Ever since I can remember I’ve been a sad kid; even before the horrible family and personal events happened I was known as being the sad child. I would always be sad about something, I would always feel helpless and alone. And I didn’t know why or what to do about it. I didn’t know depression was a thing. Then my relationships with my parents started breaking down and I became more sad, then I developed full blown depression and I’ve never gotten out of it for more than a few months or so. I would just exist in states of limbo until dipping back into the next break down or extended depressive period. As a result, I don’t know who I am without it.
New friends at first see the side of me that’s fun and excitable and chaotic. They see the me that I am in brief spells that’s ‘happy’ or content at least. I never know how to respond whenever they say “We’ve noticed you’ve not been yourself recently”. To me, it’s the opposite. The ‘me’ that they see and spend time with isn’t the ‘real’ me. It’s a hypothetical version of me that could have existed in another timeline, if I didn’t have this constant weight and emptiness. That ‘me’ is the person I want to be, and sometimes it almost feels like she exists, but then I get tired of pretending. I get tired of almost forcing myself to at least pretend to be happy. But people who haven’t known me for long don’t understand it: I think they expect for it to be just a blip and I’ll get back to ‘normal’. I just don’t know what my normal is supposed to be.
My normal, baseline seems to be just nothing. Just emptiness, apathy, just not caring about myself, no longer playing an active role in my own life. I go through the motions of my day to day routine because that’s it: a routine. A small victory for me now is not injuring myself or even crying when I’m hurt by something, but I think that’s because I’ve just turned it to not feeling. I guess I thought not feeling would be better than feeling; turns out its the same process but slower, more drawn out. The first time I’ve cried in front of my uni friends in a long time, I started saying something without knowing what I was going to say. The words that ended up coming out were “I just don’t want to be sad anymore.” I didn’t know what the weight that I constantly felt was until I said those words. I just don’t want to feel like I am constantly fighting against myself.
I live in constant fear that the people in my life are going to realise that I’m too much, that I’m not worth keeping close. One of my friends said to me that whenever I needed to talk about anything he would be there. Recently I had reason to see if that was true: I tried talking to him about something that was upsetting me but the things he was saying in the messages were pretty unhelpful, so I suggested talking on the phone because I just wanted to say it all out loud to help me think it over. His response was “I’m not going to be any more useful over the phone so there isn’t any point” and it felt like I’d been punched in the stomach. To me, I had reached out to him for help and he didn’t want to. I know he speaks to other people on the phone when they need him, but not me. It hurts thinking that people who are supposed to be your closest friends don’t really want to speak to you when you need them. Maybe he was right and he wouldn’t have been helpful, but it would have been reassuring to know he would at least try. And because I hurt, I’m shutting down. I’m telling myself I don’t care: that I don’t care about my relationship with friends, that I won’t feel anything when inevitably they fade away. It’s either nothing or the hurt. Right now, I prefer nothing.
My struggle to get some sort of psychiatric help spans about 6 years now, starting when I was 14 I think. Somehow I’ve always been forgotten about, let slip through the cracks. My belief in the NHS or even private counselling services is just nonexistent at this point. For some reason I always have to fight for every inch closer towards the support I need. And every time I’m just dropped. I don’t expect anything else at this point. Being abandoned by people (specifically those I’m romantically interested in for some reason) was kind of a given, but I always held the belief that eventually someone would give me the help I need. This weekend confirmed that that might not ever be the case.
This is the story. The chronology might be a little off or I may have forgotten something, but this is the gist of it. When I was 14 I started self harming with a compass. I told my best friend at the time and she encouraged me to tell a teach at school, which I did. I think received 3 sessions of counselling from the school but that wasn’t enough. My mum arranged private counselling sessions, but I just didn’t click with the guy and I left the sessions feeling angrier and more frustrated so I stopped after a few weeks. The matron at my school gave me a number for a counsellor she knew, so I arranged an appointment with her. That seemed to go well and a second one was arranged. Except she didn’t turn up. She messaged me apologising and saying she would arrange another appointment for me for free but I never heard back from her. So that was the first time I felt like I had properly just been forgotten about (quite literally).
There had been multiple visits to the GP’s over the months around that time to try and get some sort of antidepressants or counselling or something. All that ever happened was some numbers were printed out and I was sent on my way. I always tried the numbers but for some reason I never seemed to be eligible for counselling with the organisations. I tried going to a NHS self-harm help workshop or something to that effect but it was pretty useless. At 16/17 the suicidal feelings started getting worse, to the point where I tried to overdose a couple of times. One of those time I went to hospital, and whilst the memory is a little hazy, eventually I somehow managed to get onto the CAMHS programme. I was with them for a little while, but since I was turning 18 I couldn’t stay with them for long (they only dealt with under 18′s). So once again I was left to fend for myself without any resources.
