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mynameisbroken-blog · 5 years ago

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Sometimes...

TW: suicidal thoughts, murder

Sometimes, I desperately want to die, but not exactly by suicide. Sometimes I walk near a street and just hope some wreckless, idiotic driver slams into me. Or I get attacked by some psycho dude late at night. Or I get killed in a mugging gone wrong. I want to be killed because I'm afraid that suicide will hurt people more. I don't actively try to get killed or anything, but it's a little voice in the back of my head that goes, "you could totally just step two feet forward right now and it'd all be over," or "why not go for a walk right now? It's late and nobody is around, it's perfect." It's so difficult to keep it quiet. I just want something to happen accidentally so I'm not labelled selfish or lazy and nobody in my life is labelled careless or blind. Even though that desire is still just as selfish. I'm selfish, I can't help but only think of myself in those situations. How I feel. How I would feel. Not really how they feel. How they would feel. It's awful and selfish and so, so disgusting. Especially to, in a way, personally glamourise being murdered? It's gross. So many people are actually killed every day in horrifying manners and for disgustingly inhumane reasons, yet I'm here hoping that one day, I'm one of those people? I'm disgusting. I deserve no pity, yet I ask for it under my breath. I deserve no care, yet I crave it in my lungs. I want people to care about me while rejecting the idea because it's too much to be loved. Being loved means having no freedom. Being loved means living for them when you run out of you to live for. But being loved means having help. Being lived means having someone to turn and return to. Being loved is an awfully wonderful thing. It's having a shoulder to cry on, but being held there against your will. It can be so wonderful, but it can feel so horrible. How? Why?

What's wrong with me?

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mynameisbroken-blog · 5 years ago

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Present

I'm currently in a good point in life. I have a boyfriend that loves me, even when I sometimes think he doesn't. I have a job, we're getting our own apartment near his college, and my mind is less foggy. I still struggle with a lot. I lie about a lot of things because I'm scared that my truth will ruin everything. Or that I'll seem so uninteresting that nobody likes me. I still suffer from depression and anxiety, but saying it makes me feel better. Being open and talking about everything, even if no one is listening, makes me feel like it's less in my head and more like real experiences I can move on from. Now that I've gotten down my past events, I'll probably just update this blog every once in a while with vents, fears, events, etc. and whatever. Goodnight.

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mynameisbroken-blog · 5 years ago

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18 Years Old

I pushed someone away because he started to have real feelings for me and it scared me because I was used to "real feelings" meaning "I'm horny and you have holes, also, don't call me." I pushed him away and hurt him. I did it in such an awful way, too. I wanted to make sure he didn't come back, I wanted to conpletely cut ties, so I told him I hated him and that he meant nothing to me. We had had sex once before and I told him that that was all I wanted from him. I berated him for not realising the rumours were true and that I was just a slut. I didn't love him and I never would. I told him those things with the purpose of hurting him badly enough that he would never come back, and even then, he didn't leave right away. Even after saying horrible things, he asked me if I was okay. Said he knew I didn't mean those things. He pushed back...but I pushed even harder. I regret this more than anything.

I also became a stripper this year, that, I don't regret and never will. It was the one time I felt I really had control over my own life.

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mynameisbroken-blog · 5 years ago

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17 Years Old

I dated a lot. Four relationships are important enough to me to mention. Two of them might not have happened during this year, but I don't remember exactly when they were, just that they were around this time.

The first one, a high school senior I'll call Justin. He is who I lost my virginity to. I had lied to him and told him I wasn't a virgin because I was embarrassed and he was so I wasn't worried about him realising I had zero experience. We were friends-with-benefits.

The second one, a boy I'll call Nick. We dated for a little bit, he was someone I kind of got obsessed with. He convinced me that we coukd run away and get married if I was pregnant with his kid. He tried to purposely get me pregnant multiple times, luckily, I never did. We sent each other nudes and one day, his phone or tablet got discovered by his mom and she was livid. But only with me. He had apparently deleted nudes and messages that he sent off his device so it looked like only I was sending them. Unprovoked. I ended up breaking up with him. He furthered the narrative that I was sex-obsessed by telling people he broke up with me because I forced him to have sex with me and to try to get me pregnant and that he didn't enjoy our sex life and I was incredibly dirty-minded. This got me a LOT of unwanted sexual advances from older male students that now looked at me as a sex doll. Nobody believed me.

