*******trigger warning – suicide & religion*******
From the perspective of Faye, after my father died, I went from sleeping all the time to having terrible insomnia. I would be awake until the wee hours of the morning and barely able to function at school. I also started having severe suicidal urges.
Feelings of suicide were not new, but this was different. The feelings were much more intense, and I knew that I had to die in a very particular way. When I dabbled with suicidal urges before, I thought about swallowing pills. However, this time I wanted to use a knife or razor blade and “watch the lifeblood flow out of me.” I also knew that I wanted to die in my mother’s bathroom.
I waited until I had the house to myself. I took my mother’s razor and locked myself in her bathroom. She had a large sunken bathtub in the middle of the bathroom that I could walk around, and I paced around it for a long time, crying and begging God to give me one reason not to go through with it. The suicidal urges were overwhelming, and I just wanted the pain to stop and to be with my dead father.
Something deep inside of me (God?? An alter part??) fought back. I had “loud thoughts” that said, if I could just hold on a little bit longer, I would be okay. In my head, I knew that I only had to survive a few more months, and then I would leave for college. However, the urges were so strong. I could see myself slashing up my arm and watching the lifeblood flow out of me until I died. Somehow, I found the courage to fight my way out of that bathroom, and I made a life decision that, no matter what, I would not end my life that way.
Photo credit: Lynda Bernhardt
Blooming Lotus 
I’m glad you didn’t do it, Faith.
It took a strong, brave person to move out of that bathroom and that decision. I’m glad you didn’t do anything to harm yourselv.
what a remarkable decision to make at such a young age! You were much stronger than you realized at that age, at least some part of you was…..and I believe God used that part to save you.
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I moved out to go to college too. I left my sister there and she also left home at 16. I felt bad leaving her behind. But she was glad one of us was getting out of there.
** graphic triggers **
I had an episode just like this when I was 14. My bulimia had been spiralling out of control, I was fucking more and more guys and had started to ask them to hit me and strangle me. I felt like I had no control over my body or my life and the pain that guys gave me wasn’t enough any more. I went round to D’s (using ur lettering to explain people) house, all my so called mates were there and were already drinking.
I had a bag of coke, a bottle of vodka and some E’s ready for me to take to get into the party (D bought me drugs, drink n gifts all the time). I downed the pills with vodka and topped up my high with the coke over the night.
That night, D had invited 4 of his ‘boys’ round for a big deal (drug dealing). They were counting stacks of money, shaking hands and weighing little bits of coke n brown (cocain n heroin).
D whispered in my ear, “go up with my man here, he needs looking after tonight”. I looked over at this gross fat black guy, at least 40, staring at me lustfully. Out of all the men there he repulsed me the most. I joked about not wanting to fuck him to D but he insisted to the point were I was virtually begging him to let me stay downstairs.
He grabbed the back of my head and slammed it on the coffee table, shuddering all the money and drugs, making everyone stop in silence and stare at me. It was the first and only time D hit me and I was too wasted to feel anything about it.
I ran upstairs in embarrassment and took my clothes off. The guy followed about half an hour later. I was sat bolt upright on the end of the bed trying to be inconspicuous (I’d ransacked the room looking for drugs n bombed a small bag of white powder).
I remember looking at the ceiling with my heart racing faster and faster. I could barely feel him inside me. I vomited and passed out.
Later more men came into the room. They all raped me. I certainly felt them, and slowly began to realise I was getting gang banged after one turned me over and buggered me. The pain nearly winded me, when I started to make noises (I was silent til then) the men started saying I liked it and took turns in raping me anally and vaginally.
After a while I zoned into the ‘whore’ that enabled me cope before, I stopped crying and started moaning. I rubbed my clit and eventually I got wet enough for it to feel good and I got very close to an orgasm a few times.
I asked them to hit me, pull my hair and fuck me as hard as they could. When they all came, they left me alone. I threw up again (think I OD’d a little) and passed out.
I woke up the next morning covered in dried sick, sperm and s**t, feeling self loathing like I never had before. I got dressed and left the house, walked up to the bridge (a road that crosses a motorway, and meeting point with friends), and climbed over the railings.
I leaned right out but couldn’t let go of the rails, I desperately wanted to die but was too scared. I got back on the road and went home, and told myself I was too chicken to kill myself.
I’ve thought about jumping off a bridge, car park or anything high many times but never came that close again.
Hi, Deebab.
Have you visited Isurvive yet?
http://www.isurvive.org.uk/
It is a message board for child abuse survivors. I was very active there in my early years of healing. It helped to interact with other people who were in the trenches with me, and it doubly helped to talk with other people who had endured similar traumas.
You are welcome to keep commenting on this blog all you want. I am telling you about Isurvive as an additional free resource for you. :0)
~ Faith