I don’t think in the gap between the end of school and university i sought out any help, partly because I was just tired of constantly being turned away or mislead or just dropped. Then in my first semester at university I tried to overdose again, ending up with me going to hospital. Once more, I was just released with a few numbers printed. I called them but yet again somehow I just didn’t fall into their bracket. I went to the GP and got some medication, and even an referral to a mental health organisation. A little while later I went to an appointment with them, and for what seemed the millionth time had to tell someone why I wanted help. They said they were unequipped to help me to referred me to a psychiatric nurse. One more to add to the list of time I’ve been passed on to someone else, but at least some progress is now being made right? I’m finally getting somewhere, right? Several weeks before this, I had put in an application to be seen by the university counselling services. In the waiting period to see the psychiatric nurse, the uni services got back to me and an appointment was made. I went to see them, thinking finally I’m actually able to see people! All this waiting and trying and it’s all paid off. Unfortunately, this was absolutely not the case. Because I was on the waiting list to see the nurse, the uni services said they could no longer see me as I couldn’t be registered with multiple services at once. Then my psychiatric appointment came around, and YET AGAIN I had to tell someone why I was there. Going through all the traumas and reasons for wanting to hurt or even kill myself; I was so tired of it. A week or so later, a letter came for me saying they did not think I was high priority enough for them. I was in hospital and had nearly jumped off a bridge not too long before, but apparently I still wasn’t high priority enough. It seemed like I actually had to kill myself before anyone would notice, which surely defeats the point.
Now the most recent. My self harm tendencies came back, so I contacted the services again and got a consultation. They said they would try to prioritise me but I still haven’t heard back. Last week I sort of tried to slit my wrists, but managed to get my flatmate’s help in time. The wounds were dressed and it seemed fine. Friday night I tried to overdose again and spent most of early saturday morning vomiting. On sunday I noticed that the cuts looked like they were starting to get infected. I ended up at out of hours minor injuries unit, but was sent to a&e due to the overdose. They took my bloods, then once they came back okay I was packed off home. It was on the records I was in the year previously, but still apparently I “don’t need to see the psychiatric team”. Not even any numbers were printed off. I am so sick of constantly going through these loops of reaching out to someone in a desperate attempt protect me from myself, having to retell the same old stories of why I’m depressed and suicidal, waiting and waiting and waiting, only to be dropped because I’m not ‘high priority enough’. Even though my overdoses in the last 3 years number about 4 or 5 now. My self harming has been on and off for 6 years. What do I actually have to do to get someone to help me? It took years for me to finally persuade a GP to give me medication, how much more do I have to do for someone to actually notice I am well on my way to being a serious danger to myself. I wasn’t even surprised at the lack of reaction from the hospital. It seemed fitting - this is what always happens. Im tired. I don’t want to try anymore, it’s too exhausting. I don’t know what to do.
I wrote you a letter but you haven’t replied. I texted you but still no answer. I don’t know what an appropriate next step is. I don’t want you to be shutting yourself off but maybe I’m not the best person help you with that. You were almost that person for me, and it’s been a long time since I’ve been romantically interested in someone and I thought I could actually trust them. It seems the feeling isn’t mutual. But that’s okay. I don’t have to be that person, but completely cutting me off when all I want to do is know you’re okay is, to be blunt, rather cruel of you.You didn’t have to just ghost me. You could have said literally anything and I would have understood, I would have asked what you want from me. I would have done whatever I could to have helped you. Instead you just left me thinking it was something I had done, or that once again someone was just using me. The fact that you said ‘Don’t worry I’m not going anywhere’ made it worse. Because it was a lie. It was a straight up lie and I knew it as soon as I read it, but I still wanted to believe you. Despite you initially fucking me over, I continued thinking that you were different. When am I going to stop letting myself get hurt by just constantly believing people?
After getting out of a horrible relationship, being assaulted three times in one year and being blamed for two of those, going though a suicide attempt once again, almost going through another within the space of a month and getting dropped from two more mental health services for the millionth time, recently I actually felt like I was finally putting myself back together again. I had done okay at uni, found a nice group of people and had got myself a placement over summer. And I thought I had found someone who understood me. Not just similar sense of humour and that, but could actually understand at least most of the things I had gone through. Someone I thought I could trust with the things I almost never share because it’s too painful or awkward for other people to deal with. My sense of self worth was finally being rebuilt for the first time in years. I felt good about myself, like I’d moved passed all the bad stuff. But you and F in literally one exchange managed to completely destroy that. Him saying objectifying things about me was bad enough, but the fact that not only did you not stop him, you went along with it just tore everything I had worked on to shreds. If even you seemed to only see me in that way like apparently everyone else, then I really must be worth nothing more than that. Maybe that’s not how you intended it, but you knew how much I had been hurt by that kind of stuff and it didn’t even cross your mind that maybe you shouldn’t say it, regardless of whether I would find out or not. But for the countless time I decided to forgive the person that had hurt me, because I wanted it to work. Because I genuinely thought there could be something there. Completely disappearing on me took the shreds of self worth and just burned them. Apparently I meant so little that I wasn’t worth an explanation, or even a reply to let me know you were okay. I had told you before I have difficulty trusting people because of this kind of thing in the past. This is one more thing to add to the list: even if you tell them near everything you are able to share with people, even if they promise you they’re different and they won’t disappear or treat you like nothing, they’re still the same as the rest.
