I’m not a huge birthday fan, well at least when it comes to my own. I would love it if I could just forget it. My birthday is around the holidays so it’s not easy to pretend it doesn’t exist. The reason why I’m not a fan is because of what used to happen on my birthday. We would have a party and of course invite family and friends over. That included the person who sexually abused. Any chance he could he would get me alone. When he did that’s the time he would set aside too touch me. This would happen every birthday until the abuse ended. That’s why I want to forget my birthday. My birthday is just a yearly reminder of a time that wasn’t so kind too me.
I’ve had a few suicide attempts in my life. It wasn’t because I wanted to die. It was because I wanted the pain I felt too go away. Many say that suicide is selfish, but it’s far from selfish. Sometimes you just hurt so much you want it too end. I’ve cut my pills and taken pills more then once. There’s no good way to explain why we feel suicide is a solution unless you’ve been through it. Too those who don’t know might think this is the worst thing we could do. For those going through it it’s not.
Eventually I found a different outlet that helped me get through every day. I was reading Harry Potter By J.K Rowling. Those books helped me get through my darkest times. I started those books in 1998 I was turning eight that year. The abuse started a couple years after that. The older I got the more the books helped me because I started understanding the messages of each book. I also started taking my writing seriously, So I increased how often I wrote in journals and I started writing poetry.
I came to learn that suicide isn’t the answer even if you feel in that moment it is. Now I know reading and writing is my way out. Even though I fought against it for a long time going too therapy helped me as well. Reading, writing, and therapy isn’t for everyone but for me personally it helped. You have too find what helps you get through the rough patch. It may be tough, and it may take a while, but you will get through. I’m just one example of someone who made it out. It’s still a struggle believe me, but I have too work hard and keep working at what helps me.
If you or someone you know needs help, please contact the suicide hotline or anyone you trust to help.
National Suicide Prevention Lifeline
My last relationship ended my junior year of high school which was 2008/2009. It was the year before I graduated. The guy I dated was sweet, kind, and would never hurt me at least not on purpose. You may be asking “if he was such a good guy why didn’t It last longer?” Well the last year of high school I moved and because of where I moved It was hard to see each other because I was in another school. Neither of us did anything wrong it was just our time too split and we decided too split while it was good. Although we don’t talk as much we used too we still are friends and talk occasionally.
Our relationship was so innocent compared to the other couples at the school. We dated a few years but kissed once, we rarely held hands. We would go on dates at the mall, go to the movies, have lunch but it felt more like hanging out between friends. Although we truly liked one other we had our different reasons for dating each other. He was hiding a secret from his family and I was freshly off the sexual abuse and was trying too fill the void of that part of my life. We both knew it even if we didn’t mention it. We had a good time with each other and a great friendship. The relationship we had we both needed at the time.
I didn’t date for now almost ten years. My dating experience in high school wasn’t great but it wasn’t bad. I wish I dated for the right reasons, but that’s something that I can’t change. My dating life as an adult is similar but quite the same but that’s a different story for a different time.
Sorry I haven’t blogged in awhile. Life has taken over which is a good thing but it’s getting in the way of my writing. I have too make time for my writing which includes my blog. More of my story will continue soon. Thanks for hanging in there.
In 2015 I decided to write a letter too my past self. At the time of writing this letter I was twenty-four years old.
Dear Jazzy, (My past)
Writing this letter is long overdue. Time will only tell if this letter will help in the days, weeks, months and years too come. Over the years a lot has happened not only too you but those around you as well. In the twenty-four years you’ve been on this planet you’ve had good times, bad times and everything in between. At age eleven a man you called family began sexually abusing you. He also hurt someone who wasn’t only close too you but too him as well. I want you too know and always remember neither of those situations were your fault even if you think otherwise. It’s that monsters fault, he di you wrong. You were innocent, you were young, he turned you into a person you were never meant too be. Everyone who knew seen you as a victim. Everyone who know the diagnoses you had just seen you as your diagnoses. Jazzy the depressed, Jazzy who will go crazy because she was diagnosed with bipolar. You have been sculpted into someone who you were never meant too be. You were sculpted by a monster, by your parents, by teachers and friends, by society. But Jazzica, she may have been brought into this world twenty-four years ago, but she has yet too be sculpted. The moment the sexual abuse Jazzy and Jazzica became two different people. You weren’t responsible for who Jazzy became but you are responsible for who Jazzica becomes. Find out who Jazzica is. Yes, she’ll be hard too find. Jazzy wasn’t created overnight, neither will Jazzica. Jazzy will raise hell before letting Jazzica out, but Jazzica will be free, Jazzica will succeed. I want you to be vulnerable but strong. I want you too love with all your heart but be cautious who receives it. I want you too cry in happiness, sadness, anger, frustration no matter what. I want you too to be strong but relaxed. Be the dominate person you are but don’t be afraid of submission. I want you too live and live well. Stay you but more. Remember your beautiful no matter what anyone says.