The third one, a boy I'll call Alex. I was definitely obsessed with Alex, and if you're reading this and recognise yourself, just know that I'm so, so incredibly sorry for harassing you. I fell for Alex hard and fast. We had met in theatre, like Adam, but Alex was a Freshman so he didn't know about all the awful stuff. He liked and cared about me for me and not all the bullshit floating around. He also hated rumours. It was fresh and it felt good. We didn't ever actually end up dating, though. I tried so hard to get him to want to be with me. He had to reject me more than once, but he was such a good person that he still remained friends with me despite my harassment. I really wish I could have realised how good a friend he was before he was out of my life because I think I really did just need a good friend. Which was something he actually told me when I asked him why he didn't want to be with me. I should have listened.

The fourth one, a girl I'll call Hannah. I was friends with Hannah for a couple years by now, but we weren't super close or anything. After I finally decided to give up on Alex, I tried replacing my affection for him, with affection for Hannah. We started dating, but it was a very, very short relationship because I wrote a letter to her (I wrote letters to people to get my feelings out, but never gave them to the person) that said I loved her and someone saw it and told her about it. She told me she thought I was getting to attached, too quickly. I lied and told her I never wrote anything about loving her, but she didn't change her mind. We're still friends now, but it's much better and healthier this way.

Besides those relationships, I also ran away from home at 17. I moved in with a drug-addict I was friends with and started doing drugs myself. I lied to everyone and told them that I was kicked out, not that I ran away. I've still not gone home, and honestly, while I miss my mother, I'm happier not living with my grandmother. To put it in perspective, she once tried to legitimately stab me with a screwdriver because I wanted to take a break from practicing an instrument and my grandfather (bless him) had to hold her back while my mother ushered me downstairs.

I became obsessed with two other boys as well. Let's call them...Andrew and Luke.

My obsession with Luke lasted multiple years. I was constantly flirting with him, asking him if he liked me, asking him why when he told me he didn't. I was handsy, and tried to kiss him multiple times. My obsession with Luke was the least healthy situation I had out of all of them. I feel incredibly disgusting for having been like that. I sexually assulted and harassed Luke many times. He never shut me down, so I just kept doing it. I knew it wasn't something he was 100% comfortable with, and I still just kept doing it. Luke, we met in guitar, if you recognise yourself, I'm so sorry. Genuinely. I know it might not help anything at all, but I'm sorry.

Andrew, on the other hand, played me hard. He was a drug addict and got me addicted to hard drugs. Including meth and cocaine. He also got me addicted to cigarettes, which is the one I still can't kick, and alcohol. I was in love with Andrew. He knew this and used that to his advantage until there was nothing left to squeeze out and then just kept on using it. He cheated on me, cheated on other girls with me, and dumped me by himself more than the amount of people I dated all together. I also cheated on a girl with him and ended up dumping her without telling the truth because I really did care for her and didn't want her to feel like it was her fault, and I knew she would because that's just how she was. While I was living between Andrew and a mutual friend, I ended up dropping out of school because he had as well and, stupid me, he seemed to be doing fine without it.

I ended up becoming a drug dealer at some point for a short time. Just for weed, but still. I actually thought, through my drug-induced delusions, that Andrew was a good life model. There was a point where he convinced me to "give a chance" to his not-blood-related brother a try because he wasn't going to be with me and I got angry so I had sex with his not-blood-related brother in his bed, which is a big no-no. His NBR brother also ended up not using a condom in an attempt to get me pregnant so he could force me into a relationship, but luckily I didn't get pregnant.

Side Note: I'm fairly certain I'm infertile, but don't know for sure because I've never been to a gynecologist and can't afford to even now.