Am I ever going to hear from you again? I feel like probably not, and I’m trying my best to accept that but it hurts. Something was said in a tv series I watched recently that resonated with me more than I expected; paraphrasing, it went something along the lines of “People don’t really care. Maybe they want to, or they try to but it’s never enough. They just don’t care enough.” Maybe you feel the same way. The fact that you’re hurting and you won’t let me do anything to help, that you won’t explain to me or talk to me makes me feel like someone’s twisting a knife into my stomach. You won’t even reply to a text.
I’d be lying if I didn’t say I could have fallen for you. It sounds a bit dramatic but it’s true. I think if I hadn’t have gone to Germany and we were seeing each other over summer I would have. Even when I was away I would sometimes lie in bed and think about how I could see that happening, and how I couldn’t wait to see you again. The fact that you were the one who would mention things like ‘girlfriend’ made me think that maybe you felt the same way. You actually made me happy for the first time in years, and I think I made you happy too. I guess not anymore.
I don’t know what to do, A. I want to be there for you, I want to help you but I don’t know what you want from me. Do you want me to leave you alone? Do you want me to pester you until you talk to me? Do you ever want to talk to me again? Did you even get my letter? It genuinely hurts me so much that once again I’m being abandoned by someone I truly believed wouldn’t do that. Who promised me they wouldn’t. You promised me, A. You shouldn’t have done that. I don’t know why it went so downhill so quick and it kills me that I don’t think I’ll ever really have closure. Remember when I wrote down that no one has ever wanted to actually stick around before and I didn’t know what to do with that? Guess I didn’t need to worry about it in the end. You’ve done the exact same as everyone else and essentially just confirmed for me I am only wanted or cared about until I’ve fucked them. After that, who cares? Maybe this is me being selfish, feeling excessively sorry for myself. But I’ve done all I can think of to try reach out to you, and I don’t think you realise you’re not the only one that’s hurting. I’m sorry you don’t feel like I can be there for you and I couldn’t help. I really am.
Just please at least give me my bikini back.
I have no illusions whatsoever about what a privileged life I lead. I was from a fairly stable home (single parent, but still); I went to a good school; I have enjoyed many things in life that I’m only recently learning that I took for granted and we never truly struggled for money. Yes we couldn’t just throw money around carelessly but we never worried about whether we could afford to be comfortable. My upbringing was nowhere near perfect (my father made sure of that) but overall I’ve been incredibly lucky. And in there lies the problem that I don’t feel like I can get upset or angry about anything, because so many other people have it so much worse.
At what point is someone just trying to feel sorry for themselves? When I was severely struggling with depression as a teenager I couldn’t tell my mother because every time I even hinted at not being happy she would say to me “Why are you feeling like this, you’ve got everything!” and “You’ve got no reason to be sad”. And even now I often feel like if something bad happens I’m not allowed to complain because so much worse has happened to other people, and I feel guilty because I feel like I’m not appreciating what I do have. When I had an eating disorder it was never bad enough to be put in hospital or even significantly lose weight (it was a binge and purge kind of system). Because it was never bad enough to properly endanger my health I still don’t like saying I had an eating disorder, since it was nothing compared to other people. I’ve learned a lot about other people’s situations, particularly in the past few weeks and now I just feel terrible for ever thinking that I have had rough points in my life.
My relationship with my family isn’t amazing I will admit that. I can’t talk to my mother about much and I have no contact with my father. My mum has threatened to throw me out several times but she never actually has. My father would sometimes get physical with my mum and throw or smash things, but he never properly hit me or my sister. Verbally, he frequently treated us horrendously, and he took a weird sadistic pleasure in scaring us as children but he was never properly physical. My first boyfriend made me think he was going to kill himself if I broke up with him, and would say not nice things about me to my friends (maybe in an attempt to turn them against me, who knows?). Towards the end of my second relationship my boyfriend would occasionally say horrible things to me when drunk and he did say he wanted to hit me a couple of times, but he never actually did. Other people have described them as a toxic relationships but that phrase gets thrown around far too much. If you have one argument with your SO, people now consider that toxic. One person described my relationship with N as ‘abusive’. That never sat comfortably with me because I didn’t see it as abuse, but especially after learning about other people’s relationships where they would be beaten by their partner I don’t feel like I can even remotely consider it abuse.
