Scarface
July 23rd, 2010, 06:53 PM
Silent Cries
To those that know,
This is going to be a story of part of my childhood. The part of me I have forever left behind me. The part of me I thought I would never have to talk about. The part of me that's silent. The part of me that's hurt. Insane. The invisible side of me never told. About my silent cries for help. About my endless pain. The story of my life. The bits and pieces of me that were once whole and were me. That was lonely. That was scared. The never ending miserable falling pit.
My father. I remember him very vaguely as a child. As he was never around me. To guide me through my life. He was only there to torment and haunt my every step. To leave me in pain, scared, and fearful if I would ever escape. I felt like I was a dog in a cage. Neglected, beaten and scared. He used to come home angry and drunk after a week long of being away. Not knowing if he was dead or alive. Not knowing where he was. Who he was with. Who was after him. I just knew he was gone. Though when he came home. A shiver would go down my spine, because I knew what was going to happen. I would run to my closet and hide. As I heard the voices getting louder coming from my father. He was screaming at my mother. I would hear them arguing. "YOU WORTHLESS CUNT WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU GOOD FOR??? YOU SLEEP AND YOU EAT THOSE DAMN PILLS ALL DAY." I would hear her scream and hear a thump or something break. As I sat in my closet curled in a ball with my hands buried in my face. Tears running down my face I would hear the foot steps coming toward my room. I could hear my heart beat get louder. My breathing would speed up. All I would hear is, "ANTHONY GET YOUR FUCKIN ASS OUT HERE NOW!!!!!!!!" I wouldn't listen. I would hear him throwing things around my room searching for me. I used to try and dream of being some where else. Flying far away. Though when I saw that closet door swing open like a bullet. That's when reality set in. He would grab me by my arms and scream in my face. "THIS IS ALL YOUR FAULT YOUR MOTHER IS SO FUCKED UP. THIS IS ALL YOUR FAULT SHE'S WORTHLESS!" I could feel my arms going numb and my legs buckle.I smelled the whiskey on his breath, it was so intoxicating and nasty. He would slap me in the face and walk away screaming at my mom as he walked away and left the house.
As I got older the depression and the abuse to myself as well as my dad got worse. I would turn to things being thrown at me. There was only so much I could take. I'm an implosive angry person meaning I wouldn't lash out. I would simply hold it in. Though there was only so much I could do to hold it in. Only so much I could take of the screaming. The abuse. When cutting just wasn't enough. To where it just didn't make me feel good anymore. I became numb to everything. I didn't care. I felt so alone. I'll remember these three dates for the rest of my life. February, 17 2007. I was 14. I took a bottle from my mothers cabinet. It said Oxycontin. I had no idea what they were, but I took a handful of them.I sat in a chair in my living room and that's where I just don't remember anything else. I remember the last thing I was nodding out. It was becoming blurry. Then I don't remember anything after that. Somehow I ended up in the hospital with my little brother hovering over me. A nasty charcoal taste in mouth an IV in my wrist. They told me I had overdosed and I had nearly died. I felt so sick. Chilly then hot. My head felt so heavy. My brother was crying on my chest. I was speechless. I couldn't say anything because I just didn't know what to say. I felt like I was letting everyone down. This was my first suicide attempt. When I was sent home I didn't want to leave. I didn't want to go. I hated everything. I just wanted to be invisible, with my silent crying.
Never feel like you have to reach that breaking point. That was only one of three suicide attempts. I should very well be dead. I thought only if I was dead I wouldn't be a burden anymore. I wouldn't have to hurt.I wouldn't have to feel this way. I could go live in my dreams and have that family. Where we sat down for dinner and talked. Where we had laughs at movies. Where we would spend christmas and birthdays together. Happy and with no worries.So I wouldn't have to take the bullet anymore. So I wouldn't have to defend and shield my brother every step of the way. Just so he didn't have to go through what I have. So he wouldn't have to do what I did. I wanted him to know how much I loved him. I felt like I set a bad example for him.
Never feel this low about yourself as it never has to come to what it did with me. You can end the abuse. You can be happy. You can be free of the endless misery. I never had that helping hand to show me the way. To guide me. To tell me that it was going to be okay. To see the light at the end of that tunnel. That it's not hopeless.
When you know you are coming to that point. You have to talk to someone. Maybe a counselor or a therapist. Just someone so you can take that weight off your shoulders. So you don't have to be that factor like I was. I can help anyway I can because I was there. Never give up hope. Never give up. There is always someone to show you the way. To help you realize that you're not alone. To realize that help is here. To finally hear or see the words that someone cares. To know that those silent cries are heard...
