This Birthday I will be 31.

This year I will be 31 but I feel just as confused, frustrated and in over my head as  did when I was a kid. Only now, when things go wrong it's my fault. I have two beautiful boys that love me because they know no better, because I'm the only mom they've got. As I exist here selfishly running from my ghosts they sit patiently and wait for mom to be okay. And that's not right. I remember growing up thinking that adults were insane, selfish people that got all of the choices and none of the repercussions. I remember wanting to be dead. Suicide was an idealized thought that developed in my mind over the years and attempts manifested on occasion. The first time I remember was when I was 13 or 14. I took a lot of over the counter pills and remember the feeling of disappointment when nothing happened. I remember crying in the kitchen of my mom's house as I washed dishes, as the lyrics of a Duran Duran song wailed
"Words playing me deja-vu like a radio tune I swear I've heard before
Chills is it something real or the magic I'm feeding off your fingers
Can't ever keep from falling apart at the seams
Can't I believe you're taking my heart to pieces
Lost in a snow filled sky we'll make it alright to come undone now
We'll try to stay blind to the hope and fear outside
Hey child stay wilder than the wind and blow me in to cry"




And all I could think was "Let me out!!!!"








I don't think anyone ever knew about the times I tried to do myself in. I was careful, never spoke about it or someone might stop me. The next time I remember was when I was 14 at the group home, I was coming off of Prozac cold turkey and it was rough. I stole a butter knife with a slightly serrated edge and went on a walk. I think it was around the time they found out I was bulimic. I went to the park across the street and sat under a tree, then sawed away. I wasn't into pain, it was all action with purpose. I sawed at my wrist making sure to saw downwards and across the veins, sobbing, because I wanted nothing more than to end all of this hurt. I wanted to be free.   

The next time I remember was when I was 17 and in the only decent home I ever lived in. I got into her medicine cabinet and got her cold medicine, took it all with a feeling of relief. It was all going to end now. I don't believe in heaven (though I DO believe in ghosts, hypocrisy much?) and I was ecstatic that the pain and frustration was going to end. But I woke up the next morning. I was so disappointed.  

Even now I see it as an easy out, a pressure release when I am over whelmed. When I was on meth the only thing that kept me from doing myself in was the image of my family telling my nephews why they would never see me again. I couldn't do that to them. But honestly when things get bad even now, I consider it. I look for that easy out, consider that easy out because I'm not sure about my strength.