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mynameisbroken-blog · 5 years ago

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16 Years Old

Freshman Year. Boy, oh, boy. Freshman year was arguably one of the worst years of my life.

TRIGGER WARNING: Suicide Mention, Self-Harm, False Sexual Assult, Miscarriage Mention

I started Freshman year, still best friends with Eve. I ended Freshman year, alone.

I took theatre class. In that class, there was a boy. I'll call him Adam. I started talking to Adam, and we became friends very quickly. He was cute, funny, and charming. I fell for him even faster.

We went on dates, but weren't official. We wanted to take things slow because I think we really did care for each other. It just didn't last long.

At some point, around Christmas, everything crumbled. I was in a play, and one night, on the way to either a rehearsal or a show, I was on the phone with him. I honestly can't remember if I was texting him or speaking to him, but I remember what was said because I felt devastated. He told me he had a secret and I couldn't tell anyone. I said I promised, but then he told me this "secret." He told me he had actually had a boyfriend the entire time. That shattered my heart.

Adam was the first boy I believed I actually might've loved. I didn't feel so obsessed, like I had with others. I felt like it was genuinely fun to spend time and talk to him. Even when it wasn't about anything. He made me feel happy and full. I didn't even really care about Eve as much anymore. I wasn't hurting myself. I was happy.

Then the "secret." It broke me all over again. I immediately messaged another friend, I'll call her Mary, that I had that I was growing closer to. I considered her a best friend and she considered me one. I told her she could say anything to anyone about it, but that Adam had broken my heart. Then he told me he was joking.

He didn't have a boyfriend.

He thought it would be funny to pretend he did, just to see my reaction. It wasn't funny to me, but I forgave him for it and told Mary that he was just joking. Though that it still hurt me. Adam and I were fine again afterward, but not for long. A little while later, within a week or two, things started going down hill again. Mary had told someone about what Adam did and whoever she told started a rumour that Adam was gay. He was reasonably upset and blamed me. It was my fault, but I deflected and blamed Mary. I couldn't understand why she'd tell someone else about what I had vented to her about in private.

I couldn't do anything, though, because once that damage was done, Adam immediately took to saying all sorts of horrible things about me. He managed to make people I didn't even know, hate me. The bullying that started was some of the worst experiences I ever had. Rumours gave birth to rumours gave birth to rumours. I was somehow a slut, despite being a virgin (to consensual sex). I was somehow a crazy, obsessed stalker to people I'd never even spoken to.

Somehow, someone faked messages from me, saying I was going to commit suicide and blame it on Adam to make him look bad. That made the bullying even worse, and someone had notified the principal of the messages and I was called in. He wouldn't tell me who showed him, (just kept saying, "well, how many people did you tell?") but he kicked me out of school temporarily so that I could get therapy and I couldn't come back until I was cleared. I wasn't gone long because I wasn't actually suicidal, but I was gone long enough that the rumour that I actually had killed myself was spread around like a California fire, which wasn't the bad part. The bad part, was that everyone was happy. People I thought were friends, mixed with people I didn't even know, and they were all happy that I had supposedly killed myself. That's what made me realise these people actually hated me. Everyone genuinely looked at me as less than human. Undeserving of life. Worthless. And it all sunk in. Now I really was suicidal.

However, I didn't attempt suicide. No, I craved care more than I craved an end. So cue my self-destruction. I created two lies. A suicide attempt, and a pregnancy caused by rape. I told my mother I really had tried to kill myself by taking too many melatonin pills, but failed and that that was why I had felt sick and stayed home a few days before. I told Eve that I was raped by a guy at a party and that this stranger got me pregnant. I actively kept that lie up for four months. I can push my stomach out to make myself look pregnant, but it only works for so long. I had looked up and seen pregnant bellies and knew to start with no difference and then slowly push it out more as time went on, but around what would have been the four month mark, I reached a point where I knew I couldn't keep doing it, and I said I had a miscarriage.

Eve was devastated for me and I loved it. I had someone who was giving me positive attention in contrast to the onslaught of negative attention everyone else was giving me. She cared about me. She listened to me. She was the one person I could vent to about the bullying and Adam. My mother was worried and that one made me feel guilty, so I told her I was better and agreed to see a therapist. That therapist didn't really work out for me.