~Ronnie
To those that know,
This is going to be a story of part of my childhood. The part of me I have forever left behind me. The part of me I thought I would never have to talk about. The part of me that's silent. The part of me that's hurt. Insane. The invisible side of me never told. About my silent cries for help. About my endless pain. The story of my life. The bits and pieces of me that were once whole and were me. That was lonely. That was scared. The never ending miserable falling pit.
My father. I remember him very vaguely as a child. As he was never around me. To guide me through my life. He was only there to torment and haunt my every step. To leave me in pain, scared, and fearful if I would ever escape. I felt like I was a dog in a cage. Neglected, beaten and scared. He used to come home angry and drunk after a week long of being away. Not knowing if he was dead or alive. Not knowing where he was. Who he was with. Who was after him. I just knew he was gone. Though when he came home. A shiver would go down my spine, because I knew what was going to happen. I would run to my closet and hide. As I heard the voices getting louder coming from my father. He was screaming at my mother. I would hear them arguing. "YOU WORTHLESS CUNT WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU GOOD FOR??? YOU SLEEP AND YOU EAT THOSE DAMN PILLS ALL DAY." I would hear her scream and hear a thump or something break. As I sat in my closet curled in a ball with my hands buried in my face. Tears running down my face I would hear the foot steps coming toward my room. I could hear my heart beat get louder. My breathing would speed up. All I would hear is, "ANTHONY GET YOUR FUCKIN ASS OUT HERE NOW!!!!!!!!" I wouldn't listen. I would hear him throwing things around my room searching for me. I used to try and dream of being some where else. Flying far away. Though when I saw that closet door swing open like a bullet. That's when reality set in. He would grab me by my arms and scream in my face. "THIS IS ALL YOUR FAULT YOUR MOTHER IS SO FUCKED UP. THIS IS ALL YOUR FAULT SHE'S WORTHLESS!" I could feel my arms going numb and my legs buckle.I smelled the whiskey on his breath, it was so intoxicating and nasty. He would slap me in the face and walk away screaming at my mom as he walked away and left the house.
As I got older the depression and the abuse to myself as well as my dad got worse. I would turn to things being thrown at me. There was only so much I could take. I'm an implosive angry person meaning I wouldn't lash out. I would simply hold it in. Though there was only so much I could do to hold it in. Only so much I could take of the screaming. The abuse. When cutting just wasn't enough. To where it just didn't make me feel good anymore. I became numb to everything. I didn't care. I felt so alone. I'll remember these three dates for the rest of my life. February, 17 2007. I was 14. I took a bottle from my mothers cabinet. It said Oxycontin. I had no idea what they were, but I took a handful of them.I sat in a chair in my living room and that's where I just don't remember anything else. I remember the last thing I was nodding out. It was becoming blurry. Then I don't remember anything after that. Somehow I ended up in the hospital with my little brother hovering over me. A nasty charcoal taste in mouth an IV in my wrist. They told me I had overdosed and I had nearly died. I felt so sick. Chilly then hot. My head felt so heavy. My brother was crying on my chest. I was speechless. I couldn't say anything because I just didn't know what to say. I felt like I was letting everyone down. This was my first suicide attempt. When I was sent home I didn't want to leave. I didn't want to go. I hated everything. I just wanted to be invisible, with my silent crying.
Never feel like you have to reach that breaking point. That was only one of three suicide attempts. I should very well be dead. I thought only if I was dead I wouldn't be a burden anymore. I wouldn't have to hurt.I wouldn't have to feel this way. I could go live in my dreams and have that family. Where we sat down for dinner and talked. Where we had laughs at movies. Where we would spend christmas and birthdays together. Happy and with no worries.So I wouldn't have to take the bullet anymore. So I wouldn't have to defend and shield my brother every step of the way. Just so he didn't have to go through what I have. So he wouldn't have to do what I did. I wanted him to know how much I loved him. I felt like I set a bad example for him.
Never feel this low about yourself as it never has to come to what it did with me. You can end the abuse. You can be happy. You can be free of the endless misery. I never had that helping hand to show me the way. To guide me. To tell me that it was going to be okay. To see the light at the end of that tunnel. That it's not hopeless.
When you know you are coming to that point. You have to talk to someone. Maybe a counselor or a therapist. Just someone so you can take that weight off your shoulders. So you don't have to be that factor like I was. I can help anyway I can because I was there. Never give up hope. Never give up. There is always someone to show you the way. To help you realize that you're not alone. To realize that help is here. To finally hear or see the words that someone cares. To know that those silent cries are heard...
~Ronnie