a positive turn

The day after I cut myself for the first time, I woke up after a terrible nights rest. By terrible I mean I hardly even slept. The fear of how south my thoughts were going kept me up all night. My heart couldn't slow down, my mind was racing and I had no idea what I was going to do next. This emptiness inside me had completely taken over. It had taken over me slowly… over the course of many years. Now I wondered if I was too late. Could I even overcome the numbness I had? Could I ever stop the tears from flowing, even though my sadness had drifted away months ago? These thoughts had to be subdued until later because I had to go to work. I got out of bed, put on my work clothes ( I made sure to wear a long sleeved shirt), and put on my face. When I say putting on my face I don't mean makeup, I literally would not leave my room until I could get myself to smile and make it look believable. Some days I had to stand in front of the mirror for hours, just to get myself to smile.

My shift at work went smoothly. It was a pretty slow day, and so I had a lot of time on my hands to think about what I was going to do with my current state of being. I knew if I kept going on this way it wouldn't be much longer until I decided to permanently take my existence from this world. I felt so hopeless, and I didn't know who to turn too. I knew I had good friends who could help me, and I was really close to my family… but, something was holding me back from telling them and I didn't know what it was. I came to the conclusion that it was a lot of different things. Mainly I was scared. I was scared out of my mind to tell anyone how I had been feeling for the last 2 and a half years of my life, maybe even longer than that. I was ashamed, so ashamed of myself for letting me get to this point. I was bitter, bitter that this horrible thing had happened to me. I was angry, I was entirely livid that I was sitting over on the sidelines, still broken and he went on and lived his life like nothing had even happened. There were so many other things I was feeling, I don't think I can pin point them all. I had so many thoughts swarming my mind, I didn't even know where to start. I started to become so discouraged, that I gave up even telling anyone because I was a lost cause anyway.

After I got off work, the ride home was torture. I didn't know how I was going to approach the rest of the day, or even any day after. When I got home, I went upstairs to change and just sat on my bed. The hopelessness I felt was taking over and all I wanted to do was cry. I wasn't up there for long when my mom came and knocked on the door. I went over and let her in, I'll never forget the look on her face. She had such concern in her eyes, and I could tell she had been pondering how to approach this situation for quite some time. We sat down on my bed and started talking. She asked how I was doing and I said I was fine *lie*. I was looking down at my hands... I couldn't face looking into my mothers eyes knowing I had been lying to her about how I'd been feeling for so long. She reached over and put her hand below my chin to raise my head so I was looking her dead on. She then proceeded to say, "Look me in the eyes and tell me you're okay, Mackenzi." 

I completely broke down. I started crying so hard and between sobs I told her how is been feeling, that my depression had gotten really bad and I had thought about suicide. (My mother actually didn't know I had come to self harming, I told her that after I posted my first blog). We came to the conclusion that it was time I talked to someone, about everything. 

The next week I had my first appointment set up with my therapist. I was a nervous wreck sitting in the waiting room. I kept looking up at the clock, my hands were shaking and my foot was tapping like crazy. Just when I had started to calm down, the door opened and two women walked out of it. I tried really hard not to stare... but I couldn't help myself. One of the women turned to me and said, "Hi Mackenzi, you can go ahead and follow me this way." We walked back toward her room and she told me to take a seat wherever I felt comfortable. I chose this huge couch... it looked the least intimidating. 

I had gone into this therapy session thinking that it was going to be a certain way. I would do all the talking, she'd listen then give me her input and I'd leave really not feeling that much better about anything. It wasn't the case at all. 

She was very lovely, a very caring woman who genuinely cared about how I was doing. She didn't know me from Adam, and I didn't know her either. She first started talking to me about her life, her family, and why she chose this career. She told me about some interesting experiences she'd had while she was still in school. She even brought up some of her own struggles, and how she wanted to help others who have gone through bad experiences like she had and help them though it. I was taken aback. She then followed those remarks, by explaining to me why she told me so much about herself. She said, "I want you to know that I'm not just here to listen to you. I want to know you, I want you to feel comfortable talking to me about your life, both good and bad. This professional relationship that we have is going to go much further than just a first name basis."

Right after she finished, I just started sobbing. I felt badly for going in thinking she was going to be some lifeless robot who only would listen to me because it's what she was getting paid to do. In that instant she built a deep trust with me, and I knew she was exactly the person I needed to talk too. She was going to become a shoulder I could lean on. The next few months of meeting with her on a weekly  basis, did amazing things for me. I found out that not only was my depression something I was able to control and overcome but I also suffered with anxiety. My anger came from my body trying to find ways to let my anxiety out. I wasn't an angry person that I was afraid I had become, I was simply so anxious about everything that my body was trying to do everything it could to not shut down.

I'm not saying that therapy is this magical cure for depression. I still suffer with it today, and I know it's going to be a constant battle for the rest of my life. I want to get more into detail about the challenges I faced over those months, how I over came them, and what priceless advice she shared with me. But, that will have to wait till next time. 

falling deeper

I'm not going to waste any time getting into this. I'm not sure if anyone is anxious to read this, but I'm ready to get it out.

