Sunday, July 8, 2012

Reaction To Three and a Half Days Blog Post

Hello All,
So, it looks like I've gotten all the most important posts out now! I
just need to keep on top of Pink News & my email, hahahaha!!

So onto my next topic.
I said that the 3 & a half days topic left me with things to say.
Before we go any further, I NEED to say this is coming from me, my
twisted thoughts, so let's make that clear.
I believe everything that was said is true & correct, & whether we
have x amount of time to live or not, we should never take our
lives/loved ones for granted.

I however, have had a long relationship with death. When I was born my
face was completely open. If you can imagine the open face of a baked
potato, that's how my face was, split down the middle. I not only had
holes where my eyes should have been, I also had holes right under
where the eyes should have been, & my top lip looked like it was
perfectly split down the middle & instead of covering my top teeth, it
covered those holes.
And of course, my hard palate was wide open. I didn't eat anything
cold for the first two years of life for fear the liquid would get up
into my brain & cause a literal "brain freeze".
Because my face was open, I was swallowing the amneotic fluid that
should have been protecting me. Not only was I swallowing it, but I
was basically drowning in it because I couldn't stop myself from
drinking it.
They told my parents I shouldn't be alive at all. It was the typical
'give her 72 hours & then we'll see what happens.'
I was taken by ambulance to Motts Children's hospital 2 hours away
from Saginaw & my parents. I was born at Saginaw General.
My mom couldn't see me until Saturday (I was born on Tuesday). At
Motts they gave me liquids through a feeding tube. I made it through
the 72 hours & then they said:
'She'll be weak. She'll be sickly. She could be mentally disabled.'
They even went so far as to ask my parents if I had a name & write
down every time they changed me, held me, fed me, basically any time
they touched me. (After they could come see me).
So I was already supposed to have died & I hadn't. Then came the
surgeries themselves. Surgeries to fix my clubbed (turned in) foot,
close my palate (still not completely closed), skin grafts taken from
buttocks, arm cartlidge from behind both ears, fat from my neck (into
my lips & face), two skull grafts (also into my face), & two ribs
removed (in one surgery & put into my face) all to build up bone
structure. The first surgery they ever did ballooons were placed into
my cheeks & a tube into my head to inflate said balloons, so they
could do the latter closures & repairs.
Some of those surgeries were more serious then others, but I could
have died during any of them. Then there was the kids who hated me &
finally, myself, putting myself at risk.
The kids punched me, usually in the face. If any of them had punched
me hard enough, those bones would have broken. They could have became
floaters, just floating loosely around in my face & if they'd reached
my synus cavity, I wouldn't be here writing this post.
& me. I go to amusement parks, concerts & get in the mosh pit. The
mosh pit is the most dangerous place for me, as I said, flying fists,
a shoe to the head, etc. But I go because I love it. The feeling of
being up there, so close to the band & releasing all that hate & rage
& pain is something I can't express adequately with my words alone.
You have to be there & you have to be able to see it through my eyes.
Nevermind that the very first time I attempted suicide I was only 6
years old. I tried to hang myself with some rope. I couldn't find any
rope though & mom & Dad woke up wanting to know what I was doing. I
lied & went back to my room. After that I started scratching my palms
& the backs of my hands with my fingernails. I would get angry if
something didn't work & bang my head against whatever was there. A
bedpost, the dresser, a door it didn't matter to me. I thought
incessantly about how I could kill myself. Belts, scarves, putting my
own hands around my throat, drowning, or maybe I could be brave &
drink cleaning supplies or alcohol (I never did those). By the time I
was in middle school I was ripping clumps of my hair out & leaving
myself with bald spots that were chalked up to stress. At least,
initially. After all, school was stressful on me. Then I started
pouring pills into glasses of water & sticking my fingers in them to
feel them melt. I wasn't able to convince myself to drink the water,
but I'd mix pills after a while.
By the time high school came I was taking pills, but only painkillers
& not often. If I had surgery I'd be in pain & not take them telling
everybody I was fine. But 6 months later when I wanted to die I'd take
two handfulls of them. My parents trusted me, even though it was a
misplaced trust they didn't know it was. When I was 18, my parents
marriage was falling apart, but it just shattered. It didn't fall
apart slowly, one day they were living together, & within a month & a
few odd days, my mom had left. I new it was breaking & I didn't want
to have to witness it again like I did their separation when I was 3,
so I tried to slit my wrists with a regular shaving razor. Didn't
work, but I finally told them what I'd done. mom was furious. She
proceeded to scream at me & act like she hadn't ever done it herself.
Dad for his part just lost it. He went & bought beer I don't know how
much he drank, the rest of that night was kind of a blur. Holly was
the most supportive person there. She & another friend brought over
Oreo cookies & I ate the whole bag while we talked.
After that though, I wasn't so scared & it got easier to hurt myself.
Even easier then it was before & I'd use scissors or a knife. Not
often, I was strange in one sense. I wasn't an all the time anything.
Whether it was a cutter, a pill taker, I didn't do it all the time. My
thoughts were all the time, every day all day, but I'd hold it in
until I absolutely couldn't anymore which usually meant a few times a
I'm sorry this is so long, but I needed to write all that to get to my
thoughts today, right now.
I read the 3 & a half days post & felt incredibly sad for everyone
involved. I thought it was cruel & sad & I was genuinely moved by the
question it posed.
What would we do if we only had a certain amount of time left.
I could do the noble thing & say I'd get closer with my family, be
more forgiving, more tolerant of myself & my actions. . .
But the truth is, I've known that death was there all my life & while
I love my Dad & would be crushed if he died, while I love Holly &
Elias & Shaun & would be devistated if they died, my own mortality
doesn't have the same affect on me. I would want to know that I
changed the world for better before I died. That being said, I also
honestly don't care if I die. The only thing I can say is that I want
to die in my sleep, or if I have to die by other means, I want to be
unconscious & not realize that I'm dying.
To actually say that I care though & don't want to die would be an
incorrect statement. I'm still not at that point where I love myself
so much that I want to be here. If I was told that the rest of my life
would be living with my parents, getting SSI every month & not
becoming a humanitarian, not helping adults & children & animals, I'd
be ready to die tonight. I could die happily knowing that I met Elias
& Shaun & spent time with Holly & her girls (cats) & my girls (dog &
cat), & Dad & that I new they loved me & I loved them & that was that.
I'm slowly working towards better things. I'm thrilled to be here &
talk with people who sincerely care about each other's wellbing &
happiness. I feel better knowing that I can be a part of it, so I am
improving & I know that & acknowledge it.
This is where I'm at right now in my life though & here's to hoping it
only gets better!
Lots of pink love,

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