Recognizing my biological sister and mother were pushing me to suicide seemed impossible
1. Gaslighting myself
2. Various methods i was pushed to suicide
3. Why would a 9-12yo push for suicide?
4. Why would a 42yo woman lying about giving birth to her employer's daughter push daughter towards suicide?
When Jen Naired my brows off, the day before 10th grade, Jen told me the goal is I give up on life. I told her she doesn't know what she's saying.
I'm not going to kill myself
It's not easy, I've tried. Since 7yo I've had stashes of pills, razers, rope. Maps of bridges and intersections picked out. Goodbye letters regularly updated.
I can't bc I have PDA, and it's become obvious it's what a select handful want from me. I have no tools ready. Last holiday season I ordered handcuffs and materials to make a noose that I can't get out of.
My blogs were screeching for help, and no help came - fine, can't know for sure what is read by whom. But in November, when Stepmother drops me off at the ER with cellulitis of the jaw, she refers the intake nurse to my LJ and this blogger.
And I realize this has happened before. She pesters and chases and shoves as I lay covered in my own vomit she continues to list how stupid, fat, ugly, useless, hated, weird, bad I am. I know I'm dissociating bc the chilly clamminess clears and I feel comfortable. I know she is sitting directly in front of me, but her voice and face seem a football field away. I'm aware her closeness can still kick and scratch - it's her voice that hurts most, it's her over enunciating hard consonants that cause nausea and the relief is euphoric. Imagine your mother bundles 5 steel reusable skewers, oils them, and stabs them into your temple, through your cheek, smashes ear to shoulder, so the metal can reach your trap. If you try to straighten she clubs the back of your head with a flat pan and long handle, pickleball racket at the end of a tennis racket. Her voice is a skewer bundle. When I dissociate, skewers don't exist in that plane.
That's when her ar style stops. Then it's the hours of her hum-able jingle, "I am your mother, no one loves you like I do".
Dad shows up later that day, after more than 6 mo of being away. He used to come to my room or to the basement living room. Now he just screams from the top of the stairs "we're going to be late!"
Late to what? I haven't washed in days. I own 1 pair of underpants. He's disgusted with me when I climb into the running car. For the rest of the evening, in front of 6 of his friends and their wives and kids, I'm invisible until there is cake and he screams as I near the front of the line, "don't give sunhee any!"
Do you know what my dad's most frequent comment was? I don't ask him for help, or advice, as if he's stupid.
