Stories of Survivors

Save a life, Save yourself.

This Valentine’s Day will mark the 4 year anniversary of the first time I tried to kill myself.

I feel like I should write some long post about how things of changed or I’m glad I didn’t go through with it any of the five times or how my life’s better now. And I could. I honestly might. But in the end it comes down to this:

Suicide is not the answer.

It is not the answer, for anyone. Whether you’ve come to that point because you are tired of being depressed, forgotten, and abused or because your life is so chaotic that you feel like the only thing you can control is yourself: Don’t.

Please. I am honestly begging any and all who read this. I know what it’s like to be so tired that everything seems pointless. The kind of tired that gets in your bones and your soul. The kind of tired that sleep and food won’t help, the kind of tired that just makes you want to die because that would mean a change - it doesn’t even matter if it’s for better or for worse, just a change. 

I’ve lived day to day on the thought of “going through the motions”. I’ve just laid down and slept because nothing else seemed worth it and at the very least you’re unconscious. I’ve been to the point where you don’t dream. Where everything you see has lost color and is dull.

There had come a time where I felt so lost and so alone that I stopped. I was too tired, too broken so why bother. I know what it feels like to think that the only way to prove to people you’re in pain and are not okay is by cutting or simply killing yourself.

I’ve been to the point where it seems like no one is listening, no one cares. Where people just simply didn’t believe me because I “seemed okay”. Where no matter what I did to better myself, it wasn’t good enough.

Now, I could sit here and write about how “everyone is beautiful no matter what” or that “everyone is smart in their own way”. But here’s something people need to realize:

Not everyone is beautiful. 
Not everyone is talented. 
Not everyone is smart.

But:

Everyone matters.
Everyone is important.
Everyone deserves to be happy and healthy.

So maybe instead of throwing some generic bull shit that makes you sound like you don’t give a damn about the person who is suicide, you can actually pay attention and talk with them. Just because on a grander scale their problems don’t seem that bad, it doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt them and might be dire. They are important so help them.

When people who are suicidal and/or depressed don’t talk about what is bothering them? That means they’ve basically made up their mind about everything and it’ll take a great deal more than one conversation to help them. But, if they’re still willing to talk about what is wrong? That means they need it and they don’t want to stay that way. It doesn’t automatically mean they’re “seeking attention” or that it isn’t real. It means they’re afraid for themselves.

I’ve lived a life of bullying, of abandonment, of neglect, of pain. Fortunately my depression was situation/environmental but I have grown up and seen what chemical depression is like as well. That is something people need to realize too:

Chemical Depression: there is a chemical imbalance in the brain and body. They physically, mentally, and emotionally cannot feel happy and healthy. There can be moments of small joys but in the end it fades quickly and there seems to be no point. People who are depressed for a long time, especially if their depression started young usually have this kind. They need to see a doctor as soon as possible to get medical attention. (And I don’t mean go to a mental/psych ward or the “looney bin” a regular family doctor will be able to help at least get you on some sort of medication.) Also, this kind of depression will be helped with medication and cannot be fixed any other way. If the medication doesn’t ever seem to help no matter the dose or type with therapy then it might be the second type. When it comes to suicide, it as seen as “I am too tired, too broken and I want an out - I want an escape - I want to end this”.

Situational/Environmental Depression: this type of depression can either be temporary or long lasting. It can be triggered by an event or gradually become more of a problem over time. There will be up swings when it seems like they are happy again and they very well could be healthy again if they stay that way. But if it drops back down, that means there are changes that needs to be made. Also, they can be happy, they are physically, mentally, and emotionally able to be happy while in a depressive state. If they go to the doctor and have tired countless doses and medications and the depression does not change or gets worse, it means that it is not the actual person’s fault - it’s the setting, family, friends, school and/or work that is the actual problem. For them, medication is a temporary fix and therapy may not be necessarily. This is when the people speak out more and want help, they hate being depressed and want a change. When it comes to suicide, it as seen as “I cannot control anything else in my life other than myself and my body”.

Bi-Polar (Manic-Depression): this can be confused with situational/environmental depression but is a chemical imbalance in the brain and body. Though it can mirror s/e depression here is the biggest differences: the “happy”/”healthy” times are not that - they are Manic, meaning: frantic, eccentric, energetic and impulsive. Also! “Bi-Polar” does not mean they change their moods at the drop of a hat, they do not switch between being depressed and manic in seconds. Bi-Polar mood swings go in sort of waves, the highest point being the manic peak, the lowest point being the depression drop. And the space between the Peak and Drop is over time. Sometimes within seven days, sometimes within a few weeks and in are cases, a few months. They need to see a doctor as soon as possible to get medical attention. (And I don’t mean go to a mental/psych ward or the “looney bin” a regular family doctor will be able to help at least get you on some sort of medication.) This deal with body chemistry so it cannot be fixed without medication.

