A Time I Wasnt Proud of Myself

A time when I was ashamed of myself

When I was a child of about 7 years of age I found everything absolutely beautiful. Not one thing escaped my wondrous attention. I was a blossoming child of life and I buried myself in its beauty. I would often go running through the long grass fields near my house that smelled of innocence just to feel the earth around me. My brother and I would play all sorts of games together in the little forest that surrounded our home. Then one day, when I was 14, my good thing came to an end with a divorce. No more would I run through the grass fields with the sun shining down on me. No more would I be a care free child of life. I was now a depressed teenager and life had become my prison.

            I remember my parents calling my brother and me into the living room on that summer afternoon. A living room that before this time had been host to cherished family memories. Now all of that was about to break in front of my eyes. It was easy to tell that something was horribly wrong the air was this with pain and my stepdad had tears in his eyes. Never before have I seen him cry. They sat us all down and explained that things weren’t working out between them. They were getting a divorce. My brother didn’t understand what was happening, but I did and I was angry. Did they have the right to take away my happiness because they couldn’t learn to get along? I didn’t think so. I ran out of the room and out the door. Frantically I searched for a place to run. My eyes fell upon our old barn that had been weathered down to the gray wood. The vermilion paint had been worn away and ******** though the years much as I had just been ******** of my normalcy.  The barn attic had always been my sanctuary and would be for this tragedy as well. My stepdad left in his black truck shortly after I ran out and my heart sunk deep into my chest. My life was over. My family was broken and my home was disjointed. I couldn’t bear the pain and quickly turned to alternative ways of dealing with my feelings.

            I got my first boyfriend not long after my parents separated. We met at a party where I had gotten so drunk I couldn’t walk myself down the stairs, so he carried me. What a gentleman. He gave to me all the feelings I no longer got from my family. I was loved and wanted, and safe; or so I thought. About a week after meeting at the party we started dating and shortly after that he introduced me to pot.  The leafy substance gave me a way to escape from my world of self pity and live in the moment. I became weightless and was able to float above my problems. A wave of relaxation washed over me, and for even just a moment I could breathe again. Unfortunately, I developed an anxiety problem because I was worried of getting caught while doing drugs. So I started smoking cigarettes. My mom started to notice me changing and voiced her opinion about how I was becoming someone I didn’t want to be. My cure for that was drinking. When I drank I could be someone else and didn’t have enough sense to realize I was digging myself in a deeper hole. I soon realized that I had an illegal cure for any problem that came my way. What I didn’t have a cure for, was myself.

            When I wasn’t high, drinking, or smoking I was forced to be alone with myself. The more time I spent trying to figure out who I was the more I felt like I wasn’t here, in the present moment, all of the time. I was somewhere over there, by this way and that way, but not here. My deadly cure for that was cutting. I remember going to the kitchen and grabbing a steak knife out of the wooden holder. The pain was almost welcoming, like seeing a good friend after many years. Pure exhilaration fell upon me as I was able to feel again. Though the feeling was of pain I finally felt alive. Then my emotions quickly turned to fear as I saw what I was doing to myself. The layers of skin being opened on my wrist opened my eyes.  I only cut myself once, but I will have the scar for the rest of my life.

            My mom checked me into Forest View Psychiatric hospital after that episode and I went willingly. I was so ashamed of the person I had become and knew that I needed to get better fast. I was at the hospital a little over a week and grew significantly from the experience. No longer did my pity fall upon myself, and I may not like what happened in the past but I became a stronger person from it. Like the roots of the Sequoia I was firmly planted. I had survived the worst of the storm, and no amount of wind could blow me over. While I was there I learned a lot about myself and the people around me. Most of my friends abandoned me when I needed them most and came back afterwards to see how I was doing. It is like they got lost in the storm and were washed up on the beach when everything was okay again. I turned my back on them because I knew what I needed and I didn’t need to hear their false claims of loyalty to me. Finding new friends, that would have a positive influence on me, was hard to do, but I managed and they became my first stepping stone to a new me.

            Everyday is a struggle for me. I am a recovered drug addict, alcoholic, and have also learned to deal with my depression. There are many days when I would love to take a hit off of a joint to give me that old feeling of carelessness, but I don’t. Instead, I have found other methods of coping. Riding horses has been a lifelong passion of mine and has helped me in my recovery by giving me an outlet for my struggles. Instead of doing drugs, drinking when I am bored, or getting depressed about the day, I go out to the barn and ride. When I am on top of a horse we are one, and the horse is one with the earth. Together we are much more that just human and horse, we are strong and resilient. The peace from the earth fills me to my brim and the breeze washes away my worries. All of the time I must make the right choice and it is still hard for me not to fall into my old ways, but I am getting better every day. Some days I feel like I want to give in, but all I have to do is glance at the scar on my wrist and it gives me the motivation to keep going.

oceanqueen oceanqueen
18-21, F
2 Responses Sep 30, 2009

Stay strong...the world is better with you in it

Reading this has made me cry !! I wish you would let me do something to help.