Jazzica (Your Future)
It’s been a few weeks since my last post. I’ve been going through somethings that I will eventually get into. As for this post it’s not a particularly long portion of my story, but it says what it needs too say without being so long.
Like many people in the world I suffer from low self-esteem. I don’t think highly of myself, but it’s something I’m working on. I get compliments from both men and women, but I have a tough time hearing and believing it. I really don’t know how I got too this point of being so down on myself, but I have. I mean I guess it’s a lot of things if I really think about it. Dating for example my self-esteem ties in with that. No, it’s not a I need too be with someone too feel good about myself kind of thing. It’s just I see so many friends and family dating, getting married, having kids or a combination of one or two of them. I then think too myself, why is it so hard for me to have those things?
I don’t have a problem with getting someone too like me. They just never like me enough too date me or consider dating me. They want my friend or the person they see down the way but never see me. I’m someone who gets friend zoned a lot. I start asking what’s wrong with me? Why am I not good enough? I think it’s also everything I’ve been through, from my body changing too the sexual abuse. I just start picking at all the things wrong with me which makes the self-esteem worse. My therapist tends to compliment me a lot, which is annoying at times. I don’t know if she’s being genuine or if it’s because it’s her job. Maybe it’s a bit of both.
I really don’t find it annoying deep down, it’s just hard to hear. I know she means well when she compliments me. I’m working on believing the good things people say about me. It’s not an easy rode but it’s one I’m willing too be on board for.
I’m someone who dreams a lot, but there is one dream that I refer too as THE DREAM. I don’t have it a lot, but I’ve had it enough times too last me a billion life times. It really does scare me. This version is always the same, from what I’m wearing too the end result. There’s two other versions of this dream but I’m on the fence of telling them because of two people that ended up being involved in those versions. If I do tell them it won’t be until later anyway so for now I’ll be focusing on this version. Which is the very first version.
VIEWER DISCRETION IS ADVISED. This portion is really, graphic and not suitable for those under eighteen unless permission by a parent and/or legal guardian.
It’s evening and I’m out walking home from the store. It was just an ordinary evening for me, nothing special about it. Until someone came from behind me and grabbed hold of me covering my eyes and mouth. I felt someone else grab my legs, and I’m struggling too break free. Suddenly, I’m thrown into a dark room. I heard them walking away, it’s so dark I can’t see clearly. I hear them come back, and I see them in the little light there is. I believe their wearing mask which I can’t understand why I can barely see here face anyway.
The first guy pins my hands down too the ground while the second guy sits on top of me in a way, so he can take my clothes off. He takes each piece off slowly until I’m laying their naked. The first guy slaps handcuffs on my wrist. That’s when the second guy picks me up and slaps me against the wall. ONCE, TWICE, THREE times. I scream in pain at the same time. I hear glass break, but I can’t tell from which direction it’s coming from. I’m in sensory overload. He slams me against the wall again and again and one more time. He throws me on the floor.
I hear pants unzip and I know what’s about too happen. I try and say no but I’m in too much pain. He picks me up, slams me against the wall and says, “You’re mine now Bitch!”. He’s holding my neck and forces himself inside me and I scream. There’s so much pain, I want too to wake up, but I can’t. His hand goes tighter around my neck. He goes faster and faster, harder and harder. He finishes and lets me fall too the ground. I just lay there crying. The other guy comes over and blindfolds me. Why? I don’t know.
I then feel sharp pains all over my body. I realize I’m being cut with the glass I heard break. He’s cutting my arms, legs, stomach, face just about any place he can. I than feel a kick too my ribs. “PLEASE WAKE UP!!” I yell in my head. Suddenly, I feel the glass make its way into my shoulder and I scream. Why is this happening too me? My vision is going in and out, I think I’m dying. I wake up and my body aches. It takes a while for me to calm myself. Compared too other dreams I remember this one the most. I remember this the most I think because of the content. It’s hard for me to take in sometimes. The dream tends too come around when I’m most triggered by something.