A friendly reminder: People can have depression or bi-polar but that doesn’t make them who they are. When it’s situation, it is something they have to realize and adapt their lives to make it healthier for themselves. When it is chemical, it is an illness that they’ll have to manage for the rest of their lives. It doesn’t control them, but will be there - just like needing glasses or being a diabetic.

There is one thing that will always be true: It Will Get Better. Maybe not right this moment, maybe not even in the next few months, but it will.

—-

If you are suicidal or are afraid you are going to hurt yourself, please call 911 or your local hospital. 

If you or someone you know are showing signs of depression and need help,talk to your parents/legal guardian, a school councilor/adviser.

—-

Also, if you know someone who is cutting or harming themselves in any way, tell someone. Even if they make you promise not to tell, please tell someone who can help them (a doctor, police officer, parents or school adviser). Because, what if you don’t and they accidently go too far? You could have saved their life.

—-

If someone would like to talk to me personally or has any questions here:
E-mail: BeautifulThornBeastlyRose@aol.com
   DeathAngelsRose@aol.com
AIM: BeautifulThornBeastlyRose
Skype: Beautiful.Thorn
Facebook: Molly Robinson - BeautyThorn
DeviantART: DeathAngelsRose
Tumblr: Beautiful-Thorn 

The amount of times I have heard people imply that girls who “dress like whores should expect to be treated like whores” actually makes me SICK. If a girl is confident with her body and sexuality, and dresses in a way that you call inappropriate, or even sexually attractive, this does NOT give you the right to do with her what you like. Mini skirts and cleavage are NOT an invitation. People make me sick. If you’re somebody who thinks that girls should have to cover themselves up if they want to be treated with respect, you need to take a look at yourself. There’s enough evil in the word without people being judging and horrible to each other. What somebody wears is none of your business. There are so many girls who are ashamed of their bodies, so good on you if you’re confident enough to show your legs. Or your chest. If you don’t like that way of dressing, don’t judge others for doing it, just don’t do it yourself. Simple. STOP MAKING EXCUSES FOR RAPISTS. 

Well I’ve always had trouble talking to people, it’s too hard to say things in words, and straight forward, so I write things down, here’s my story in a poem.

childhoods are ruined
lives are split in two
give her something to remember 
leave her bruised and blue
it’s all an act of a twisted mind
that’s what he tells himself
as he sneaks into her room at night
and leaves his beer upon her shelf

and now he sings his lullaby
a lullaby of broken dreams
he leaves her shattered by his touch
the silence broken by her screams
no ones there to hear her cries
she unravels at the seams
every night more and more she dies

everytime he sings his lullabies

as she grows so does her pain
she’s so fucked up
she’s going insane 
no one knows what to do
she’s cries and cries
they have no clue
she finally thinks it’s over
here he comes again
one more beer and then another
she wants to give in

her body scarred and mangled 
it gives him pleasure deep within
forever disgusted by herself
it’s all because of him
he was the first to ruin her innocence 
the first but not the last
she suppresses all the memories
but her future matches her past

the world is full of “lullabies”
many she has heard
sung by many twisted people
she hides them with her lies
one day when she gathers courage
her nights no longer filled with cries
she’ll sing to all the people
and the world will know her lullabies

When I was 5 I remember a boy the same age introducing me to sex and touching me. I also remember in 1st grade kids touching me. At age 7, this girl 4/5 years older than me would molest me and say lets play mom and dad, I thought it was nothing and played back with her. From age 5 to 10, i would visit my family in London by myself every summer, and me and my cousin who’s the same age would watch porn and touch each other. There was also this creepy, old bell-hop that would watch us. I think he would show me porn and touch me and make me sit on his lap. I never thought all of these situations were bad, but I realized they did affect me. Please dont judge, I know what I did was bad but around age 12/early 13 I touched my younger siblings while in the same bed at the same time for awhile, i dont remember how long exactly. I taught them something they should learn themselves. I know i’m a monster. I grew up in a protective, christian school and protective dad but somehow all of this happend. I have sat them down and apologized recently and they said they forgive me, but I feel like this will affect them. I hate myself to the core and want to help them, please give me advice? I do want to tell my parents everything, but im scared.

I dont judge you, Anon. Your childhood was traumatic, and you didnt know that what you were doing was wrong at the time. The fact that you have guilt and regret shows that you are not inherently a bad person. What you do is up to you, and while your parents may be angry or upset telling them the truth may be a step towards leaving these events behind you and being able to move on. 