I have been sexually assaulted in the past. On a few occasions. But I still can’t help but blame myself. Only about 3 weeks after I was raped my mum was talking about how girls get themselves into these situations when they get too drunk. I had had sex with this guy a couple of nights before it happened but I was so drunk I genuinely do not remember it whatsoever, just extremely hazy flashes of the evening. Up until that night I thought he was gay. So because I had already had sex with him in the past and I didn’t put up a fight since I completely froze and had no idea what to do, I still find myself thinking that it was my fault. The friend that said I should have gone back to the room with the man from July last year said that I should have expected it and I should have been more careful. Once again, my fault so I can’t complain about it. With S, we had been kissing before I rolled over to go to sleep. Maybe I shouldn’t have given him the impression that something was going to happen. Then when he tried it again after I got back into the bed, I still can’t help but feel it was my fault because I should have just slept somewhere else even if it was freezing. Should I have not got upset about these occasions at all? Have I made too big a deal out of them? All the other gropings and comments I can’t help but think they’re not significant enough for me to get upset about them. Is this just me trying to exaggerate how these things have impacted me and shifting the blame just so I can feel sorry for myself?
Overall, I’ve been dealt an extremely good hand. I grew up in a middle class household; I’m intelligent and had a good education, I’m apparently attractive and have a good set of friends. I was never physically abused, never molested as a child and have a mother who loves me and I know does her best for me even though she doesn’t like me much. It feels selfish saying I’ve had difficult times, because even those are nothing compared to other people. Are my suicide attempts just me being pathetic - a middle class girl unable to cope with tiny difficulties in life? And none of the times I’ve even come close to succeeding, I was just put on a drip and monitored for a few hours. So the things that drove me to it can’t have been actually bad enough since they weren’t proper serious attempts, right? I’ve been called posh many times, and it just reinforces the idea that I’m not allowed to say I’ve gone through any kind of trauma because I come from such a privileged background. I know if it was anyone else that was in this exact same position I would tell them that that’s a ridiculous mindset to have and people’s struggles are real no matter their circumstances and background. But I can’t seem to adopt the same opinion when it comes to myself. I’m torn about which attitude to take, because I genuinely have no idea which is the more accurate one.
One thing I’m starting to learn is that often when it comes to ‘traumatic events’, that it’s not just the one particular event that just stays with you and that eventually you can somehow get over it. I’m also realising it’s near impossible to just ‘get over it’, since subsequent little events after the catalyst (that by themselves would be almost nothing) add to the already existing mental turbulence. I guess in a kind of snowballing effect.
Whilst I hate the ‘victim complex’ with a passion and I can’t stand people feeling sorry for me or acting like/thinking that I’m broken or damaged, I have to admit there are difficult things that I am struggling to deal with, because of this snowballing effect. Every time I think that maybe I have moved past what has happened to me something else ‘triggers’ it, and all these bad memories come flooding back. Now not only do I have all the previous events to try and process, there’s now a new one to add to the pile.
November 2017 I was raped. Even looking at the sentence doesn’t feel real, it doesn’t feel like it belongs to me. Is that because I don’t believe I was actually raped? Maybe it’s because I don’t think I did enough to stop it, or the guy wasn’t aware that I didn’t want to so it technically doesn’t count. Honestly I don’t think he was aware; I froze, I didn’t know what to do even though every fibre in me was screaming to get out. And he probably processed that as consent. Regardless of whether he knew what he was doing or whether it would count as rape in the eyes of the law, someone had sex with me when I didn’t want them to and I’m still feeling the effects of that. I got back together with my ex-boyfriend very shortly after, and whilst he was good at the start, it started to break down. He said on a couple of occasions that he wanted to hit me, and would say awful things when he was drunk that would reduce me to tears but always said he never remembered saying them. One time when I was sobbing on his kitchen floor about what had happened to me saying that it’s all my fault and I didn’t do enough to stop it; his only response was ‘Yeah probably’. Another time we were having sex when drunk and I said something I thought was funny, he stopped and said “I don’t want to have sex with you anymore but I’m going to anyway.” When I got upset about this he proceeded to blame me, saying it was my fault because I always made him feel worthless and disappointing. Which was absolutely not true, since I always went out of my way to make sure he didn’t feel like that. All this contributed to me feeling like my body wasn’t my own and I only had myself to blame for anything done to me.
Even to this day I can only really have sex when drunk (bar maybe once or twice in the 18+ months since it happened). Most of the time when I’m sober the thought of someone touching me repulses me, makes me feel physically sick. Not just because of that one event, but because of the many that would follow.
Late July/early August last year, something similar happened to me again. I was talking to someone in a hostel and he seemed nice. We talked for a few hours and had a few drinks (to the point where I was getting a little bit drunk) and some other men came over to join us. I noticed he started getting extremely jealous when I was talking to the other guys and kept trying to pull me away. He kept trying to kiss me and I kept being very uncertain as to what to do. After each time I pulled away he would say he wouldn’t do it again but then a few minutes later kiss me again. I agreed to go back to his room with him, but in my mind it was only to sleep and cuddle. He had different ideas. When I was falling asleep he tried to undo my shorts and stick his hands down them. When I jumped up, called him out on it and tried to leave he wouldn’t let me, so I had to lock myself in the bathroom and call my friend whilst he was banging on the door. She called the hostel reception and got them to escort me back to my room. The thing that really hurt about that event was a male friend blamed me for it, saying I was drunk and I shouldn’t have been drinking with him if he was horny and I shouldn’t have gone back to his room. Basically he was saying that it was my fault.
