This is going to be a dark post and one that you may say "You should just keep that shit to yourself" so if you don't want to be subjected to this one...scroll on.
In 1984, a 17 year old girl was at the end of her rope. She lost the one and only thing that mattered to her, being on drill team, and her home life was nothing short of a joke. So what does she do? She takes a bottle of pills and lays down on her bed. Those pills didn't kill her, although she wishes they had. She was in a deep sleep and her parents came into the room, in the morning, to wake her up and couldn't. They see the bottle on her vanity and realize she has attempted suicide. What do her parents do? Not a damned thing. They walk out of her bedroom to let her "sleep it off". She was not taken to the hospital, she wasn't given counseling. She was left alone. The sad thing is, as if that isn't sad enough, the girl did not remember any of this and was told by her mother when the girl was 53 years old. Why did her mother choose to divulge this information? Who knows but it has completely destroyed what little relationship was there and has sunk the girl into a darker place than she has ever been in.
As you probably surmised, that girl is me. I don't want pity. It is what it is and the very reason I will always believe I'm a throwaway. My biological mother got rid of me (she was 27 years old so she was old enough to know better) and my adopted parents left me to die from an attempted suicide. Please don't preach at me saying God saved me for a reason. If that reason is having children and my grandson...I'll accept that. Anything else will fall completely short.
What has surprised me though, there are others out there like me. Women who have had parents do nothing when they attempted suicide. I cannot, for the life of me, wrap my mind around that. Parents are to protect their children and if they don't, who will? Suicide is a scream for help and the very people who are supposed to love them, rejected them. Some people should have never been parents. My mother is one of them. Being a parent isn't a right. It's a privilege and a blessing. To think anything less is wrong.
I am, in the words of Christian Grey "50 shades of fucked up". A lifetime (and I do mean a LIFETIME) of abuse (mental, physical and emotional), rejection and betrayal from men, my family, my friends. I don't trust, I can't believe anything positive that is said to me, I hate to be touched and I struggle with 3 little words. "I love you". I've had "friends" bail on me when I was living a nightmare with my daughter's addiction. I've had a "best friend" tell me to keep my "drama" to myself because no one wants to hear it. I've had a lifelong "friend" tell me, when I was in a very very bad place "I don't have time for your shit". I'm alone and I will always be that way. I will not open up to anyone about the hell I live every single day.