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thank god for mental illness December 5, 2014

It's taken a lot to get to be the person I am now.
Someone who I'm proud of, someone I've worked hard to get to mentally.
It was mainly through trial and error.
It's not like I didn't have someone telling me what to do and not to do, I did.
I just had to find out for myself.I started off like a small infant and toddler like everyone else.

I had an amazing childhood with hippie like parents who always filled my days with amazement in the world.
NO TV.
Just 6 acres of farm property, surrounded by woods.
My imagination ran wild with my younger brother and cousins; as we ran through mother nature pretending to be savages.
Or the girly version which was 'House'; where we found a hollowed out bush and would use leave branches to sweep the ground clear.
Fireflies lined our path home to our mothers' serving the table for dinner.
We'd run through the woods, through the horse pasture, past the barn and up the front wooden porch.
Us children always cocooned ourselves into the hammock on the porch; while the grown-ups drank homemade wine (that us kids help squish with our feet), around a long candle-lit table outside.
They'd share spliffs and laugh and drink together; but us children excused ourselves to our imaginations.
I played a variety of child-like games from Doctor to teacher and House.
Depending on who I was with I stayed to the basic rules of the game;
but there were a few girl childhood friends where the version we played was different.
We'd start off with a simple game of 'House; I'd be the man and she the woman.
We would 'get married' and hen during the 'Honeymoon Phase' we would rub our vagina bones together
The friction would feel warm and good.
I played a variety of these childhood games with about 9 different girls growing up.
Rose had been my longest and most experimented girl; and we continued until we were 9 or 10 years old.
I always kept this to myself and as I got older it started to fuck with me.
Was I some weird lesbian?
It got worse as years went by and I would see a girl who I had kissed and would wonder if she remembered or was it all in my weird lesbian head?


At about 9 years old something just clicked in me.
The world was no longer this vibrant, imaginative place, it was all lies and deceit.
I began questioning the meaning of life.
And not just questioning - DEMANDING an answer off anyone willing to listen to a 10 year old rant.
More existential questions arose in me like;
"What happens after life?"
"Where do you go when you die?"
"What is the point?"
I quickly learned this kind of talk was not acceptable casual social conversation.
Occasionally someone on AOL Instant Messenger would admit to the same dark feelings- but ultimately no one had an answer.
I wasn't satisfied with that.

My parents who had given me the most amazing childhood;
were actually drunk and stoned my whole childhood.
So, playing with me as a baby was like an amazing stoner LSD trip to them.
(I'm exaggerating, of course.)   
But, when i was 10, their trip continued and I needed answers GOD DAMMIT!
I seeked solace in the parents of the few friends I did have.
But was disappointed to always find cookie-cutter perfect families.
I still went to the movies with my friends but they preferred the "Freak-show" at my house.
Going to Cassidy's you could expect loud music, drunk people, rooms filled with thick smoke and alcohol.
Most families, in my area, had locks on their liquor cabinets; 
not mine.
A fight would soon break out between my parents, my father publically humiliating her and laughing while she cowered up the stairs.
My mothers foreign accent was always the focus of his insults.
But, he managed to always take it a step too far.
This would cause the party to slowly disperse home, or somewhere else and my friends and I would retire to my room.
They would giggle and fall asleep, content after a good 'freak-show'.
I'd nervously laugh along;
but I had to live in this freak-show, and even though my Dad is funny- he wasn't a Dad really.

Who knows...
Maybe he was, and it was me with a fucked up perception.
Regardless, one day I LOST it 

 

It started as another 'freak-show' night at mine, but when we got dropped off and ran inside my un-locked house;
our ears met the blaring of "Toots and the Maytals" but no one was dancing- no one was in sight actually.
My friend Tory was the first to spot the blood on the wooden floors in the kitchen.
The kitchen was trashed; the trash can had been spilt everywhere, glass shattered, and lamps turned on their side.
The whole house was in this state.
But,this was normal to me.
However, Tory and my friends began to get freaked out called her Dad to come back and get us.
"This is SO messed up!" They kept saying.
"What if your parents have been murdered?"
Their innocence almost annoyed me.
I wanted to say, "NO, they're just slowly killing themselves with drugs and alcohol."
But, I've learned through trial and error to keep my mouth shut.
When Tory's Dad, Ned, pulled up;
the girls ran into his car hysterical and dramatically insisting something was wrong.
I wanted to wait behind, knowing my parents would come home drunk and I could yell at them since they KNEW everyone was coming over.
Ned insisted I stay over their house.
Even though I wanted to wait and scream at my parents;
there was a snow storm going on and my drunk cunt parents opened all windows- so a warm bed sounded better.

