Asking For Help- Target on my Back
I Was At Odds
I did not really understand what dissociation was, but I was really good at it, and it scared me. When I realized I couldn’t pull off going back to school I felt so desperate, so stuck. I had become the scapegoat a long time before that. I didn’t have a lot of friends, and Mom did everything she could to cut me off from everyone. It was obvious that she would be continuing to remove my access to the outside world.
When I was little, they all said I could be anything. They said I was smart, and that now that a woman could do just about any job, I could be anything. Anything.
I was also in a lot of pain. I had arthritis pain in my hands and feet since I was 8-ish. I had accumulated some pretty bad knee pain, and my joints popped a lot. My nerves were bathing in cortisol, which amplifies pain, in an EDS body that already amplifies pain. I had to learn how to sleep without hyperextending my joints.
My back and neck hurt constantly, and I spent a lot of time popping things, which grossed out my peers. They were already grossed out by me so, whatever.
This kind of pain leads to a lot of dissociation, which makes perfect sense now, but at the time I thought I was going insane.
Suicidal Ideation
I thought about suicide all of the time.
I prayed to be braver. I wished so badly that I knew how much of which chemicals to use. I fantasized about having access to a gentle poison that would simply cease the beating of my heart and filling of my lungs.
I had been cutting for years, and I knew I lacked the audacity to just slit my wrists. I fantasized about it constantly, and kind of enjoyed the idea of the mess it would leave for my mom. There were loaded guns everywhere, but I didn’t dare touch them. I would never be forgiven for giving the Left an argument to take guns away.
Scared Straight
Mom said that she wished she could have afforded to put me into one of those Scared Straight programs
In the 90s, these programs were relatively new. Mom had heard of them, on shows like Maury Povich, and she thoroughly embraced the concept of tough love.
If you’ve followed the discussion on Human Trafficking, it becomes pretty clear that teenage rebellion is a struggle against being indoctrinated. The patriarchy tasks parents of teens with making children who have had a free pass while they are learning, conform with society or be shoved to the margins. Parents understand that conforming, and conforming well, is essential to accessing resources necessary for survival.
These programs are designed to take children who struggle to give up their autonomy, and make them realize that their autonomy is the smaller price to pay.
(This is also the problem with ABA Therapy for Autistics. ABA focuses on making Autistics conform and mask better, instead of meeting their needs.)
Mom said they had “tools” that were illegal for her to use as a parent, because she wasn’t abusive.
Borderline Personality Disorder
She had talked occasionally about having me committed. I knew from taking psychology that my diagnosis would be borderline personality disorder.
It’s interesting to listen to the gaslighting. The Cult of the Ego will never say, “abused teen girls struggling with the absence of autonomy,” so it says “Borderline Personality Disorder.”
(Spoiler Alert: DBT works, because it tells people with BPD that they should get to be people too.)
I didn’t want to be committed. I knew I’d never get out. I also understood that being trapped inside the psych ward was a matter of who controlled the narrative. I’d heard that if you check yourself in, you can check yourself out.
That part seemed important.
Risky
My risky behaviors were scaring me. It was like I was there, enjoying every second of my guilty pleasures, and at the same time I was watching the whole thing frozen in horror. Shortly after each transgression, I would integrate and be mortified. I felt ashamed and empowered, and confused by the duality.
Shame, empowerment, and confusion are emotions, and what did I do with my emotions?
I ATE THEM. (Unfortunately, I hadn’t saved up much from my minimum wage jobs, because it all went to junk food.)
Help
I was almost 18, and I didn’t want this to be my forever. I wanted help. There was supposed to be help.
I had been called into my guidance counselor’s office to talk about my attendance. She asked me what I was doing during that time. I needed help, not punishment. If I told her I was having sex, it would take me down the punishment path.
I told her I didn’t know. I told her I had been blacking out. I have felt guilty about misrepresenting my behavior for 28 years. It was really confusing, because I didn’t actually feel guilty for the sex, I felt guilty for failing my position in the world. I felt guilty of evoking the shame and judgement in others. I felt guilty for needing help. I felt guilty for being broken.
It was awful that the thing that I was supposed to feel guilty about was the thing that felt good. Why couldn’t I just get hit by a truck?
She interrogated me. I was asked to recount every detail I could. I didn’t want to get anyone in trouble. I didn’t want my mess getting on anybody else. She asked so many questions.
She asked about abuse- I lied. I didn’t know I was lying at the time. I really thought that my mother was not abusive and I was just walking refuse. (Not refuse– refuse)
It’s hard trying to be honest when you don’t know what the truth is. By the end of it, I had divulged my sexual behaviors, and in explaining where they began, I talked about my brother.
This was supposed to be a safe space. It’s not. It was a mandatory reporting space. They informed my mother and the authorities. I would have to go make a statement to the police the following day about my brother.
Home
Mom was there when I got home. The door was already off of the girls’ former bedroom, where I had been sleeping. She met me at the door with an open hand. Mom’s open hand was like a brick across my face. It didn’t sting like a slap, it rocked my spinal column.
She was screaming and pinning me, shoving me around the house, while she told me what a slut I was. She said she was glad that Daddy didn’t have to see me turn into a whore. She asked me why I decided to be a lying little bitch, and told me she would destroy me before I destroyed her family.
Her Family.
That was it. She drew the line and placed me on the other side.
She promised she was going to find a program to put me in, she just needed to find the right one.
Survivor Literacy 
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