Anyway, I felt okay for a bit, I was even able to ignore the bullying enough that people just got bored of it. Things died down, Adam and I even finally became amicable and after talking things out, I thought I could even maybe be with him again. I introduced Adam to Eve, and it was, at the time, what felt like the biggest mistake I could've made. They became friends. Then they became too close and Eve cwme to me one day and told me Adam had asked her to be his girlfriend.

I was fucking torn. My best friend and the guy that had (to everyone else's knowledge) caused me to attempt to kill myself, but more importantly to me secretly, the guy that I loved? I could not stand the idea that Adam and Eve wanted to be together. I couldn't stand the idea of being the third wheel to my best friend and the guy I love. I told her she should say no because she knew what he had done to me, but I really wanted her to say no because I considered him mine. She said I needed to stop trying to control her and let her make her own choices. She chose to be with him. I was angry. She chose to be with the guy that ruined every part of my reputation. Which I know was hypocritical to feel considering I had wanted to choose the same guy, but I couldn't see that at the time.

Cue more self-destruction. I hid away from everyone. I had felt like I lost everything. I had no chance to reconcile with Adam and Eve no longer wanted to be my friend because she believed the things Adam said and realised I AM controlling. I started to cut myself again, but I tried harder to keep it hidden. I wore long sleeves every day, never did it too close to me hands that they'd be revealed if my sleeve shifted a little. I did it on my upper thighs because no one would ever see them. Even did it to my sides, though only once because I think I didn't like it. I did it because it felt good. It made me feel real and alive and here. It made me feel human. It made me feel something other than the emotional pain of emptiness and loss, which hurt worse to me than the physical pain of a razor.

From that point on, I kept back. I had friends and civil acquaintances, but I didn't tell them everything I felt. I didn't show them my self-destruction. I pretended I was fine, I pretended nothing bothered me.

I pretended I was ok.

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mynameisbroken-blog · 5 years ago

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15 Years Old

8th grade, I was still best friends with Eve. I was still obsessed with her. This was the year she gained two other best friends, though. She spent more and more time with them, they could also hang out outside of school more often and do sleep overs while I couldn't, so they all kept getting closer while I kept getting left out.

I tried to break them up by starting stupid drama and rumours, but they always got through it.

I had realised I was into girls, I believe a year prior, and I confessed to Eve that I was in love with her. Actually, I might have just said that I liked her, but that's not the point. When I told her, she said she believed I didn't truly have feelings for her and I was just confused because of how close we were. She said she thought it would help me to put some space between us and find some new friends. Obviously, she was right that I didn't have real feelings for her, but at the time, that felt like an excuse to reject me and I wasn't exactly good with rejection.

I made friends with another girl that was in many of my classes. Honestly, if I could have seen past my issues, I think this other girl (I'll call her Jane) and I could have been real, good friends. Of course, though, I couldn't. So instead, I used her to make Eve jealous. I hung out with Jane as often as I could and made sure Eve knew it. I cancelled plans with Eve in favour of plans with Jane just so I could make her feel like she wasn't important. I wanted her to hurt so she'd realise her mistake in pushing me away and come beg for me to be best friends again.

I also started self-harming. I cut myself and would show Jane and complain about how much Eve hurt me so that she'd hate her and justify my horrible actions. I want to mention that, while I did twist it into horrible things, I self-harmed mainly for myself. It made me feel better. It made me happy to see myself bleed. It gave me the impression that I wasn't a monster because my blood was red. I only started using it as a horrifyingly manipulative advantage when Jane caught sight of my wrist on accident. I had the chance to take that moment as a reality check and get real help, but I used it to further destroy myself and everyone around me.

This caused me to end up letting Jane get hurt worse. She was super into art and had made some in class, she was showing me, and Eve was there. Eve decided to take Jane's art and she accidentally ruined it, which really upset Jane. I took Eve's side and defended her actions instead of emphasising with Jane. I lost Jane's friendship, but I didn't care because I got Eve's back.

