Every day, it seems I am living with a weight on my chest, and the world on my shoulders. With no support to turn to, I've come here. I hope to alleviate some of my day to day stress.
For the formal; my name is Andrea, but I like to go by Andi. I am only 20 years old, and was diagnosed at the age of 19. But it all started when I was 4, when I was raped by two men in the bathroom of my father's girlfriend's home. Her two sons, to be exact, while their two sisters watched it happen. It took a year for me to talk about what had happened, and by then, any evidence was already gone. But when the case was pursued, the judge ruled against me, saying that, "She is too young to understand what happened, and therefore will go unaffected by it."
For several years of my life, I was afraid to go into the bathroom, which lead to issues with personal hygiene and relieving myself, as you could imagine. That's when therapy started, and the results of my analysis were always hidden away and destroyed later by my mother. To this day, I wonder what these reports contained.
My childhood consisted of playing messenger between my parents for 14 years, until my father signed an official agreement saying he never wanted to see me again. Divorce is never easy for any child, but there seemed to be a ladder effect in my family, with me sitting at the bottom. My mother's stresses trickled down to my brother, which trickled down to me in the form of physical abuse. Abuse that consisted of strangulation, beating with instruments, kicking, bludgeoning, destruction of property, and being thrown across the room. On one occasion, when trying to escape my mother, she managed to break her entire body through a locked door, where she proceeded to hit me, throw a CRT television on my feet, and when I tried to defend myself, called the police. My mother is a narcissist, who may also be border-line.
Through all of my life, I've been looked down on as an attention deprived child who was just acting out. In every instance the police were called, or some other authoritative figure (such as at school), I was told I was an ungrateful, selfish, awful child who had no right to be sad. In my case, "awful" was defined as not dropping out of school, never getting into drugs or alcohol, never acting out in class, feeding myself, cleaning up after myself, buying my own clothing, getting myself to school (even when it caused lasting frostbite in my toes), and never burdening others with the story of my life.
I've attempted suicide 3 times in my life, and succeeded once. At 12, I hung myself with a belt, and was somehow brought back at the hospital. My mother insists I tell nobody this, as it is grounds to be forcibly admitted for life. At 13, I drank liquid bleach, which has resulted in permanent IBS-like symptoms, and permanent vision damage. And at 15, I attempted to asphyxiate myself with CO. Since then, I have had no suicide attempts, but cut my upper thigh with an x-acto knife as a result of triggers. (Only 1 month clean at this point.)
In relationships, I fall flat. I can usually only handle one friendship at a time, and most of them do not last beyond 2 years. All of them end without closure. I am fortunate that I have a boyfriend who is so patient with me, and takes me as I am without trying to "fix" me or fault me for things out of my control.
Growing up, the largest contributor to my sanity was my amazing cat Cindy. Despite the entire family being deathly allergic to her, we decided to adopt her on the day of her euthanasia, and saved her. Since I was 2, she had lived in my room, litter box and all, and was my responsibility. Visitors always said that they couldn't believe how healthy she was, and they'd never seen someone so young have such a sense of compassion and responsibility. She lived to the ripe age of 22, up until last year when I made the decision to let her go. It was a traumatic experience, as the veterinarian and assistant restrained her to the point where she urinated, and was howling in pain. I had to squeeze the assistants arm to the point of drawing blood, screaming in his face to let her go, before I took my cat from the clinic and refused to pay my bill. The next day, I put her down with a more respectful doctor.
To this day, I have not met a person who has given me more affection and understanding than Cindy. Thanks to her, I still have some notion of what "I love you" really means. I do not believe she was of this world, and she was something sent to me and me alone. Her love was not the love of family or friend, it was something indescribable, and far too deep for words.
It is with her in my heart that I want to move forward in life, pursuing a PHD as a veterinarian, to care for animals big and small, as she cared for me.
For the formal; my name is Andrea, but I like to go by Andi. I am only 20 years old, and was diagnosed at the age of 19. But it all started when I was 4, when I was raped by two men in the bathroom of my father's girlfriend's home. Her two sons, to be exact, while their two sisters watched it happen. It took a year for me to talk about what had happened, and by then, any evidence was already gone. But when the case was pursued, the judge ruled against me, saying that, "She is too young to understand what happened, and therefore will go unaffected by it."
For several years of my life, I was afraid to go into the bathroom, which lead to issues with personal hygiene and relieving myself, as you could imagine. That's when therapy started, and the results of my analysis were always hidden away and destroyed later by my mother. To this day, I wonder what these reports contained.
My childhood consisted of playing messenger between my parents for 14 years, until my father signed an official agreement saying he never wanted to see me again. Divorce is never easy for any child, but there seemed to be a ladder effect in my family, with me sitting at the bottom. My mother's stresses trickled down to my brother, which trickled down to me in the form of physical abuse. Abuse that consisted of strangulation, beating with instruments, kicking, bludgeoning, destruction of property, and being thrown across the room. On one occasion, when trying to escape my mother, she managed to break her entire body through a locked door, where she proceeded to hit me, throw a CRT television on my feet, and when I tried to defend myself, called the police. My mother is a narcissist, who may also be border-line.
Through all of my life, I've been looked down on as an attention deprived child who was just acting out. In every instance the police were called, or some other authoritative figure (such as at school), I was told I was an ungrateful, selfish, awful child who had no right to be sad. In my case, "awful" was defined as not dropping out of school, never getting into drugs or alcohol, never acting out in class, feeding myself, cleaning up after myself, buying my own clothing, getting myself to school (even when it caused lasting frostbite in my toes), and never burdening others with the story of my life.
I've attempted suicide 3 times in my life, and succeeded once. At 12, I hung myself with a belt, and was somehow brought back at the hospital. My mother insists I tell nobody this, as it is grounds to be forcibly admitted for life. At 13, I drank liquid bleach, which has resulted in permanent IBS-like symptoms, and permanent vision damage. And at 15, I attempted to asphyxiate myself with CO. Since then, I have had no suicide attempts, but cut my upper thigh with an x-acto knife as a result of triggers. (Only 1 month clean at this point.)
In relationships, I fall flat. I can usually only handle one friendship at a time, and most of them do not last beyond 2 years. All of them end without closure. I am fortunate that I have a boyfriend who is so patient with me, and takes me as I am without trying to "fix" me or fault me for things out of my control.
Growing up, the largest contributor to my sanity was my amazing cat Cindy. Despite the entire family being deathly allergic to her, we decided to adopt her on the day of her euthanasia, and saved her. Since I was 2, she had lived in my room, litter box and all, and was my responsibility. Visitors always said that they couldn't believe how healthy she was, and they'd never seen someone so young have such a sense of compassion and responsibility. She lived to the ripe age of 22, up until last year when I made the decision to let her go. It was a traumatic experience, as the veterinarian and assistant restrained her to the point where she urinated, and was howling in pain. I had to squeeze the assistants arm to the point of drawing blood, screaming in his face to let her go, before I took my cat from the clinic and refused to pay my bill. The next day, I put her down with a more respectful doctor.
To this day, I have not met a person who has given me more affection and understanding than Cindy. Thanks to her, I still have some notion of what "I love you" really means. I do not believe she was of this world, and she was something sent to me and me alone. Her love was not the love of family or friend, it was something indescribable, and far too deep for words.
It is with her in my heart that I want to move forward in life, pursuing a PHD as a veterinarian, to care for animals big and small, as she cared for me.
