** TRIGGER WARNING. TRIGGER WARNING This article or section, or pages it links to, contain information about mental illness and suicidal thoughts that may be triggering to survivors.**
My name is Catalina. Im 21 years old, and I’m a senior at my University. I’m graduating in the Spring, and then finishing my last two classes in the Summer. I’m incredibly excited about this. I never thought I’d make it to this point in my life. In fact, I’m beyond incredibly excited. I never believed I would get this far in my life. I’m going to be graduating from college in a matter of a couple of months. It’s so surreal. If I have any accomplishments in life, this would be one of them. It was a train wreck getting here, and I wouldn’t have made it if it weren’t for the endless support of the wonderful friends that I am overjoyed to call my own.
In this entry, I am opening up about something that I’ve never opened up before. I’ve only recently started talking about it to my close friends, only because some problems have been arising for me. That is what I’m here to talk about. I haven’t been to a counselor yet, though I’ve made the decision to start. If it’s going to help me, I’m willing to do whatever it may take. Anyway. It’s time to allow my mind to go back and to let my collective conscious write. I’m here to set myself free, and by writing this, I am doing that! I’m not going to allow this to control me or manipulate me any longer.
Back in September of 2014, my ex did something that pushed me to the point of almost overdosing. Removing from my life helped me to grow and to heal. However, he acts as a psychological trigger for me, and whenever I see him or hear his name, I get flashbacks back to that terrible time. I cannot control these flashbacks, and sometimes they completely rule over. It wasn’t anything immensely harrowing to the point of infringing the law. He did not sexually or physically abuse me. I want to talk about my ex boyfriend for a moment. I’m going to call him Leroy. Leroy, did nothing but treat me well. He cared for me. I like to believe that he loved me. The truth is that he did not have the maturity level to support me mentally. I could not blame him. For years I’ve suffered with mental illness, and it wasn’t until the most recent Fall semester where I reached my worst. I wasn’t stable. Leroy couldn’t take care of me anymore. He left me at a really inconvenient time, and I feel like that’s the reason to have broken us up. He was never communicative about the break up. I didn’t know if it was something I had done, or it could have been the mere fact that he simply had fallen out of love. I don’t know. I have a feeling it was because he couldn’t take it anymore. Take me, any longer. But again, after some time I came to understand that. Some people are not strong enough to deal with someone going through something like I was. He was there, though, for the entire year we knew each other. He was there for me for most of it, and he helped me in so many ways unimaginable. It was the last month of the summer and the first month of school when our relationship became really shaky. I was driven into paranoia. I knew that we were going to end soon, but at the same time I was wanting to work it out and prevent us from ending, but I felt it was so inevitable, I was preventing myself from preventing it. It was a confusing time for me, but that is not what the focus of this entry is. We had little things in common. We shared different values. The time had come for us to branch off and see other people. I wish I was as accepting of that then, as I am now. The breakup allowed me to find someone worth my while.
I wanted Leroy in my life. Actually, I needed Leroy in my life. You have to understand that he had been the only support in my life for the previous year. I confided in him everything. I had circled my entire day to day schedule around him, a mistake that I will make sure to not repeat with my future partners. He was still the closest person to me, and in the mind state I was in, I needed the person I was still closest with around. That makes sense, doesn’t it? I didn’t want to be the clingy ex girlfriend you had to breakup with twice, but I just needed my friend there. I didn’t understand how anyone could be so close with someone for so long, and then one day they not want anything to do with them. Anyway, after the breakup, I was hospitalized. I had baker-acted myself. It was either walking to the counseling center to voluntarily baker-act myself, or walk toward the parking garage and take an alternative action. I choice the other option. For three days I was in an inpatient center with other crazies. It was all too familiar. This was my third baker-act in three years. I did not ask for it the first time, and the second time I was tricked into it. One mention of the “S” word and they will just send you away against your will. The “S” word is a feeling, and to me, does not constitute for emergency action if there is no reason of intent. There’s a difference between suicidal ideation, and suicidal intent. Anyway (anyway), I’m drifting away from my focus again. The failure of our mental health care resources and the continuance of the stigma of mental ill persons will be saved for a future entry. I got the help that I needed to get, for me. The week after I was released from the hospital, I talked to Leroy for the first time. I wanted him to see that I had gotten help, and from this point on it was only going to get better. He didn’t want to give our relationship another try, and that saddened me, but eventually he agreed that we could still be friends. It was more of a verbal agreement though. I remember seeing him around campus, and texting him, watching him take out his phone and put it back into his pocket. I don’t know if this has ever happened to any of you, but this made me feel terrible about myself. That same night I caught myself waiting outside his residential building for five hours, waiting for him to return, because I couldn’t take being ignored anymore. I never thought he’d come around but he did, to turn around and walk the other way. I did run to him, to get him to stop, and he made up some excuse that he didn’t see me and had to go to the dining hall before a certain time, but he saw me. I don’t remember much of the conversation, except that it was short. I asked for a hug, because he was still the person I would hug every single day, but this hug was disconnected. I felt myself putting all the effort into holding him, and he let his arms go limp. We became texting friends after that, and time to time would text the other about our day. And by that, I mean it was mostly me asking, and getting a reply 8-9 hours later.