Eve's other two friends grew distant, one moved away because her family was military and the other got into "the bad crowd" your parents warned you about. It was just Eve and me again, and I was happy.

I did everything to keep Eve on my side. I dumped partners she didn't like or that didn't like her. I stopped hanging out with people she didn't like or that didn't like her. I begged my mother to let me hang out with her more often outside of school. I followed her everywhere, like a lost puppy. I idolised her. I don't really know why.

I don't blame her for any of my choices. She didn't ask me to dump people or end friendships. She didn't ask me to defend her. I did it all because I wanted to.

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mynameisbroken-blog · 5 years ago

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13 Years Old

The age I got my first boyfriend. This one won't be long, but it is important.

When I was 13, I was in 6th grade. I got my first boyfriend, I'll call him John, on or around Valentine's Day. I also had a best friend, I'll call her Eve. Long story short (because not much happened during), he left me for her. I pretended it was fine because I didn't want to lose my best, and only, friend.

At lunch that day, I tried to impress both of them by chugging a Danimals yogurt. I'm allergic to milk proteins. Doing this was unhealthy and I knew it. They did, too. They told me not to, but I was hurt and didn't want to listen to reason. I chugged it, and promptly threw up all over my lunch tray.

The reason I feel this is important to talk about is because this was the first time I did something self-destructive in response to feeling pain. And I laughed at it. It was also the first time I become obsessed with someone.

I started doing things like following John around and trying to manipulate them so that they broke up. Begging to understand why he would just leave me for someone else.

He moved away at the end of the school year and that ended, but my obsession with my best friend didn't stop there.

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mynameisbroken-blog · 5 years ago

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4 Years Old

My mother married a man that fathered my half brother and sister sometime after my own father left. My step-father, I guess, seemed like a decent man. He wasn't.

TRIGGER WARNING: Sexual Assult

I was 4. Four years old. I was 4 when I lost my virginity. I was 4 when I lost my innocence. Four. Years. Old. I was a baby. And it wasn't a one time thing. I was 6 when it ended. At least, when it physically ended. It's never truly been over for me.

My step-father, no longer, of course, managed to convince my loving mother that he was a good man. He managed to convince his family. His friends. My mother's family. And not all of those people left his side.

When I was 4, I lived in a house that looked like it was made of big, red stones. It had a really big basement, but it was mostly kept empty. This is where my step-father retreated with me. This is where he took my childhood.

He hurt me physically, but my scars were deeper. Two years. For two years, he hurt me. He threatened me. I can still hear his voice telling me, "If you tell anyone, I'll kill you." Those are the only words I can remember hearing throughout my entire childhood.

"If you tell anyone, I'll kill you."

He terrified me. He silenced me. He made me want to die before I even knew what death was. He ruined me. For two years, nothing stopped him. No one helped me. No one noticed. For two years, I was helpless. Alone. Terrified.

I don't know why he did it, but I often can't help but believe it was because I ruined the picture of the perfect family. They were like a perfectly clean wall and I was a splash of paint. I was out of place. An entire family of fair-skinned people with one single dark-skinned child.

Regardless of why, he did, and he felt no remorse. I don't personally remember how it stopped, how he got caught, but I was told that I eventually told my grandmother, and she did something about it. He was arrested, I don't remember any of the trial or anything, but I know that I never really felt relieved. I felt almost MORE terrified, because he promised he was going to kill me if I told anyone...and I had told someone.

His entire family took his side, except (if I remember correctly,) his brother. They somehow truly believed that I, at 6 years old, made up this lie just to ruin his life. His family really believed this. That a 6 year old child could really make up a lie like that. A 6 year old child that has never shown any signs of being a problem child. A 6 year old child that was, above all else, a child. They blamed me. They blamed me for their precious son being arrested. They blamed my mother, claiming it was a conspiracy to get money from him and take his children. They blamed everyone except him.