After we broke up, the next week was really good. I was smiling again, and not just pasting a fake grin on my face, but really smiling. I knew what I had done was right, leaving him was one of the best and hardest decisions I've ever made in my entire life.

Now, before I go any further, I want to explain why I stayed with him for so long. I'm sure you've heard many stories about how abused women (or men) stay with the abuser. I know, that upon hearing stories like this I always thought, "Why the crap would she go back to him or stay with him? He obviously doesn't love her. Is she stupid? It's obvious she needs to leave. He doesn't deserve her, and she doesn't deserve that abuse." But, after being in an abusive relationship myself, I've really gained a love for women, and men that have been in the same position as I. I'm going to give you some insight on what was going through my mind when I was still with my abuser.

Men and women that are abusive are more manipulative then you can imagine. They are very intelligent, good with words and twisting them to their benefit. They know exactly what to say to hurt you just enough, to get you to believe that you're not good enough, and you won't do any better then you have now. I mentioned in my last post that he called me his leftovers… not only did he say it to me, he brought me to believe through his actions that I really was his leftovers, and I wouldn't do any better than him. We would have really bad days, and when he'd bring me to tears, he would then proceed with buying me flowers or some sort of gift to apologize. He 'really was sorry', 'really did love me', 'didn't mean to make me cry', 'wanted me to stay', 'he would change', 'it would never happen again'. Each was a lie, and a beautifully written one at that. Most of my days spent with him were bad, but every now and then we'd have an amazing day, and it would reassure me of our relationship just long enough for the bad days to continue until the next really amazing one came.

So, continuing on, the first week after was good. However, after that it all went to crap. All those doubts he put in my mind were creeping back in, and I started feeling like I needed him. I felt I wasn't complete without him. The hole I felt in my chest, the emptiness… was unbearable. I felt like part of my soul, my existence, was ripped away from me. I thought I could only regain that through him. I never went back to him, so no need to worry about that. But, I thought about it everyday, for a very long time. A small part of me today, still, after all this time wonders if I made the right decision leaving him. That's how deep he penetrated me.

I remember walking around in a daze, I didn't believe I was really depressed, and I sure as heck didn't accept the fact I had been abused. To me accepting that those things really happened, meant I was weak, that it was my fault he fell out of love with me. I looked back on everything in our entire relationship… over and over it played in my head like a sick nightmare I couldn't escape from. I studied each little movement I made, each word I said, and wondered what I did wrong. Now and then I'd realize something really stupid that I said, or something embarrassing that happened, and I'd feel terrible about it. I'd think to myself, "Maybe that was the day I lost him. Maybe when I said that one thing he realized he didn't really want me." Then I'd go somewhere by myself and cry… for hours. Not just a little cry where tears stream down my face… I mean sobbing, breaking down to the point where I could hardly catch my breath. My chest would hurt so bad I would wish death upon myself, just so I wouldn't have to feel that pain ever again. I would get like this everyday, multiple times a day, for months.

There's one day in particular that I'll never forget. It was on this day I realized just how low I had gotten, and I realized I couldn't do this alone. I needed help, I needed it desperately.

I was in my bathroom, and for whatever reasons I was home alone. I was sitting on the counter with my feet in the sink, I was tweezing my eyebrows at the time which was a big step for me because keeping up on myself hardly ever happened at this point. I was looking at myself in the mirror after I finished shaping my brows. I had just gotten done with one of my severe sobbing episodes. My eyes were bloodshot, puffy, and I looked like I hadn't slept in weeks. At this point in time I had been separated from my abuser for about a year and a half. Even though I was numb to every emotion, I still cried as hard as I did shortly after we had been broken up. Then out of nowhere… I felt this rage… like nothing I've ever felt before. My heart felt like it was on fire. I wanted to put my fist through a wall. My eye started twitching and my entire body was tense. Then just as quickly as it came it left, and I was still sitting there, emotionless. Moments later I realized, that was the first time I had felt any kind of emotion in a really long time, probably about 4 months. I wanted to feel it again, even though rage was the last emotion I wanted to be exhibiting. So then I started coming up with ideas, ways I could force myself to feel an emotion, feel anything at all… then I get the worst idea I think I'd ever gotten. "I could feel something if I cut myself. I won't do it deeply… just enough to bleed so I feel some sort of pain."

You want to know what I did?

I went downstairs to my basement. Walked right over to my dads toolbox, and found an exacto knife blade. I tested the blade on a piece of cardboard to make sure it was still sharp and it was. Then I sat down right there and started cutting at my wrist. I didn't even sanitize the blade, in all honesty I hoped I'd get an infection. After making a small incision, I realized my idea had worked. As I watched the blood dribble down my arm… I found myself putting the blade to my wrist again. It was messed up, entirely messed up… and the worst part about it was I liked it. I liked finally feeling something again. I ended up making the triforce symbol…. but I wouldn't say I had any wisdom, power, or courage flowing through my veins at that point. That was one thing he didn't take away from me, my absolute nerdy side.