Things eased, though, and I allowed myself to give him the space he needed from me. I was okay with getting that reply 8-9 hours after sending my original text, because if it meant he was still in my life, it was okay. I felt privileged because he was the one who still talked to me. (If you’re reading this now, and find yourself going through the same thing, do realize that you do not need to be treated like that. That is no friend to you. You do not owe him/her anything. You can go on without them, and do believe me when I tell you, it will become easier.) I’d ask about meeting up, and he was busy all the time. I still tried though. I knew that if I did not initiate, nothing would end up happening. I know now that friendship is a two way street, and if someone is not making the effort to keep a friendship or fight for a friendship, they are not worth it. We were doing pretty well though. I’d hear from him twice a day, and for me, that would be enough. Knowing that he was taking the time to send a written text to me made me feel noticed. If I got that last text before bed, I could sleep, hoping that one day, I will have my best friend completely back. This time was so hard for me, because I’d never gone through anything like it before. I still did not know why he ended the relationship with me for sure. And I don’t think I ever will. Looking back, I feel like I deserve a little better. He should have talked down with me, and told me what it was he was feeling, instead of holding everything back. Or maybe he was still figuring it out for himself. If it was a figuring out situation, I feel that instead of a break up, a temporary break would have done well. But I know that he knew he was done with us. He just didn’t know how to say it. It would have made so many sleepless nights easier if he had just been able to form the words, “I lost feelings for you, and I want to end our relationship because of that. But I still care about you.” The way I see it, from a humane perspective, when you’re in a relationship, you’re committed. You’re committed to the person, you’re committed to communication, you’re committed to allowing yourself to be vulnerable to that person and to make it so that person can be vulnerable with you. I feel that once you’re committed to someone, you should be committed to them until the end. This doesn’t mean until you decide you don’t want to be with them anymore, and it ends there. This should mean until after the very end. To think of how easier the grieving process would have been if he had supported me through the process of getting over heartbreak. He put me in a completely impotent position, and instead of disappearing completely, he should have helped in my transition to being on my own. Allow me to get heal and get better, but stay around, because while you may have lost all interest in me, my heart is where it always has been. The break up came to a surprise for me. Obviously his heart and my heart were on two different tracks. I feel that in a true adult relationship in that situation, the heartbreaker-should make the heartbreaking easiest for the heartbreakie.
My friends didn’t like him. There’s no question as to why. In any group, if a friend’s heart gets broken, the person who did the breaking is not going to be very liked around town. It’s only natural, especially for girlfriends. To my friend’s understanding, Leroy broke up with me because he couldn’t handle my emotional problems anymore. To my friends, this was ludicrous. Significant others are suppose to be there for their lover in terrible times, and to them, it seemed like he just ran out. He gave up. I told him I would get the help I needed, and in a matter of time, I would be back to myself again. He didn’t want to wait though. My friends did not like him for this. They’ve been in my life longer than he has, and they understood my mental illness and that I had bad moments, yet they always ceased to judge. Even in my most monstrous moments. And trust me, those moments were there. My friends saw that I was doing so much better since the afternoon of the breakup and the hospitalization. In a matter of days, I was able to stand up and move around again. I didn’t want them to know that I was talking to Leroy. At least not yet. I wasn’t keeping it a secret. I was just not, telling them, yet. I wanted to see how the friendship to go, because I didn’t want to worry my friends for nothing. I can tell that my friends cared about me more than anything. And it was going to be soon after when I realized just how much they cared for me.
