I think the worst part about suicidal thoughts is the guilt. I feel so guilty for even having them. Like such a hypocrite. I am always trying to stay so positive and upbeat, trying to keep my head up on even the worst days. So when I just have a break down and can’t handle it, and the thoughts start flowing in about how I can’t handle this anymore. The anxiety starts to take over… and I just want to end it… that’s when the guilt kicks in.
It hits me like a ton of bricks as well. Like I’m such a bad person for being so fake and acting so happy all the time. Like I’m just such a fucking mess and I should just be that mess. However I know if I do that, I will fall into a deep depression again and actually kill myself. I’ve done it before, barely made out, because my mom found me, and took me to the ER for an overdose. I was in a coma for two days. From a Sunday evening to that Tuesday afternoon. I was sick for weeks!
I’m a mother. A damn good one. But my mother doesn’t think so. She made that vey clear tonight when we were arguing about my teenage daughter and what she’s doing with her life. My mom made it clear tonight that she sees me as a very unfit parent. She’s made comments in the past about giving up my children to the foster care system because I’m so sick and can’t work, and someone else can take care of them. She thinks they need a mother who can cook and clean for them. My girls are 17, 10, and 7. We also live in an apartment inside a huge house where I live with friends who cook for me and my girls.
My mom doesn’t agree with my lifestyle. She’s made that very clear. My oldest daughter makes me out to be an evil witch to everyone. She makes me out to be a drunken slut, apparently. Someone who only screams, sits around and then goes and has sex with random strangers.
This couldn’t be farther from the truth.
It’s such an ugly time in my life, and I really don’t want to be in it. I’ve come a long way from where I’ve been, but I feel like my life will always be a painful shit show. That I’ll always be pushing facade of happiness, and finding things to be happy about. Sweet tea. Coffee. My favorite slippers. I choose to be happy. I make myself happy. I ignore as much of my unhappiness as possible everyday. I focus on things that make me smile. Like the sunsets. The giggles of adorable little goofy kids. The smell of rain. Not the feel, because it kills me when it rains.
Tonight I feel so betrayed by my family and I am suicidal. I know I won’t take action, but my anxiety is crazy high. I’m in an intense amount of physical and emotional pain. My mother basically told me what a terrible mother I am, though I’ve never done the same to her.
She raised us in a polygamist environment, but not only that, it was a highly abusive one. My father was very physically abusive, grabbing at arms, legs, hair, whatever he could when he was upset. Slapping, spanking, whipping, you name it. Belts, spoons, spatulas, sticks, anything he could hit us with. Hours standing in corners. A dozen or more of us lined up in a row to get our hands beat because someone stole and nobody would admit it. My step mother was even worse. This all just before the age of 7, and I haven’t even mentioned the sexual abuse I endured that began before I could talk.
Her second marriage to another polygamist family that made her a second wife again, which occurred when I was only 12 included a plethora of babysitting children (including a severely handicapped sister), doing endless chores, and living with disgusting charges pedophiles. They seemed to think it was quite alright to touch, poke, and peek in on me whenever they saw fit. When I defended myself against an attempted sexual assault, I was punished and made to stay home from any activities for months! Which included my birthday, while my attacker was able to roam free, and even attended church dance on my 13th birthday.
But yet, I’ve never stood in front of my mother and blamed my long standing issues from all my trauma on her directly. I have never stomped my foot and demanded she make right all the wrongs in my life! Fix everything she messed up! That she was to blame for every bad thing and every fault in my stars.
Yet here she is… taking sides with my teenage daughter, blaming me for my daughter’s depression and bad attitude. Regardless of the fact that I’ve worked so hard to provide a good environment despite my downfalls. Despite our struggles. Despite everything that’s gone wrong in our life.
I have now been diagnosed with a plethora of medical ailments, as well as cptsd. Rheumatoid arthritis, osteoarthritis, hemicrania continua, degenerative disc disease, multiple schmorls nodes in my spine, a herniated disc in my lumbar, spinal nodules, cervical spinal fractures, gerd, severe ibs, celiac disease, fibromyalgia, as well as other issues.
My entire life right now feels like a shit show. Like I’m going to suffer every damn day, forever. Like life is just going to continue to proverbially fuck me while I admire the sunsets, and drink my sweet tea… And pretend everything is ok. When it’s really REALLY just not.