After I finished, I laid on the cold concrete floor for awhile. My arm was burning like crap and I didn't even care. Then I went upstairs and washed off the blood from the blade and my wrist. I put on a long sleeved shirt and hid the blade in my room. Later that night after my family had gone to bed, I laid awake, staring into the darkness, tears were running down my cheeks. Then I felt my second emotion for the day. Fear. Fear that I would take my own life. All these other emotions were on the back burner, but deep down I knew it was time for me to confide in someone. I couldn't trust myself to be alone anymore.

the beginning

Hi friends, it's been a great while since my last post, sorry about that. I've been meaning to post something for the past couple of days, I have probably 5 different drafts of what to post. Each draft is about something entirely different, and I'd get about halfway through and stop cause it didn't feel like what I should be writing about. In fact, I'd been kidding myself trying to work around what's been tugging at my heart. I have a goal to keep things positive in my posts, but if I do write about something negative, I really try to write about it in a positive light. The last thing I want is for anyone to come out of reading anything I write more down than before they read it. I'm not sure really how well I'm going to be able to keep things positive here. In fact, it's going to get pretty intense and very detailed. I didn't want to share with everyone what I'm about to write, but for whatever reasons I've felt like I need to share it. So, here we go.

I've been pretty open about how I suffer with severe depression and anger issues, but I've never really gone into details about why, or really how bad things have gotten. How low I've gotten emotionally, how well I've hidden it, and how overall it's changed me. You're about to find out all of these things. I pray I can portray this in a way you can all relate, and I hope you can gain some understanding of these conditions and be able to be there for someone you may know, or if you yourself are suffering from the same things.

Some time ago, I was in an abusive relationship. There wasn't any physical abuse or sexual abuse, but there was everything else. Emotional, mental, and verbal. Let me give you some background so you understand a little bit more of what happened before things took a 180 for the worst. He was my first love, my first best friend, my first everything. He took great care of me, was a textbook perfect boyfriend. I felt so lucky, and I was. He knew me better than anyone else, and I trusted him whole heartedly. Then somewhere down the line something changed. The man I knew was gone, but he subtly led me to believe what I had been fearing for some time. While there wasn't any physical abuse, I feared for my safety a lot. He had a terrible temper, and when he was angry… there was no stopping him. Looking into his eyes I could see when he left, and the sweet caring man I knew wasn't there anymore. Just a man who would yell at me till his face turned blue, and till his veins nearly burst.

When we would be out in public, I'd see him looking at other women. He'd comment on how hott they were, if they had a nice body or a pretty face. He had used to call me beautiful all the time, but then it got to the point where he was giving me looks like I needed to improve. I stopped believing him when he'd say I looked pretty, because his eyes were vacant, his voice was dull, and his mouth was dry. I was too afraid to lose him, and he told me that I'd never find anyone else who would love me as much as he did. If I left him, I'd just be his left overs. What man could ever want a broken person like I was? As stupid as that sounds, I believed it. I believed him and every word he said, because I was still completely and totally in love with him. So, to show I loved him, I thought I'd become more beautiful if I lost weight. So I stopped eating. I lost over 20 pounds in a month… and I looked horrible. I went down 5 pant sizes. To me at the time I thought I looked great. I was super skinny, had a flat stomach and a nice thigh gap. So after the weight was off, I was desperately hoping he'd look at me like he used too. Guess what? He didn't. I still wasn't good enough, and I never would be.

Do you know what not eating for days at a time does to you? I'll tell you. You sleep all the time because your body has nothing to make energy off of. Your hair becomes brittle and dry, as does your skin. You're weak as ever, for me picking up a glass of water at times was hard… You can't focus to save your life, so academically I started to decline. Imagine feeling like you had just gotten done running 20 miles straight everyday…. this progressed for a year. A year I felt like this physically. Don't worry though, I'm at a healthy weight now and I have been for quite some time. But mentally, I'll never look at my body the same way ever again. Part of me still thinks being that skinny is what's truly beautiful, and our society today doesn't help with that.

Before things turned bad, we'd laugh all the time. I'd always be smiling. I was the happiest girl ever. But, it got to the point where I hardly laughed anymore, if I did it was fake. I was so desperate for his attention, for his love and affection. I craved it. He wouldn't hold my hand, and he hardly ever kissed me. He started saying things like, "You're so lucky to be with me you know that? I could leave you at anytime and not look back. But I won't. I care for you Kenz so I'll stay with you." Yeah… like hell you cared for me. He started criticizing me, picking at things like the bump in the bridge of my nose, how my ears poke out, and how my hairline was weird. He started saying those things to me so much that now I hate every single one of those things about myself. If I had the opportunity to get plastic surgery, I'd get a nose job and remove the bump. How messed up is that? I went from being this confident girl, to now I didn't think I was appealing in any way.

This relationship continued for quite sometime. Until I finally grew a pair, realized what had been going on, and how low I'd gotten. I broke up with him, and I yelled at him twice as loud than he ever yelled at me. Usually I try to be the bigger person, but I won't lie, that felt really good. I thought breaking up with him was going to be the hardest part. I was wrong. The coming months… years after, would be the hardest part of all.

… I'll continue in my next post.