I wanted to see Leroy, because I haven’t since the night outside of his residential building. The way I saw it, we could be distant friends. Once a week, maybe meet up for coffee at the bookstore or Starbucks cafe. Get to know each other more. Talk about school, current events, animals, anything that friends talked about. I wanted him to see how much better I’ve gotten. I wanted him to see that I was becoming the person I was when he first met me. After being rejected each time, there was a time where a meet up could work! USF was having their homecoming fair. He said that we could meet up there. I was so excited, but I had already been planning on going to the event with my best friend, Tiffany. He said that he liked Tiffany, and he was going with other people as well. I didn’t know how to explain it. So I told him, “I don’t want anyone to know I’m talking to you.” There. I was scared for the response. He asked “Why?” It was hard to explain in a text message. I didn’t know how. It was a simple reason, really, but easily taken out of context without the right verbal tone and facial expressions. I couldn’t think of what to say, so all I said was “Leroy…” It was not a texting thing. This was something I had to talk to him in person about, and hope that he would understand. And in fact, I was tired of texting. I was tired of limiting my conversation to only 180 characters. I didn’t want my friends to give him, or me, any trouble by knowing I was trying to see him. I didn’t want to make things more difficult than they already were. I didn’t want to have to defend myself to my friends, who by default were always thinking of the best interest of me. I thought everything would be resolved later, after seeing him, and I even came to think “okay, maybe I am being a little silly, I’ll just see him tonight, and I don’t have to answer anyone’s questions.” He didn’t reply after that though. He, didn’t reply at all.
I tried pushing the knot I had in my throat aside. Nighttime came, and I went to the fair with Tiffany, and my other fraternity Brothers. We had a lot of fun. I couldn’t help but worry though. All I kept thinking was, oh no, I had done wrong. And I wanted to fix it. I had to fix it, because it couldn’t stay wrong, because I couldn’t be at fault for anything, I just couldn’t.
If any of you have a mental illness, you may understand easily that we have to over apologize. “I’m sorry” is infamous for its inadequacy. It often seems flippant, insincere, or incomplete, as in “I’m sorry you feel that way” or “I’m sorry, but…”. Persons with mental illness need to apologize, to feel, okay. We apologize for things that are clearly not our fault, not in our control, or otherwise unworthy of apology. Examples include apologizing for being hurt by someone else’s offense, apologizing for being over-sensitive, apologizing when someone else bumps into you, and apologizing for apologizing. I don’t want to speak for every person, but for me, I feel responsible always. Almost like magic, apology has the power to repair harm, mend relationships, soothe wounds and heal broken hearts, both ways. I cannot live with knowing that I made someone uncomfortable, or hurt their feeling, or knowing that I made a mistake and did something wrong; even when these situations are resolved, I still feel the need to apologize to make sure it really is okay. If not, I don’t feel right. I feel guilt.
Leroy never texted back that night. I decided to give him until the morning, but even then, he wasn’t getting back to me. This is the part of the entry where it becomes a little painful for me. This is the part that’s going to set me free; I’m going to fully relive the experience, but only this time, I’m doing it as a stronger, healthier, and stable woman.
This was taken from Wikipedia. “Repressed memories are hypothesized memories having been unconsciously blocked, due to the memory being associated with a high level of stress or trauma.[citation needed]The theory postulates that even though the individual cannot recall the memory, it may still be affecting them consciously.”
*My brain has blocked out this time, but I am still able to relive how I felt during this time.*
I don’t know what else I texted him. I texted him enough to have it pass off as cyber harassment. For a couple of days, I did not try to contact him. That took everything in my power to do. This was all that was on my mind. I knew there was a problem in the air, and I had to have it resolved, I had to. I remember the moment where I did break, and I did try to reach him. The text by the hour turned into two texts an hour. A text every half an hour. A text every ten minutes. Looking back, I know I was ridiculous, but in that moment, I didn’t know what to do. Texting was the only method of communication I could have with him. Even though he was not responding, I still felt the need to try. I could not lose my friend. Specifically, I could not lose my friend because I had said or done something wrong.
