Could she be anymore alone?

It was the summer after 8th grade: I was excited, and I had lots of friends and a boy I cared about. But my Dad forced me to go spend the summer in Sacramento with my checked out Mother. I was super upset, and I knew I was going to be doing lots of babysitting. My younger sisters were 7 and 10 at the time. I was happy to be with them because I worried so much.

Idk, the whole situation was horrible. We lived in an apartment complex with a pool so I started taking my Sisters' swimming lessons. I got looked at a lot because of the way I was built. I noticed this real slick older guy staring at me every time I went there. I think he had been keeping a close eye on me because he was always there when I was. All of the sudden he showed up with younger kids and said his Mom needed a babysitter. I don’t know why I said yes other than the kids were cute, and I needed money. I brought my Sisters home, and I went to the apartment.

I get there, and he lets me in and locks the door. No one was there, so I said, "Where is everyone?" He says, "Oh, they will be here any minute." Seconds later, I remember being pulled into what I guess was the Mom’s bedroom. I had shorts on over my bikini; he took them down, held me down, and sexually assaulted me. It hurt so bad. I was a virgin. He then covered my mouth, and said, “Don’t say a word or those cute little sisters are next. Now get up and get out and remember before you go opening your mouth I am a damn good looking popular guy and you are a little slut. You know you wanted it."

I then looked down and saw the blood, my blood on the white flowered comforter. I ran off in hysterical tears, but I knew I had to pull it together, so I ran up to Lucky’s supermarket. It was close, and I stood on the back side of the building and wept, and then I went inside and cleaned myself up.

What am I supposed to do now? I had nobody at home or anywhere for that matter. I surely wasn’t calling my Dad or friends at home. So I swallowed it, and man did it hurt so hard to breathe with that lump of pain, fear, and loneliness in my throat. I had to argue with my Sister the rest of the damn summer on why we couldn’t go to the pool anymore; they hated me for it.

Summer is over, and I got back home. Some of my friends were excited to tell me they lost there virginities over the summer...here comes the flashbacks again, and there was no way I could tell them I lost mine too, but I was raped. I felt dirty and gross.

Well, I sure as hell didn’t know how to cope, so bad behavior started coming out like getting drunk, smoking weed, getting minor in possessions, etc. Instead of someone taking the time to figure out why bad behavior was coming out, they just labeled me as problematic and defiant, and I got punished for it. Let's face it: no one really gave a shit about the forgotten child.

Well, eventually I was forced by my Dad to go see the only Native American counselor on the reservation. So they fucking call me out of class on the loud speaker, super not cool. Well, this lady was friends with my Dad and had known me my entire life. I knew right out of the gate I was not telling her shit. This went on for months, and she finally got me to open up. I talked about stuff like how I felt about being abandoned by my Mom and how my Dad makes me raise my Sisters and makes me feel like he only wants me around to cook, clean, and take care of his kids. But I never told her about the assault.

A couple of weeks later, my Dad cornered me, got in my face, and pretty much repeated everything I told her. She broke all confidentiality. My Dad was livid, even though he sent me there. This is what he said, “How dare you tell anyone our family stuff, get out of my face, you make me sick." That fucking bitch!

Now I am alone, vulnerable, and scared. I ran off into the arms of the older guy with the bag of meth. Well, now it didn’t hurt as bad but still no one to talk to and a horrible secret that was eating my insides.

I dreamed and constantly thought about how and if I could just end it. So I got really drunk, cried in my room for hours with so many racing thoughts, took that bottle of pills and just dug that razor blade over my wrist over and over again. Lots of pain and blood but I am not dying.

Fuck, then my little Sister found me and ran next door and got my Aunt because my Dad was not home. Here we go to the health clinic, which everyone in this town is going to know, and they did. There was no help for me, just pathetic stares and kids telling me they can't be around me anymore.

This can't be like this, it has to be different for other kids like me.

Suicide attempt # 2: I was 25 years old and had just started intravenously using meth and heroin. I was at an all-time low. I was staying with my Sister, who hated me and didn’t want me there. One night she said I was mean to her kid, which was so far from the truth. She came at me from behind and beat the shit out of me. I refused to fight back because my Nephew was there, and she got me good. I spent that night locked in the bathroom at the park, I felt so alone...thought about killing myself that night but I didn’t. I did the last of my drugs instead. The next day, I went to a place that gave me a hotel voucher for that night. I hustled enough money for a fifth of vodka. I went and took that bottle of tylenol and chased it down with that bottle of vodka.

