the silent screams of my life
folder
Original - Misc › Non-Fiction/True Stories/Autobiographical
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
5
Views:
2,341
Reviews:
5
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Original - Misc › Non-Fiction/True Stories/Autobiographical
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
5
Views:
2,341
Reviews:
5
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
this is a true story/ nonfiction, this is a work of nonfiction; permission has been obtained where possible;
the silent screams of my life continued..2
“How do you get away from it all, when all you want to do is get away from yourself?”
It was weeks before I saw him again, he ran after me I was walking home from my friends house, what do you want from me?, well of all the things I could have expected this wasn’t one of them, he asked me to marry him, talked of a life in his home country of Australia with lots of kids and a house. I immediately said no and ran the rest of the way home. I think what is most shocking to me is my parents didn’t notice any of this.
I can remember been sat in my room at night my life felt so empty when I found my self holding a small kitchen carving knife, now you most understand, I just wanted to feel something, and I didn’t care about the scars cause I never wanted any man to ever find me attractive again. As the knife hit my skin the flow of blood felt surprisingly good, I did it another 4 times then proceeded to go to the kitchen and clean and bandage it up.
It want hard to hide, I can remember excuses like “I fell against a thorn bush, and I caught myself washing up” I took to wearing jumps all the time. I think a couple of my friends and my teachers noticed but they never said anything. I tried to kill myself twice both unsuccessful, probably because I didn’t know what I was doing.
When I left school at 16 I went to collage where I met other people like me, by that I mean people who solved there angst with self harming, I don’t think it helped as much as it justified me doing it. I spent most my collage days getting stoned just so I could laugh. I met a nice man for the purpose of this story ill call him mar b. well mar b was lovely he encouraged me to get help, so after going to the doctors I ended up going to see a child psychiatrist as I was still under 18.
This psychiatrist, was much more fascinated with my dad, and why I couldn’t tell him, I didn’t understand it my dad was strict and yeah we didn’t get along but most kids don’t get on with there parents. He convinced me to confront my dad and tell him everything, so that night I did. I sat my dad down and told him I had been depressed, he looked at me and got slightly angry proceeding to tell me that
“I wouldn’t know what depression was I was just a little sad.”
I should him my scars, as shocked as he was he asked why , so I told him about been raped and the miscarriage, I broke down and cried, it was such a realise.
That night I smock out my room and sat at the bottom of the stairs listening to my mum and dad as my dad told my mum, I wasn’t raped because if I was I would have told them straight away and I had not had a miscarriage because if I had I would have went to hospital, he told my mum the physiatrist would have put all these things in my head that they were not real and I was “lying”.
My heart sank so far into my chest I felt I couldn’t breathe, it took me 3 years to have the courage to tell my parents, for what, for them to call me a liar!.
I slowly walked back to my room, I was so numb, I can remember been sat on my bed thinking to myself “What\'s worse? The numbness of hoping to feel something again one day. Or finally being able to feel something and all it is, is pain.” I just wanted my parents to hug me and care, it had been so long since I felt anyone cared, I didn’t know how I could go on, the sharp blade across the skin on my leg making me cry with each deepening cut. What do I do now?
It was weeks before I saw him again, he ran after me I was walking home from my friends house, what do you want from me?, well of all the things I could have expected this wasn’t one of them, he asked me to marry him, talked of a life in his home country of Australia with lots of kids and a house. I immediately said no and ran the rest of the way home. I think what is most shocking to me is my parents didn’t notice any of this.
I can remember been sat in my room at night my life felt so empty when I found my self holding a small kitchen carving knife, now you most understand, I just wanted to feel something, and I didn’t care about the scars cause I never wanted any man to ever find me attractive again. As the knife hit my skin the flow of blood felt surprisingly good, I did it another 4 times then proceeded to go to the kitchen and clean and bandage it up.
It want hard to hide, I can remember excuses like “I fell against a thorn bush, and I caught myself washing up” I took to wearing jumps all the time. I think a couple of my friends and my teachers noticed but they never said anything. I tried to kill myself twice both unsuccessful, probably because I didn’t know what I was doing.
When I left school at 16 I went to collage where I met other people like me, by that I mean people who solved there angst with self harming, I don’t think it helped as much as it justified me doing it. I spent most my collage days getting stoned just so I could laugh. I met a nice man for the purpose of this story ill call him mar b. well mar b was lovely he encouraged me to get help, so after going to the doctors I ended up going to see a child psychiatrist as I was still under 18.
This psychiatrist, was much more fascinated with my dad, and why I couldn’t tell him, I didn’t understand it my dad was strict and yeah we didn’t get along but most kids don’t get on with there parents. He convinced me to confront my dad and tell him everything, so that night I did. I sat my dad down and told him I had been depressed, he looked at me and got slightly angry proceeding to tell me that
“I wouldn’t know what depression was I was just a little sad.”
I should him my scars, as shocked as he was he asked why , so I told him about been raped and the miscarriage, I broke down and cried, it was such a realise.
That night I smock out my room and sat at the bottom of the stairs listening to my mum and dad as my dad told my mum, I wasn’t raped because if I was I would have told them straight away and I had not had a miscarriage because if I had I would have went to hospital, he told my mum the physiatrist would have put all these things in my head that they were not real and I was “lying”.
My heart sank so far into my chest I felt I couldn’t breathe, it took me 3 years to have the courage to tell my parents, for what, for them to call me a liar!.
I slowly walked back to my room, I was so numb, I can remember been sat on my bed thinking to myself “What\'s worse? The numbness of hoping to feel something again one day. Or finally being able to feel something and all it is, is pain.” I just wanted my parents to hug me and care, it had been so long since I felt anyone cared, I didn’t know how I could go on, the sharp blade across the skin on my leg making me cry with each deepening cut. What do I do now?