Everyone knows that ignoring someone is the worst. Being ignored online or in person, its still exclusion. Rejection hurts. And it can make someone feel distressed, and make their self-esteem drop. You can feel numb, distant, and even feel withdrawal. This was worse than just being ignored. This was silent treatment abuse. The Narcissist’s Silent Treatment by Gail Meyers on Narcissistic Abuse: Echo Recovery quotes the below:
And yes, my boundaries were tested. I never heard the silence quite this loud. What hurt more than anything? This person knew me. He knew me for over a year. He knew everything about me, including my weaknesses and ways to get to me, and he used that against me. And especially during this time. I had my guard down. I was out from being hospitalized. I had lost my best friend. And now, I was losing him again, and I was the one feeling the guilt. No, I wasn’t just feeling it, it was slapping me, hard, directly across my face. It was kicking that area right below the rib cage repeatedly, knocking the wind out of me, but leaving no physical bruise. I don’t remember anything I said to try to change his mind. I must have explained myself in a million different ways. I must have apologized at least a dozen times. I’m sure that I begged. Yes, begged. For recognition. My brain has that entire event blocked out. But each message I would send, I would cry. And then I’d feel like my previous message wasn’t good enough; it wasn’t convincing enough, it wasn’t long enough, it wasn’t asking enough. And I’d have to send another one. After hours of this torture, I would try calling him. I felt myself becoming weak. I remember, feeling, and thinking and reliving. I saw our whole year go by. I recalled how it was only two weeks before, we were cuddling, holding hands and thinking of building a life together. I felt so warm by his side, in his arms. It felt so right, and I never would have expected it to turn so..not right. I grew crazier and crazier. I couldn’t take the sound of the ringing, and then the auto message for the voice-mail. I left only a couple of those, keeping them as sincere as I could, hoping that he would be able to hear my words, and know that I was genuinely, wholeheartedly sorry for hurting him in any way that I had and seeking forgiveness. I was willing to try anything, to do anything, to keep my friendship with him. Little did I realize, there was no friendship there. Just an idea of one. I felt myself becoming destructive. I felt myself feeling the same way I did hours before baker-acting myself. I felt the same way I did walking to the university, clenching and unclenching my hands, looking toward and away from the parking garage, knowing that there had to be another option than that. (I feel I must add, my close friend Rebecca stayed on the phone with me during that walk to USF. And she told me to stay away from that parking garage, and to keep walking forward. And Rebecca, if you weren’t there for me, I don’t know where I would be right now. But by taking twenty minutes out of your morning, you guided me, and who knows, you may have saved me. And I thank you, so, so ineffably much.)
For an entire hour, I dedicated myself to getting in contact with him. I needed to. Or bad things would happen. I began blacking out almost. Anyone who has had themselves black out in situations (not alcohol-induced), but in painful situations will understand what this means. Anyone who hasn’t, I’m not sure if I’ll be able to explain it to you in words. When your brain blacks out, you become almost disconnected from your body. You see the actions you are making, but it doesn’t feel like you are the one making them. It’s almost as if you’re watching yourself from a distance. Like a ghost. I knew I was calling repeatedly, and I knew that I most likely wasn’t going to get an answer, but I had to make that effort. It was important to me that I tried. And I knew that he was reading my messages, I just knew. I felt that if I could say one thing to really reach to him, he would stop this quiet game, and communicate with me. But he let me push myself to the edge. I think at one point I realized that I was on the brink of a psychotic episode. I had that much stress on me. When I get too upset, my hands and my tongue go numb, I have difficulty thinking and breathing and I become close to passing out. I felt that happening. And I remember typing something like that. The content of my last messages turned from “You have to forgive me, let me explain, I cannot lose you” to “I need you to talk to me, I need, need, you to, please, call me, or, something will happen, please I’m begging you.” It was scary. I remember shaking, trembling, but holding my tears together because I could not cry. Crying would get in the way. It would get in the way of my vision, and it would keep me from focusing on my phone in case he changed his mind. But no. Ugh, this is the worst part. You know the feeling when your heart feels like it is literally turning cold and sinking? He turned his phone off. It was the early afternoon, and he turned his phone off, and that, in itself, stood out as the most verbal statement.
I felt my world crashing down. Not only did I lose the person I loved once, but twice. I had false hope that a friendship could remain there, but I managed to lose that, too. I didn’t think it was possible, because we, were, so, close.
He shut me out. He completely shut me out, and I did not even know that was what he was doing. I had to figure it out like this. I, I couldn’t live anymore. In the mindset that I was in, in the very vulnerable mindset that I was in, I didn’t want to live anymore. Why? Because I was a mess. I was a failure. I was nothing. I was small. I was pathetic. I was clingy. I was an annoyance. I was a waste of space. This is all I kept repeating to myself, sitting in my room alone, still attempting to call a number that went straight to voice mail. But the words that were the loudest in my head were…I don’t even want to think about them.
“Leroy doesn’t want me anymore. Leroy doesn’t care if I’m dead. I should die.”
He knew my history of self harm. He knew I tried to kill myself at the end of high school. I’ve had one or two serious suicidal mindset moments when he knew me, but he always talked me through it. But this time…he.. He knew I was close to doing something. And he let me.