As we were pulling out of my driveway, my parents flew up, almost crashing into us and Ned's Silver Range Rover.
Ned slammed on the brakes and watched in awe as my father began flashing his headlights and honking to the tune of the song blaring from his radio; all in his happy drunken state.
I open the door to go with my parents, seeing they were home now.
Then Ned asked me to wait in the car and said he was going to tell my parents I was staying at theirs.
I KNEW this was a bad idea, but was fed-up with my parents. 
As Ned stepped out of his silver Range Rover and approached my fathers black 1970's Volkswagen.
I KNEW the situation was fucked.
I couldn't hear the conversation; 
but saw my father put his hand on Neds shoulder, trying to gain a drinking buddy.
Sophisticated Ned pulled his body away and began shaking his head,
then pointed back at us in the car.
My dad went from friendly to furious.

"GET THE FUCK OUT OF THIS CAR CASS!" he shouted making his way over.
Ned shouted for me to stay in the car where my dad then preceded to get in his face and demanded me out of the car.
I was so embarrassed, I got out of the car, guiding my father back to his Volkswagen.
Insisting to Ned that I would be fine.
Once in my parents car,I discovered my mom naked on the back seat with glass in her foot and blood.
As we roll up to our house, I can't stop screaming,
"HOW COULD YOU EMBARRASS ME LIKE THAT?!"


Typical being embarrassed of your parents behavior.
However, instead of arguing back they just went upstairs, ignored the trash and blood, turned off the music and passed out in separate rooms.

That was when I decided to kill myself.

After taking an entire bottle of aspirin, I immediately regretted my decision.
I found some suicide hotline in the yellow pages or something.
They told me they were sending a cop and an ambulance but that one parent would either have to come or sign.
FUCK.
I decided to try my luck with my father.
He tended to be the funny silly drunk while my mother was the obscene drunk.
I shoved him to consciousness and cried, 
"I don't want to live anymore Dad. I really don't, so someone's coming to get me."
My dads response was un-expected.
"Don't worry baby, everyone feels like that. We'll talk about it in the morning."
Even though I KNEW we would never talk about it in the morning, I suddenly regretted everything.
"It's too late Dad..." I said softly, "Someone is coming."
"Shhh..." He soothed. "It will all be better in the morning."

I sat in my kitchen and waited in a crying panick.
When I suddenly spot a police car pulling down my neighbors driveway.
They had gone down the wrong one, FUCK.
It had been snowing all day and the snow was still coming down hard.
I knew I would have to walk over to the police.
A noise from the room my father had been passed out in, startled me;
so I went to check on him.
He was standing at the window, seeing I hadn't been lying and the police were here.
"I'm sorry Dad..." I began.
"YOU LITTLE CUNT!" he lunged at me; 
which scared me into the living room, where he then began beating my head with a closed fist.
Each punch filling my vision and mind red.
Shocked at his reaction, I managed to kick him and run down the stairs.
In the frenzy I lost both my shoes and continued to run the 4 acres to my neighbors, in my socks and in a blizzard.
The entire time I was running I kept thinking my Dad is right behind me.
I Keep looking back at my still lit up, trashed house for proof of his figure in the window and not somewhere outside.
My father had smacked me around a little bit but, NOTHING like this.
my feet were numb and beginning to lose all feeling.


By the time I made it to the Police cruiser, I looked like a runaway child schizophrenic. 
"Do you see him?!" I shout while looking back.
The officer follows protocol and brings me in the cruiser.
It takes him a minute to calm down and warm me up.
Once he does, he explains that we will have to go back to my house and talk to my Dad.
I began to panic again.
"Please, no, not right now" I beg.
WE HAD TO.
As we pull down my driveway, I notice every light has been turned off, where before they were all on.
When we pull up to my house, my father who when was punching me in my head was wearing boxers;
now had on navy blue matching satin pajamas.
NO LiE.
"There she is!" He exclaims in relief when he spots me in the back of the cruiser.
The Police Officer blocks his attempt to see me.
"She's been saying she's going to kill herself and hiding in all parts of the house!" He continues lying.
Im furious and knowing the cop was there I began banging on the cruiser window shouting,
"YOU FUCKING LIAR! YOU HIT ME!"
This made the Police Officer take me away.

I was brought to the Hospital where X-rays or some sort of scan proved I had a contusion on my head.
I was then brought to the crisis center of the Hospital.
As I sat waiting for the night on-call psychiatrist to arrive at 1:30 AM, I felt lost for the first time.
I could not believe my father had done that to me.
This Korean on-call psychiatrist arrives and continuously yawns during our entire questioning.
"I want to die." I told him. "I don't understand life. 
What's the point? 
I get out of my warm sheets every morning just to get back in them at night and eventually die in them.
What happens after life?"

I was a very vocal child.
I should have kept some stuff to myself.
By 5AM I arrived at an Adolescent Behavioral Unit, where I was required to stay for an in-patient 14 day minimum evaluation.

 


TO BE CONTINUED...................