Who are you, if you're not me?A Story by Luz Silva First time writing about my experience as a child/preteen. It goes in detail of when my mental health began to plummet. I will share parts of my life every week, I hope you find it interesting! XOXO
As far as I can remember, I had always been an odd kid. I had been presented with a multitude of behavioral issues following my accident when I was a toddler. I was not even three years old when I had accidentally fallen out of a two story window, causing a severe traumatic brain injury which resulted in me having an amnesia. I didn't know who my mother was. I didn't know how to speak or even walk. I was terrified of being on the floor which was most likely my body's way of expressing emotional trauma from the fall. The accident sent me back to age zero and impaired my ability to learn. But despite my obstacles I reached an age where i suddenly began to remember everything all at once. I started to grasp on to learning quicker and because of that I experienced a very high level of anxiety which I still have til this very day. I remember in elementary school not really fitting in with anyone but as a kid, I didn't really care. All I wanted was to go to recess and draw/write. I was my own person but it didn't really pose a social problem until I entered middle school. I was older, wanted to make friends, thought boys were cute and wanted to be included in everything so badly. But unfortunately my hopes were soon crushed by self pity, insecurity, and hatred. I don't know what it was about me. I knew I was different. I knew that I was (and I mean this in the most NON narcissistic way) more intellectual and inquisitive than the rest. I cared more about things kids my age didn't. I cared about astrology, mythology, abstract art, philosophy, the wonders of religion, etc. I definitely wasn't much of an academic in school, but I was very open minded and took charge of my curiosity and learning. But I later realized that no one was anything like me. and it had separated me from the rest. Beginning at age 12 I asked myself that question while looking in the mirror. I would stare at this person looking back at me and hated her so much. "Who are you!" I would shout to my reflection. "Why do you have to be so weird and stupid!"... I was never good at expressing my thoughts to anyone around me. I was discouraged by this daunting voice in my head telling me that nobody would care, or maybe they did care but I was being dramatic as my mother would say. So yes, I did bottle up and I kept my most darkest thoughts locked away. It was the worst thing I could've done to myself because in a matter of time, I became self destructive. I spiraled into a depression that I couldn't save myself from. Constantly hearing this voice in my head that would whisper awful things to me. Most people think when they see the word "voice" that it means a voice other than my own speaking to me, when it was me all along. I behaved as though I was okay, until the urges crept up from inside a dark corner in my head. This urge stalked me most at night time when I couldn't sleep. I would be up late, brain running on overdrive. I dreaded going to middle school, I was alone there and everyone isolated me, leaving the table when I tried to sit with them during lunch or making me the last standing person to be picked on a team or having to be partnered with the special needs student because everyone already picked their study buddy and I didn't want her to feel as s****y as I did . I dreaded going home after school because... I was alone there too. My oldest sister was too grown up to be around me and deep down, liked me the least. My second oldest sister who did notice me lived with her father and her attention was often limited due to being our oldest sisters best friend. My mother was never really the emotionally involved type. She was way too self absorbed to notice that I was falling apart and needed guidance. The excuse was that I was "too young" to know anything or understand anything. Apparently I didn't have any major problems enough to be acknowledged. I decided to digress from seeking their attention. Instead I laid in bed realizing how I alone I truly was, the voice would burst in asking me "Would anyone care if you killed yourself? You don't belong anywhere. Why not go to a place where you wouldn't have to feel such sorrow? No one even pays you mind it wouldn't be any different." "GO AWAY!" I didn't want the images in my head. I didn't want to see myself laying in a pool of blood with my wrist cut wide open... I was so scared, I didn't want to bare such haunting thoughts. So I found a way to make them go away. I knew I didn't want to die. This voice would convince me over and over again to do away with myself and eliminate the burden I have become to my family. I found a razor blade in the bathroom cabinet. I looked at it for a long time, pondering the two ideas I had. Kill myself, or numb the pain of feeling alone, and unconventional. Let's just say the stronger side of me pushed away the thought of taking my life. However, the weaker side of me went ahead and laid the blade down onto my skin. Without a second thought I proceeded to dig into myself. Deep enough to feel the warmth of my blood being released from my wound, but not deep enough to bleed out. I cut myself repeatedly until it became too painful. Then once I was finished I would wash my arm, apply pressure to stop the flow and wear a long sleeve shirt to hide my wounds. It seemed after I did that the voice would stop hounding me and I was able to find rest in the midst of my insanity. I continued to mutilate myself, til I was able to find who I was. Because I never felt like "me". © 2017 Luz Silva |
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1 Review Added on March 20, 2017 Last Updated on March 20, 2017 Tags: urban life, autobiography, self love, self harm, adversity, triumph, survival, mental health, success, failures, depression, personality disorders |
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