HELL

Not sure if I mentioned this yesterday, but I've got a Staples paper box full of journals and poetry spanning from my late teens till last year.  If I'd ever decide to write a "lifebook," this is where I'd get a lot of my material from.

Depression has always figured prominently in my life and here is something I wrote somewhere between 1993 and 1999. I sure wish I'd had the foresight to put dates on ALL of my writing!

All the way to hell and back,

That's my daily trip.

Each and every day

I catch a glimpse

Of hell on earth.

As I travel my world

Of grey and black

Flames scorch my feet.

Someday soon

I'll jump right in.

It welcomes me

With open arms,

Nothing's worse

Than hell on earth.

That was written after my sister died; her death triggered a period of deep darkness for me, and subsequently, a period of great growth.  It was through this dark period that I began to accept that my childhood was not a perfect childhood as I'd previously thought.  

Here is another, written in the same period as the above piece.  Like I said, a very dark period.

A private hell

Reserved for me alone.
I live here in this hell

In solitude.

No one grasps the depths 

Of insanity

That plague this lonely life

That is my hell.

I love a lone in this hell.

No company

To share my misery and pain.

I'm all alone.

This hell is so familiar.

I've lived here long,

Longer than a decent person should

Ever live in hell.

Hell evidently figured prominently in my psyche at that time! Definitely a result of my childhood religious influences.

LIFEBOOK

It all started when she mentioned hitchhiking.  The memories came flooding back in a deluge of unpleasantness and clarity. I remembered sounds, smell, touch, and feelings.

And you know how I love to share what's on my mind.  Here goes:

Sixteen was a turbulent time in my life, but then so were fifteen and seventeen, so perhaps I shouldn't single out the age of 16.  Who am I kidding?  Everything from 14-19 was turbulent.  That I even lived through those years is a miracle in itself.  And I don't mean a religiously inspired miracle, its simply a miracle.

I was considered a 'rebellious' child and the 'black sheep.' My family repeatedly verbalized that I was an embarrassment to them with my actions. 

Spending time in town with my friends on the weekends was the best part of my life at that point so I made every effort to get myself there at every possible opportunity.  Sometimes that involved walked the 2.5 miles to the highway and then hitchhiking the remaining 7 miles to town.  Inevitably I also needed to get home, but at some point my family stopped being willing to pick me up in town in the late hours of the evening or the early hours of the morning.  

I'd never had any trouble while hitchhiking to town; it was generally still daylight out and I felt safe. If I was ever in any danger, my intuition never let me know.  I doubt I would have listened anyway as it really didn't matter to me what happened; I hated myself.  After all, I was an embarrassment to my family and I could do very little to please them.  

Regardless, one evening after midnight, I wanted to go home.  No one was willing to drive me all the way to my home, and no one from home was coming to get me.  So I hitchhiked.  It didn't take long to get picked up and then subsequently sexually assaulted.  In my mind it was my fault and I deserved it.  On some perverse level, I was glad for the attention and "affection."

As the sun rose the next morning I made my way to a payphone on Main Street, and subsequently went to a friend's home.  From there I called home to let them know I was okay.  I did not tell them what had happened.  It never occurred to me to tell them, it would likely have embarrassed them. No one said, "I'm so glad you are safe! Let me come get you."  

What I was told was, "Mom has had a nervous breakdown and it is all your fault." 

The speaker of those words had  no idea (and still does not know) that I had been sexually assaulted the night before.

Oh who am I kidding!!  It was not a sexual assault, it was rape.  Plain and simple.  There, I said it. 

There are plenty of similar stories from those tumultuous years and I consider it a miracle to have survived relatively intact.  I've also concluded that since I survived and am still alive, there is a purpose for my life and there is a reason for me to have survived. It is this knowledge, that I survived when the odds were stacked against me, that has kept me from suicide in the past when depression has been the most painful. 

The reason I am sharing this with you is, after telling this story earlier today, the listener asked if I had ever considered writing a 'lifebook.'  "I doubt anyone would read it," I said. 

"If you could save one girl from suicide, it would be worth writing," she said.

One of my life goals is to speak out openly and publicly about depression in order to lessen the stigma associated with it.  If my story can help ONE person,  it will be worth it all.