraid I'm going to turn to smoking and drinking constantly. I crave it all the time, because it makes me not think about things and just fall asleep. However I don't think this would be a good thing to tell my mother because both my father and my brother were alcoholics, as well as her father, so she'd freak out.
But I feel like I deserve all of this. I've started doing other, weirder forms of self harm, like dipping my tongue in cayenne pepper because it burns so much. I guess I'm just punishing myself.
And I feel like there's nothing wrong with me and I'm just whining, so I have no reason or right to be concerned or to want help.
But I'm falling apart and I don't know how much longer I can last.
How do I talk to my mother about this? How do I get her to actually listen to me, instead of just crying and "blaming herself"?
How do I get her to realize that I'm serious, and if something doesn't change soon, I'm going to end my life?