Once again it felt like I was to blame for what was happening. A few days earlier a guy I was with on a night out had repeatedly tried to kiss me even though each time I told him to stop and pulled away. He didn’t care and just kept trying. He even said ‘I can’t believe I’m getting rejected and by a girl from Leeds as well.’ Apparently my consent didn’t matter because of where I came from. And that feeling stuck with me. I have already talked about how a guy I really liked and trusted with the information about what had happened to me once again tried to put his hands down my pyjamas multiple times whilst I stayed over at his. At uni there have been multiple occasions where guys I’ve either slept with or are just sharing a bed with have tried to grope me in my sleep. And now the most recent event: my flatmate and I had been taking cocaine in one of the other flats and had both gone to bed. He messaged me inviting me into his room. I went just to make sure he was okay since he had taken a lot and had been drinking, and laid down next to him. Since he has a girlfriend and the previous events were still in my mind, I stayed a good distance away and on top of the duvet. However he tried to put his hand up my jumper and pull my hand down to his crotch I’m assuming to try and put them down his boxers. I quickly left and got into bed to try and process what had happened. He repeatedly messaged me and even tried to come into my room (luckily I had locked the door). But for the countless time someone didn’t care about my consent. It seemed that men only saw me as something to fuck and I was supposed to just go along with it and let it happen. I have received multiple messages from multiple different people all saying in crude terms how they want to fuck me, people stalking me in clubs, people trying to assault me or grope me, people tricking me into having sex without a condom even when I specifically said to use one. Because people were sexually attracted to me, that was a reason enough to harass me with the goal of getting me to sleep with them. No one cared about my autonomy or even thought it existed. So if no one else respects my body and my right to say yes or no why the fuck should I?
I stayed at a guys flat recently because the journey home was too expensive. He repeatedly kept making passes at me and I repeatedly kept shaking him off. At that point I was used to it so it didn’t bother me too much. But then the next morning he said “That’s something I [rate/respect, I can’t remember which] about you, that you didn’t shag me on the first night.” So there was my confirmation. My attempt to process and counteract what people had done to me by I guess sleeping around a bit, because it was the only way I felt I could get control back of my body and my ability to consent meant that I wasn’t worthy of respect anymore. I didn’t deserve respect before either from my boyfriend or from strangers and now by trying to cope with that by taking control, I was now worth even less.
Someone said to me recently that ‘sex isn’t the end goal here’. I want to believe them, I genuinely do but I can’t. It’s been so long since I felt like I was worth more to men than a quick fuck, and everyone I’ve trusted so far has broken that trust by trying to assault me as soon as my guard is down. A male friend stayed in my bed with me recently, and he rested his hand on my waist. I have known this boy for years, but as soon as he touched me my heart rate just spiked and I froze. I completely trusted him, but someone of the opposite sex touching me especially in bed and when we’d been drinking brought back all these memories and I had to try hard to stop myself from panicking.
Trauma is more than the sum of all it’s parts. Most of the things that have happened to me are relatively small and would be almost inconsequential on their own. But every time a new one is added to the list, I’m forced to relive every single one all over again. It’s ruined my relationships with people, it’s completely destroyed my trust and self worth. The sheer number of times this has happened often makes me think if it’s something I’m doing, there must be something about me that makes people think they can do that. Something about me means I don’t deserve to be seen as a person who can decide for myself what I do or don’t want to do with people. I’m in a catch-22: the only way I can be intimate with people now is by drinking or taking drugs to the point where I don’t think about what could happen and I don’t feel physically sick by the thought of someone touching me. But that also means I’m not in a state to realise when I’m being taken advantage of. I don’t know how to get over this innate fear that someone will try assault me again at the next opportunity but I’m hoping soon I’ll find a less destructive way of processing it.
There’s no doubt that the past 12 months have been awful and I think more than anyone deserves to have to put up with. However, there were definitely some incredible highlights.
The main one being travel related. I continued my gap year (my previous visit to south east Asia, rape aside, was one of the best few weeks of my life) and visited Fiji and New Zealand, where I met 3 incredible girls that I hope to be friends with for the rest of my life. I also met my siblings for the first time in over 10 years, as well as their children. That trip I remember being one of the happiest times of my life, and I decided that I want to live in New Zealand some day. It’s one of my favourite countries and I had the most incredible time there. Once again, assault aside, Europe was also so much fun and it brought me closer to one of my now best friends. I absolutely loved it (aside from a couple of draw backs, including one of my travel companions). Travelling is when I’m happiest because I’m free from both my parents and I feel the most liberated I’ve ever felt.