I guess I was crashing and thrashing all around because the neighbor called the management who then called the police. From that point on, I remember nothing until I woke up at the psych ward of the hospital. I did wake up to concerned, caring faces, none of which were my family though. I spent a couple of days there and got some great help “therapy”, then was referred to the county's mental health outpatient. I went but the talking and the trusting was a very slow, slow process. But when I could open up, really open up, it did help me, but keeping it honest I did go get loaded after some of the sessions because it was too much.

This is a quote from Meagan’s piece “therapy at times is almost just as traumatic as the original trauma at times.” This is exactly what was happening. I would call it brutally painful but helpful. I was put on mental health medication. Boy, did I feel like a guinea pig for around eight months, but then they got it right. I was diagnosed with Bipolar 2, severe anxiety and depression. I was put on medication, and it started working and leveling me out, and I started using less and actually started sort of feeling human and no longer suicidal, until suicide attempt #3...

I know this is a lot to read, as it is a lot to have to write, but if it helps just one person, this hurt that I am experiencing right now was well worth it. I was 40 years old, and my precious baby boy just died. I was done this time, really done. I shot enough heroin to kill me. I remember falling back and my neck hitting the wall. The next thing I remember was waking up naked in a bathtub full of ice and my friends standing around me. They said I had died, and it took 3 Narcan uses to bring me back.

I was so pissed at them for saving me, and I was ashamed because it had already gotten back to my Dad. I put everything I could fit in that big army duffle bag, and I headed for Olympia, Washington. There, I lived on the streets for 2 years with no meds, and my addiction and mental health were the absolute worst they've ever been. It was impossible to get any help. I had no health care card, I had no ID, and I only had a wet tent with an abusive man to lay my head in.

But when I finally mustered up the strength to make it to the Interfaith Works Homeless Shelter, my needs were always met...simply by a group of people with no questions asked, always meeting me with a warm hug, a warm meal, and a warm bed. They listened to me, they encouraged me, they reminded me of my strength, and they hugged me more. My needs were met every time I walked through that door.

This is what did work for my mental health and suicide attempts:

1. A mental health doctor and counselor that understood me

2. The correct combination of medication

3. Understanding people in my community that would listen to me and not judge

4. People in the community that would let me sit in there establishment and get warm

5. The mental health crisis center

6. The suicide hotline did work for me once. I recommend using it. Did you know the suicide lifeline has received 23,044,100 calls from people in distress looking for support when they needed it the most? That phone number is 1-800-273-8255 or just dial or text 988.

7. Narcan saves lives

8. Understanding from my friends and family

9. Understanding at work

10. And last but certainly not least: CONFIDENTIALITY

Here are some facts on the state I live in: Oregon. Oregon has the nation's 13th highest suicide rate across all ages. There were a total of 906 suicidal deaths in 2021. There are 36 crisis resource centers in the state.

Here is an update on me now (as of this writing): I have 2 years, 6 months and 8 days clean and sober. I manage a transitional home with women new to recovery with some mental health issues. I am currently taking classes to be a peer support mentor which consists of me going to homeless camps, shelters, and homes and meeting people where they are. I will be helping them get plugged into mental health support, treatment, housing, rides to the store, ID cards, birth certificates, etc., and most importantly, showing them some hope and that it is possible. I get to be that caring, non judgmental person with a smile, hug, and listening ear. This is my calling!

I thought this was a cool poem to end with:

LIFE

A quiet rhythm evolves in my soul when I look straight into my pain

I begin to hum to cheer myself and out comes a simple refrain

nothing brilliant - you understand but something i can control

it takes me away from the daily heartache that can so easily take hold

somewhere i recall something I read, it was on a neighbor's sign “anything in life is possible, it first begins in your mind...”

no one knows what's in my mind, I can think anything right or wrong

the choice is mine at any time i can't even think up a song

i can choose to sing, dress like a queen, dream big dreams in my head

a sweet refrain wells up in my soul, today can be a brighter day

I can sing, the choice is mine! A song can just happen that way.

So to everyone reading this: you DO matter, you ARE loved, and this world does NEED YOU. Even our darkest moments can be the key to light and happiness for others!