There were many things that I went through while the sexual abuse was going on. Over the years as you could imagine I changed a lot with the sexual abuse happening. I acted out a lot, not anything dangerous but enough for my parents to be concerned. I also withdrew myself and was not a person they became familiar with. My parents… I guess you can say reached a point where enough was enough. Thus, my journey of countless visits too the Psychiatric Unit began.
The first time I went too the psychiatric unit was when I was thirteen. It was during that time I was diagnosed with Anxiety, severe depression, and Bi-polar disorder. I always agreed with being diagnosed with anxiety and depression. Now Bi-polar on the other hand I completely disagree with. I disagreed with it then and I disagree with it now. I have my reasons for disagreeing with that diagnoses. 1. I felt it was too early too diagnose me with it. 2. I was thirteen still going through puberty. What thirteen-year-old doesn’t seem like there going through a Bi-polar stage at that age. And 3. Considering what I was going through. Not only was I going through normal thirteen-year-old growing and life experiences, I was also going through sexual abuse. Plus, even before everything my dad wasn’t the easiest person too get along with.
I was dealing with a lot more then what most teenagers would deal with. I acted out just like any sane person would going through what I did. But unlike most people what do I get out of it. I get sent too the psychiatric unit and diagnosed with depression, severe anxiety and Bi-polar. Anyone whose met me especially now will say I’m from being Bi-polar. I would be happy to admit I had Bi-polar if I was. It’s not something I would be ashamed of. It was also then that I was put on medication for the firs time. I was on more medication than any adult should be on let alone a thirteen-year-old. I was on Abilify, Zoloft, Invega, and lithium. They weren’t at the lowest doses either. They weren’t crazy high but high enough.
I withdrew from life even more. The medication made me gain a lot of weight. The meds itself put pounds on me and it also made me hungry a lot. I also was going through depression, so I ate my feelings away. The weight gain is when being made fun of in school happened which made everything worse. I was sent to the psychiatric unit more than twice and every time I did they raised the dose. I couldn’t be happy or sad or angry without my parents assuming it was due to the Bi-polar. So, I was sent too the hospital and therefore sent to the Psychiatric unit.
So, I stopped showing what I felt but it came to a point where the medication also zombified me and kept me feeling anything and everything. I didn’t do much of anything except home, school and where my parents went. During all this the abuse was still going on. By the time I was 21/22 I had been on the medication for almost ten years. I had enough of being on meds. Yes, I was legally an adult by eighteen and I could have said something sooner, but I wasn’t ready at that point. So, at 21/22 I told my doctor I couldn’t and didn’t want too to be on medication anymore. She said I do. I told her that with or without her guidance I’m going off them, but I prefer her guidance through it. She said alright and overtime I was off them all.
I am now Twenty-seven and feeling like myself whomever that self is because I don’t know yet. I don’t feel stuck anymore. I’m starting too feel EVERYTHING now, but I’ll be talking about that in a different blog. I can finally breath and although I still go through tough moments I handle them differently. Being in the psychiatric unit was not fun at all. I wouldn’t even wish being there on my worse enemy. I always told people that if I ever have kids and doctors recommended daily medication for them I wouldn’t. That I will exhaust every option I can physically and financially do before I resort too putting my kids on medication. I have firsthand experience with meds, so I know how it feels or doesn’t. I wouldn’t want too to do that too my kids unless I absolutely had too.
The psychiatric unit was and is no life for me and I’m happy I don’t have too go through that anymore.
The way i dealt with everything i’ve been through was through my writing. especially through poetry. I wrote a poem too the abuse.
why did you come my way?
i was so young so innocent.
You stole my childhood away.
you stole too shine.
You stole my friends.
You stole my life.
What did i do?
What did I do to deserve this?
Was it my bad grades?
Was it because i didn’t listen to my parents?
Please, please abuse.
I’m begging you tell me.
Tell me why come my way?
What did I do to deserve this?
You came into my life.
Why?… I still have no idea.
You bring me down.
You bring me down real hard.
I’m still here.
It wasn’t easy but I survived.
Oh boy did i survive.
It was tough but I made it.
I’m still here and i’m here to stay.
I just want to say:
You gave me the strength.
You gave me the power.
You gave me the power to survive.
I stood strong yet so fragile.
But I’m okay.
I still have a life.
I still have friends.
I’m here to stay.
You can’t control me anymore.
You will come back into my life.
You will come back in many different shapes and forms.
But for now I say Good Bye