At the start of the year I got out of an incredible toxic and potentially borderline emotionally abusive. N went to university September 2017, and I don’t think he was very happy there. He became more introverted and unsocial, and unfortunately that affected me massively. He also took out whatever anger and hurt he was feeling onto me; including saying he wanted to hit me twice and saying “I don’t want to have sex with you but I’m going to anyway” then blaming me saying that I make him feel inadequate. That was in his own head, since I deliberately avoided doing anything like that because I knew how upsetting it was. He also wouldn’t let me talk about my assault and when I had an emotional breakdown in his kitchen saying ‘it’s all my fault, I didn’t do enough to stop it’ he said ‘yeah probably’. That still sticks with me. I completely fell out of love with him and wanted out, I was just scared partially because I was still clinging to this rock that had held me steady through 2016 (another one of the worst years of my life). Eventually we broke up and I have never felt more relieved. I was completely free and it was an incredible feeling.
Along with the 3 girls I met in New Zealand, I became closer to 2 other girls I would now consider my best friends. One I had been friends with throughout school but not quite as close as we became in the last 4 months. I love her so much, there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for her. The other I have only really been friends with for about a year. We’d met a couple of times before then but only the end of 2017/beginning of 2018 did we become real friends. I went travelling with her and she made it absolutely incredible. She’s done so much for me and there’s nothing I could possibly do to repay her.
I also started university and made some incredible friends. Whilst I’m still settling in I’d say it’s one of the best decisions of my life and I’m extremely excited for the rest of the year.
Like i said - there’s a huge dichotomy of the past 12 or so months. Toxic relationships (both romantic, platonic and familial), assaults and the return of my depression with an absolute vengeance. But there’s also been so much travelling, new and improved friendships, and moving away from home. To reiterate, I hope 2019 is the year of full and complete recovery and cementing the good things of my life into place.
At the risk of sounding like a massive cliche, last year was confusingly one of the best and one of the worst years of my life. There was rarely an extended period of time with the same emotional tone; the rollercoaster of emotions and events makes it one of the most juxtaposed chapters of my life. Writing it all down and putting it in one place may help my digest it all and start 2019 with a clean slate.
Firstly, why I struggled with the past 12 months - well, slightly more than 12 months since it kind of continues on from part of 2017. I spent a huge majority of 2018 getting over being raped in November 2017. This wasn’t aided by the fact that I had a boyfriend who agreed that it was my fault, that I didn’t do enough to stop it etc etc. The relationship generally became massively toxic, making the first 6 or so weeks very difficult and painful. Luckily it ended about half way through February. Relationships with my family were also very strained; the past few years have seen mine and my mother’s relationship become more and more strained and this was most obvious in 2018. Moving away to university was definitely needed as being at home became unbearable, and that was definitely reinforced over Christmas. My relationship with my father completely disintegrated to the point where I tried to kill myself (more on that later) due to his abusive and nasty emails and I now refuse to see him.
During my travels in Germany, someone else tried to assault me. We had spent the evening together chatting and drinking, and he tried to kiss me several times and each time I’d expressed uncertainty and/or said no. Each time he said he was fine with it, but would try again a few minutes later. I ended up going to his room to sleep because I was slightly drunk and feeling in a cuddly mood. I was starting to go to sleep when he tried to unbutton my shorts. I sort of froze to see if he would notice my lack of response, but he continued and I jumped up asking what the hell he was doing. He wouldn’t let me leave or go back to my room so I had to lock myself in the bathroom down the hall, and call my friend who got hostel staff to escort me to my room. The rest of the trip had been completely destroyed and it set back recovery progress pretty much right to the start. On another night out in Germany a few days earlier another boy had repeatedly tried to kiss me and said some derogatory comments when I repeatedly said no. The combination made the last few days of the trip , emotionally, some of the worst of my life. This wasn’t helped when another similar thing happened a matter of months later, but with someone who I would never have expected it from.