-A

Note that any advice given is just that, advice, given by a non-professional. 

I was 17 and still a virgin. He was my best friend. He forced himself on top of me. He made me feel like I wanted it, when I kept on telling him to stop as I was crying. He didn’t stop until he was finished. He bragged to all of his friends. It’s been almost 13 years. After years of therapy, I still can’t give myself to anyone, friends, family and boyfriends. I’ve become an emotional void, unable to feel.

Approximately 2/3 of the assaults are caused by someone known to the victim. 38% of rapists are friends or acquaintances. It’s more common than we think.

I was 10 years old.

I was at my grandparent’s when my grandfather said we needed to take a walk. When we returned from our walk my biological father was at the house.

I hadn’t seen him in over three years.

He picked me up and hugged me and kissed me. He told me he loved me and he had missed me.

We spent that day together and later that night he came in my room to tuck me in. He told me to lay down on the bed and he would pull the covers up.

I laid down but he didn’t pull the covers up. He just stared down at me. Then his hands moved up my legs. He got on top of me and started kissing my neck.

He whispered “give daddy a good night kiss” in my ear.

But when i kissed him he shoved his tongue in my mouth. I tried to push him off but he was much stronger than me. I went to scream but he covered my mouth.

He told me if I loved him I would let him love me. He told me this is what people do when they love each other.

I said okay.

But then he started touching me and I got scared. I tried to get away but he told me if I didnt hold still he would kill me. He took a knife out of his pocket and laid it on the bedside table to show me he wasnt kidding.

Ill never forget waking up the next morning covered in blood and bruises.

I remember getting in the shower and literally scrubbing my skin raw because i felt so dirty.

I still do that sometimes because even after six years, I still feel dirty.

Nightmares of that night haunt me. I cant stand to have guys look at me without being afraid.

I dont think anyone could ever truly love me.

Even if they could i dont know if i could let them.

I dont know what love is anymore. Love to me is pain and dirtiness. Its regret and fear.

I never saw my dad again after that day.

My mom married a wonderful man who has always treated me like his own daughter. He is so nice to me. I hate to see the look on his face when I flinch away from him.

I never told my mom or anyone else.

For six years I’ve kept it a secret.

Not anymore.

People know what you did to me now daddy.

People know how you ruined my view of love and scarred me forever.

People know what a monster you really are

I was 13, and at a party with people a few years older than me. I knew maybe one or two of them out of around 50. I went to the bathroom, which was inside a bedroom at the house. When I came out, there was a guy in the room that I didn’t know. I said “excuse me” as I tried to leave, but he grabbed me. He dragged me over to the bed. He pulled out a knife, pointed it at me, and told me that if I made any noise I’d regret it. I tried to run, but he pinned me down. He cut off my shorts with his knife. He started to touch me and all I could do was cry. When he went inside me, it was the most painful thing I had ever felt, both physically and emotionally. When he finished, he just left the room and returned to the party. I sat on the bed and stared, trying to comprehend what had just happened. Once I got a hold of myself, I stole a pair of sweatpants from the dresser in the bedroom, I climbed out the window, and I walked home, which felt like it took an eternity. It’s been 3 and a half years since then, and I’m still trying to get over it. I feel like It’s my fault because I didn’t stop him, but I don’t know how I could have. My boyfriend has helped me get over this, and I’m comfortable having sex now, but it still never fails to cross my mind, every day.

I overheard a guy at school talking to his friends. One of his friends asked him something like “did you rape her again?” and he laughed and said yes. His friends said “you gotta stop doing that man…” and he was like “yeah, but it just turns me on so much.” The thing is I don’t know if he was telling the truth because he’s the kind of guy that would lie about it. I heard this months ago and at the time I was seriously going to tell someone by leaving an anonymous note but but I didn’t end up doing it. I never heard him mention it ever again but I still feel like I should have done something. One of the reasons I didn’t do it was I was scared someone would see me leaving the note and they’d think I was the one that was raped and yeah.

When I was 14, I had a friend I really liked. He was 16 at the time, so I thought it was really cool that he wanted to hang out with me all the time. He even asked me to go to Pick Wick with his family for the weekend. I had to beg my mother for days. She finally said yes and It was so much fun, they had a boat and a cabin. The last night we were there he’s parents said they were going out. 

There were some older kids outside another cabin partying. He started drinking and asked if I wanted some. I say no. So, he brought me what I thought was a sprite. That was the last thing I remember. I woke up the next morning bleeding and in a lot of pain. They took me home and I never saw him again.

I was 14, I had told him before that I didn’t want to do anything because I was too young, never had a boyfriend and had only kissed one boy. He said it was okay. 

He told everyone that I asked for it and still does. I’m 19 now.