I was four years old when my entire life shattered. My father leaving shook things up, but my step father's actions ruined everything. I've still never been able to fully move on. It attacks me at my lowest and sneaks up on my even at my best. My brightest days are dimmed by the dark storm clouds that still linger. He left me with a deep rooted fear of men that look similar to him. Left me with a fear of big empty rooms. Left me with a fear of living in houses like the one I was broken in. He left me broken, afraid, and blamed.

It was the driving force behind my loss of faith in religion. It wasn't even directly the reason, though. No, yhe direct reason was the Christians who told me things like, "everything happens for a reason." People who told me it was "God's plan." People who inferred that it "made [me] stronger." And more effectively, people who told me it was somehow my fault. That I somehow provoked him. I couldn't handle that. This reminds me of a quote I've seen:

"I was a child.

I didn't need to be stronger.

I needed to be safe."

Anyway, he was arrested and sent to prison and for a long time, that made me feel better, but a few years ago, his sentence finished and he was released. I've been secretly terrified ever since, especially because I still live in the same area I did back then. I'm deeply afraid that he'll find me one day and keep his promise. I forget sometimes, but I often get scared to go anywhere without someone with me, just in case he's there, because I don't remember what he actually looks like. I just remember some basics: balding white man with a beer gut. Which also happens to be one of the most common descriptions you can find in people out in public.

He got what he wanted. He left his mark on me, and I can't wash it off.

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mynameisbroken-blog · 5 years ago

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2 Years Old

When I was around 2 years old, my father left my mother and I. I don't truly know why, though, as a child, as I'm sure many people can expect or understand, I blamed myself. Not having an answer only made my mind race. Was I a bad kid? Was I too much? Did I cry too often? Could I have done something differently? I couldn't understand why he left only after I was born. Why didn't he love me?

I alternated between self-blame, and anger toward him. How could a man have a family and just leave? My mother is an amazing woman. She does everything she can for her family. I was angry that he could hurt her like that. I felt guilty because they were fine before me. I felt like I had ruined her life.

Let me also mention, my father was a pathological liar. He lied about everything for nothing. My mother told me he even once claimed he was an alien and had no belly button. Now that I'm older, and I'm sure my mother feels the same, I don't understand how or why my mother ever fell for him.

My father was also black. I say this, because his abandonment, combined with his race, caused internal racism to grow in me. As a child, I heard those common racial stereotypes, and I couldn't ever argue them because...well, they were true in my case. My father was a black man that abandoned his family. As a child, how do you defend black fathers when the only one you ever knew, did exactly what those stereotypes say? I couldn't. I grew to feel disdain for black men.

Even now, nearly two decades later, I still have a deep distrust concerning black partners. I try not to be racist and make assumptions of people based on their skin color, but it happens more often than I'd like to admit. I can't date or form genuine connections with black people because of the rooted fear that they will abandon me. I have a hard time even trusting their words because of the lies my father told constantly. I make awful "jokes" about black people, simply because I can get away with it, having darker skin myself. I don't make them innocently, though. I know my real feelings, but I keep them hidden so people don't judge me as harshly.

Yet, despite all this, I actively fight for complete equality. I fight against racism, despite being racist. I think I fight so hard because, deep down, I think that, if I fight hard enough, I can squash the toxic parts of myself, but I'm just coming off as a hypocrite. Even if I'm the only one that believes that. I hate the same people I'm fighting for. Then I look at myself and I realise I am the same as those people I hate. My body feels like a prison. For more reasons than my skin, but my skin is what's important here. It's dark. And I despise it. My father's failure to beat the stereotypes pushed me into self-hatred.

Despite even that, I can't blame him. Not really. Domestic life isn't for everyone, I can understand that now. I can understand that you can't force someone to stay. I also understand that it was probably better for both my mother and myself that he did leave, because who knows what could have happened if he stayed. He clearly didn't love us. I don't want an empty heart at the table any more than I want an empty seat.

Maybe one day I'll finally move on. Maybe I'll learn to truly love my skin. Maybe I'll learn to create connections with black people. As for right now? I can only pretend to be better. To be forgiving. I can only hope I'll see the day were it's no longer a mask. And, God, do I hope.

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