This is a long subsection of the year. Part way through my travels around Europe I began talking to a boy (S) who knew one of my best friends. At first I wasn’t too invested but as we talked more and more I started to really enjoy it and begin maybe liking him (as much as you can through Facebook messenger). When we finally met it was awkward and horrendous because it was a group night out so we couldn’t really talk properly and we ended up kissing in the club which was then filmed. But by the time I was leaving to go home the next day some of the awkwardness has dissipated and I left feeling fairly satisfied and not really expecting to hear from him again. But a couple of days later he messaged me and conversation started again. He suggested that I stay with him in Newcastle at some point, and I agreed I could stay a few nights on my way to Glasgow. As the time got closer I started to get nervous because of my past, and I asked my friend for reassurance. She said S was amazing and he would never do anything like other people had in the past and I shouldn’t be worried. I also decided to tell the boy that I’d had ‘some bad experiences in the past when I’ve been alone with men” or something to that affect, to which he responded that he would do everything to make it comfortable and let him know if I was being triggered. I have no idea if he properly guessed what I was alluding to but I was satisfied, regardless. When I arrived in Newcastle there was no awkwardness and we had a really nice day. We went out with his friends and when we came back we got into our pjs and bed. We started to make out and because I knew he wasn’t that experienced and I didn’t know what he was comfortable with I let him take the lead (which ended up going nowhere) so I decided to just go to sleep. At some point, S then tried the same thing that the guy from Germany did. I completely froze, probably because I was scared of what was going to happen after last time, plus I was staying in his house and I had nowhere to go. Eventually I got out of bed and went down the kitchen trying to digest everything. I thought about sleeping down there or in someone else’s room but it was freezing and I didn’t know if I could stay in someone else’s bed. So I went back and got in but right on the very edge of the bed, hoping that he’d fallen asleep or would have got the message. But no, he tried again and once again I froze. Eventually I got out and started packing my stuff up. He asked what I was doing and (from here on it’s a little hazy) and I said packing and told him why, at which point I burst into tears and told him everything. As far as I can remember he felt very upset about it and in a bizarre turn of events I ended up comforting him. Eventually we got back into bed and he slept in a sleeping bag. The next day I woke up and all of the night before just hit me. The fact that this was the third time in under a year and from someone I trusted, had told about my past experienced, and God forbid actually liked did it was too much. I got my stuff together, got dressed and waited downstairs for him to wake up because I’d given him my debit card to look after. If it wasn’t for that I would have left. When he eventually came downstairs I got my debit card off him and after sitting in horrible silence for a while I got up, collected my stuff and left the room. I sat on the stairs for a few seconds to just gather my thoughts as to where I was going to go or what to do. He came out and sat on the floor. We talked a bit and he convinced me to stay. After that the rest of the time was nice even though it had this undertone to it that I couldn’t forget. My last night we went out again but I hated it because of the paranoia and still recovering, everywhere I looked I thought someone was going to grope me. Eventually I just went outside, S followed and I explained and he said we could just go home. Apparently we kissed and cuddled a bit when we got back but I don’t remember. The next morning I was convinced of my feelings for him despite everything. We kissed again, and messed around including sort of having sex (there were some erectile issues). I got my train to Glasgow, again not necessarily expecting to hear from him but received a message not too long after my train left and we continued talking. Except then things became weird. He would tell me about the people he kissed or brought back to his, which i wasn’t sure what to take away from that. We stopped talking as much to the point where there’d be a week (when before we had talked every day). Eventually it upset me to the point where I said to him I need to cut off contact for a while until I get over this. He seemed sad about that but agreed, and I stuck to it mostly (apart from one drunk message which I deleted and only found out about later) until the night of my suicide attempt, where I messaged him. Things kind of started to get back to normal ish but not for long and eventually communication would kind of stop periodically. Because my depression had come back in full force I was desperate for some kind of affection from someone and I clung to this ‘was once nearly but not quite a relationship’. My self esteem was incredibly low after months of just bouncing from one hook up to another and I just wanted some emotional validation. The closest I had got to in probably nearly a year was this one boy; despite the fact it should have been very clear that it was not going to happen I absolutely clung to the slight hope that maybe I wasn’t being cast aside or used by him for just someone to go back to if he was bored like most scenarios in the past. Most definitely to my disadvantage. When I met him over Christmas, it was incredibly clear how one sided it was and maybe I made a bit of an idiot of myself, but it’s undeniably obvious that nothing will ever happen and I doubt now that I’ll ever hear from or see him again.
I also lost someone else - an internet friend who I had spoken to for about 8 months pretty much non stop and confided most things. I had met M at a gig and we’d stayed in touch. We told each other almost everything I think, and I was talking to him when I was nearly assaulted in Germany. He had said since I was drinking and he was probably horny that I should have expected it and that I need to be more careful in the future. This upset me because I had though I’d made it clear to the man that I wasn’t interested in that and I told him so. In the months that followed he made various other upsetting comments, the last one being about the case in Ireland of a girl being raped and the rapist being acquitted because of the underwear she was wearing. This case hit me very hard because I felt for the girl and it reinforced that idea that I couldn’t have reported anything that happened to me because it would have been portrayed as my fault. He defended this and made some other unnecessary comments which devastated me. I blocked him and am much happier for it, but the echoes of the things he said to me still linger.
