CHAPTER: ISANITY
I guess sane people would call it insanity, but me, I call it home. Or I used to.
Things aren’t quite like they used to be. I’m not who I used to be. Flashes of the things I used to be okay with, or the things I’ve done that I’ve had to accept keep hitting me like a ton of bricks. I know it’s my conscience and that fourth step creeping up on me.. They say I’m supposed to pour my heart out to all the people I’ve hurt and done wrong, while I was hurting and living wrong. I guess this is as good a time as any to start.
I was sitting in my bathtub fully clothed, water running, music screaming, tears rolling. I was sitting in a tub full of nothing but pain I caused. And it just kept filling up. By the time they found me I was black out drunk, my music was still screaming, I had managed to turn the water off before I drowned. Damn… I was still alive. I had imagined passing out and not waking up, but that would be too easy for a devil like me. My sisters were there. Peppering me with questions like what happened through the house. The days before that were number with heartache, lies, infestation of addiction. Two people fighting to the death, and I was the one who lost. I wasn’t dead yet, but it felt like it.
I didn’t have any words, my tears spoke more than I did that day. They pulled me from the bath of the now freezing water and pain. Love had beat me. Love was taking my unsinkable ship down to the surface. My head hurt so bad. I knew that was from it being bounced off the floor several times as I lay there and begged him to stop. My legs and wrist were still bleeding from when I slit them because he was trying to leave me again. I believe I hit my low that day.
My family had talked me into going to the emergency room right in our small hometown of Winder, Ga. I was born July 11, 1995 right at that very hospital to a loving and devoted mother, and an identical twin. My twin was there with me to get checked in. That gave me some sort of comfort but there wasn’t much to get from checking into a psych ward. I was not happy. I was leaving my drugs behind, I was leaving nearly empty gallon of vodka behind that loved me as much AS I loved it. Reality was setting in because all my family had to leave me there. Alone.
A white unmarked police cruiser picked me up from the hospital. Perhaps a bisexual friendly pair picked me up and we drove towards Laurelwood. Of course they put me in those paper-like clothes and asked me so many questions about my earlier episodes of violence I was imposing on myself, but never asked me what he imposed on me. I wanted to tell everything he did and nothing that I did. I wanted to be the victim because after all I was the one hurt, and sitting in a mental hospital. But they never asked me what he had done.
My new bed was plastic, my new roommate was not insane either. She had also been a victim of verbal abuse that caused her to lose her mind. Of course, mine was more physical than verbal but we related. We never spoke two words until my last day there. Every dreadful night I sweat that god awful shit out of my system. I slept like shit. I missed my sister. my twin. We haven’t ever really been separated for anything. Little did I know she was sitting at home with just as much pain upon her shoulders as I was. The pain I was inflicting on myself and in my life was oozing right into hers. They say twins can feel what the other is feeling and are going through something similar.
That morning for breakfast was spectacular. I ate two plates. Grits, bacon, eggs, and a biscuit. Must have been the first meal I had in so long. I went right back to bed after that. I didn’t want to mingle with the actual crazies. I just wanted to sleep. My body was beaten up, my mind was too. After two or three days I started coming out of my isolation and I started calling home… and I started calling him…. He was never going to let me go. I was never going to heal from this. I needed to hear his voice, even if it were lies I was hearing. Even if he had girls in my house, allowing them to take all my things. He didn’t care, so why would I ? I must have really been this unimportant.
I started seeing counselors, I didn’t like it. I tried to sign myself out on the third day. But was slapped with a 10-13 and my word meant as much as the guy’s did that walked around talking to people who weren’t there. So, I accepted that id have to prove some kind of change to the doctors so I could get home. I lied to every one of them. I kept my secrets in the closet and acted as sanely as I could so I could go right back to the same mental equation I just left from. Although I felt better and stronger his grip still had a hold of me, and I couldn’t wait to get back home and start fresh. Fresh set of lies, fresh manipulation, fresh set of track marks. This may sound insane but I thought it was perfectly normal. Because I had gotten addicted to the way we were living and dealing with each other.
I thought that maybe my initiative to do something different would open his eyes but when I returned home, nothing was different except me. I fell right back into the cycle of using, abusing one another and self harm. My whole family turned their backs on me. And I chose to stay with him. After he beat me so badly that I had knots on my head for weeks. After he let other girls take every pair of clothing I had while I was in the hospital... that’s how deep my love runs. If I love you, I love you. There are no conditions. I wouldn’t want someone to love me with conditions. But today I am learning that conditions and boundaries are healthy for me. I cant actually say that I recognize the person that was going through all of that. Or even why she was going through it. I don’t understand how I could allow myself to lay so low, to be beaten so low. How could I tear my sharp, beautiful, god willing, talented, bright, soul apart so badly? I didn’t deserve that, but the thing is the girl I was, she liked the situation. I was addicted to more than drugs, more than alcohol. I was addicted to the arguments, the fighting, the verbal abuse because I forgot what good things felt like.
Create Your Own Website With Webador