A Life In A Day
About Me
"Crying is for babies." That is what I've been told my whole life. Not only was I abandoned physically, I was abused and then abandoned emotionally. The phrase "quit crying or I'll give you something to cry about" was commonplace in our household. Molested by my stepfather at the age of 10, scarred by neglect and by the abuse, I learned to cope by hurting myself. At first, it was hitting my head up against the wall. Then, when that wasn't enough, I punched myself and other things. When I was 14 I began drinking and using drugs. Whatever I could get my hands on that would either numb what I was feeling, or make me hurt so I would forget what I was feeling. Either way didn't matter to me.
When I was 18, I lived on the streets, sleeping wherever I could, mostly at parties that had died down. Often, it was on a bench somewhere. I did whatever was necessary to stay warm in the winter, so that meant sleeping with whomever, wherever. I was gang-raped more than once, and I found the pain intoxicating. It soon became my addiction. I would find that punching things made the pain more severe and was much cheaper than drugs or alcohol, so that became my vice.
When I was 20, I moved in with my father and my stepmother in Texas. The situation was often volatile and abusive. Kicked out many times, I again turned to countless sexual encounters and punching things to ease my pain. Things didn't get much better over the next few years. All of my friends had abandoned me, and I felt life was not worth living if someone didn't love me enough to stay with me. So, I did what I thought was best. I took a bottle of aspirin not knowing what it would do. I ended calling someone after I took the pills, and then checked myself into the hospital. At first, it was only for medical reasons, but then it became clear that I needed help.
While I was in intensive care, I was visited by my stepmom who kept on asking if it was her fault. Not once did my dad come and visit me. After a few days, I was transfered to the psychiatric wing for some help, and then realized I didn't want any. By that time it was too late, and I was forced to go to the state psychiatric facility. It was there that I learned to hurt myself even more by rubbing my wrists against the bricks outside in the courtyard. I was going to find a way to deal with all of the anxiety I was feeling whether anyone liked it or not.
I eventually got out of the hospital after a few months, and lived in a boarding house until I was stable enough to be on my own. That is when I learned to cut myself to deal with everything that I had bottled inside. I had still not cried for any reason. I had shut down emotionally. Pain was the only way I knew how to deal with everything I was feeling. The emotions were all so new to me.
Even as I write this, I have the urges. And yes, I still cut. Sometimes I can go months, even a year, and not cut myself to deal with my emotions. This web site is a learning tool for me because I have learned to write down what I am feeling no matter the cost. People don't have to like it. It just has to be out of my head. And with that said, if one person can look at what I have written down and relate, then it has all been worth it.
Elisabeth Stover