Now for the piece de resistance as to why this was potentially one of the worst years of my life. I attempted suicide again and nearly had another attempt, after 2 years of being in the clear. There were a couple of attempts in 2016 but I thought that whilst I was still very much recovering from depression I was on the home stretch. After the multiple assaults which thoroughly destroyed my self esteem, the incredibly strained and horrendous relationship with both my parents, and moving to university with all this baggage and no-one I felt like I could tell, I felt the most isolated and alone I had felt in a very long time. My father had sent me multiple abusive emails about my family, including blaming my aunt for her son’s recent suicide. I can’t remember the specific things that lead to it the particular night I overdosed (the emails were definitely a massive factor), but I took about 24 ish aspirin tablets. I called my best friend and she convinced me to call the ambulance. The ambulance arrived about 1.5 hours later, just as my flatmates were returning from a night out. So they saw me leave with the paramedics, and were clearly incredibly confused. I was released the evening the next day and didn’t really leave my room the day after that until the evening. Thankfully none of them asked me about it. A few weeks later, I think when M and I had the fight and I blocked him, I nearly jumped from a bridge. I once again called my best friend and she talked to me and convinced me to go home. If I hadn’t called her I don’t know if I can say I wouldn’t be here right now. I started self harming again for the first time in 1.5 years and I don’t know if I’ll be able to stop myself. I’ve told certain flatmates certain things (I think some of them I told about my assaults, one other may have an idea as to the suicide attempt) but I just feel like if I have another spiral there’s no one in the near vicinity I can go to. I have to call my friends in other cities repeatedly, and I just can’t help but feel like a burden. I’m on medication and hopefully starting some sort of psychiatric treatment - maybe they’ll both make a difference but I don’t know how much faith I’d give to either of them. I’ve tried for 4/5 years to get help and no one seemed to care. It seems at least some progress has been made, but I’m not getting my hopes up.
Lets hope the universe has finished punishing me, and 2019 is going to be a much better year for me. Part 2 is why 2018 was one of the best years of my life.
One of my biggest pet peeves is people taking fairly ‘normal’ thing (or seem normal to me) and making it like I have so many issues or I’m such an alcoholic or I’m such a mess because it seems attention seeking and trivialising people that actually have these problems going on in their lives. In my experience, if you actually are struggling with this sort of stuff you don’t plaster it all over social media. Which is partly why I find it very difficult to think that maybe I have some emotional or mental problems, and maybe some issues need to be addressed. Even after multiple suicide attempts or close calls and years of self inflicted harm part of me still struggles with getting help. And because so many cries for help have been ignored I just don’t think I need it or that it’s ever going to happen.
So I’m unsure whether this is something I should be concerned about or if it’s just normal university student/young adult things. Recently I’ve started to be able to drink. Like, half a litre of vodka and I’m fairly okay; half a bottle of rum has minimal effect on me whatsoever. If there’s ever any reason to drink (and with the Christmas holidays going on there’s been a lot) I’m absolutely jumping on it and squeezing as much out as I can. Most days I want to drink extremely badly. I want to be drunk all the time because I don’t feel as crushed, or things seem more bearable. I asked a friend about this (not in this much detail) and she said that it seems to be fine and that if she thinks a problem is starting she would tell me. But how can she possibly know the full extent? There’s a history of alcoholism in my family so I’m incredibly aware this is a potential issue.
Today I had my first drug buy by myself. I’ve done a couple of different types of drugs before but they were more out of curiosity than anything. A few weeks ago I tried cocaine for the first time because I heard it gives you energy and makes you more alive and excited, and honestly I just wanted to feel like that. I bought MD this afternoon for New Years, because I want to be buzzed and happy and carefree for just one evening. I want to try ket because I’ve heard similar things. A ‘family friend’ I don’t even like has offered me money “No questions asked” if I need it just to try and wiggle his way into my life and make me owe him something probably. And honestly I’m so tempted to say yes because I just want to be able to get some drugs and hopefully feel this lack of crushing weight that I hear drug addicts have.
My home life isn’t the worst thing you’ll ever hear. I don’t live in squalor; I’m fed and clothed; my mother wants to do the best by me. But she’s also hugely deluded in so many ways. I frequently feel punished for having different opinions or outlooks onto life, frequently told not to come home and have often been insulted in various ways during arguments. Whenever I snap and get annoyed at her she starts a fight with me and demands an apology, but refuses to believe she could ever be in the wrong. I’ve said she’s never once apologised to me before and I’ve never seen anyone so adamant that they’re always in the right. Even after I’ve told her she’s driven me to attempt suicide her first response was “then you should leave” rather than “how do I not do that anymore”. Home isn’t home to me. I feel an outsider here, there’s nowhere I feel is a proper sanctuary. And I guess that’s making me turn to alcohol and who knows maybe drugs for comfort.
Again, I can’t tell if this is normal young adult behaviour since I know most people dabble, and if I’m just trying attention seeking to myself and giving myself an excuse for self pity.
So I’m treating this as a personal diary, since it’s hard to talk about and even those I can talk about it with I find that I’m constantly calling/messaging them which obviously isn’t good for their mental health and it’s never anything new. Maybe this will be quite cathartic.
I can’t decide if I want to die or if I just want the feelings to stop. Sometimes I’m glad that my suicide attempts were stopped, sometimes (like now) I genuinely want to stop existing. I’m not sure what’s a trigger; maybe being by myself, maybe seeing people enjoying themselves without me/being present but not included. I’ve tried for so many years to get help and it’s never worked. Even after two hospital admissions I have to fight for every possible step.
I find it extremely hard to concentrate, I can’t sleep and I forever seem to be on the verge of panic/self harming behaviour all the time. I genuinely don’t know how much longer I’ll be around for, some day I may actually succeed and I think I’ll probably keep trying until I do.