If he didn’t want to stick around, he didn’t have to, I wasn’t going to ask him to. Not everyone can remain friends with their exes. He only had to sit down with me. Sure I would have cried, I would have been so sad, I would have asked if there was another way. But I would have been okay. I would have gotten by, if he had only taken the time to meet with me, sit down, and properly tell me, “Melissa, its too much having you in my life right now. I want only the best for the both of us. I don’t believe we can reach that by staying close with each other. This is what I have to do, and this is why I have to do it.”
The hours after that, though. I can’t describe to you the way I felt about my self worth. I have never felt so tiny before. So empty. It’s frank to say, but I had never hated myself more than I did in that moment. Leroy knew that I was hurt. Leroy knew that I was confused. What Leroy didn’t know is that right before he turned off his phone, I had 16,000 mg of Divalproex sodium (Depakote) in my hands and I did not know what to do with them. My brain shut off. My body shut off. All I could think was, I should be dead. I don’t matter. I am nothing.
I am no one.
Part of me was still hanging onto my reality. I still had my family, my school, my friends. But it wasn’t enough. I was blinded, deaf, numbed; all of my senses just altered and out of use. I was going to do it. I was done. I couldn’t take it any longer. I couldn’t live like this. And I couldn’t see myself running into him again, knowing, you let me down. Knowing that I had let myself down. Because this was all my fault, every last bit of it.
This is where it became really scary. I was trying to hold on, and keep to my senses. I was trying to stay smart. I always heard the saying that ‘Suicide is a permanent solution to a temporary problem.” I had so much energy, and it filled me. If you’ve ever gone through sleep paralysis, this is sort of what this experience was like. I lied there in bed, fighting with myself. I knew that if I moved, if I moved one flick or one muscle, I would do it. I would take my life, and I wouldn’t be able to stop myself. So I didn’t move. I didn’t move at all. I held myself and cried. I knew that if I moved, it would be over, and I would do the irreversible. My mind wasn’t as still as I was. It kept repeating all of the negative thoughts. I was verbally abusing myself. I kept knocking myself down. My thoughts kept telling me, do it. do it. Get up and do it. I had a number of options running through my head. I was going to overdose on those 16,000 mg, and the other at least a thousand or two mgs more of other type of medication I had. I was going to do that, or I was going to slit my throat. It would be quick, and once I get past the stage of hesitation, I would be able to do it. That’s how I always felt about self harm with superficial cutting. Looking at my arm now, I wouldn’t dare to. It’s instinct not to harm yourself. But in the moment where your mind is most cloudy, its easy to do without thought. It would have been the same thing in this case. I would have sliced my throat, and the shock would have gotten to me, but within minutes I should have bled out. If I did not want to do this, or take all of those pills in chance that I would survive and have to get my stomach pumped, I had one last option… I was going to swallow a sock. It sounds elementary now. I’m sure you’re thinking, swallow a sock? But think about it. It would be so easy, and out of my control. I read a news article recently how an elderly man had choked on a sock, and that’s where I was coming from. If I shoved in down my throat quickly, I wouldn’t be able to get it out, and eventually I would have suffocated and died. I lay in bed while my mind thought all of this out. My body was still numb; I was holding onto myself. I did not want to move, at least I didn’t think I did. I couldn’t stop shaking. The more I shook, I became uneasy, but I couldn’t move my position or else that would be it for me.
This went on for hours. This went on from roughly 1 in the afternoon, to 9 pm at night. It was the longest I’ve ever been in one position, and it is unbelievable that I did it. I fought myself for hours. The temptations continued to poke fun at me. My mind was polluted. If I hated myself 8 hours before, you can only imagine how I felt about myself then. I have never felt so worthless before. I didn’t know what to do. My thoughts screamed at me. KILL YOURSELF. KILL YOURSELF. The only person you have ever truly loved and felt connected to HATES YOU. AND WANTS YOU TO KILL YOURSELF. I almost let my words win.
A quarter of a second. That’s how much time the thoughts had shut off. For a quarter of a second. But that quarter of a second was enough. In that quarter of a second, I didn’t want to be vulnerable. I didn’t want to die. I had everything. I had my friends, my family, my little sister, my elephant career, and so many blue skies ahead. In that quarter of a second, my mind had shut off. It wasn’t screaming. I didn’t feel the need to hold that knife, or to take those pills. In fact, I threw them. I threw them all away from me to the other side of the bed, and I jumped up and nearly sobbed out a scream, I picked up my phone, and I called my best friend, and I craddled myself and paced and bit my knuckles until she was able to come over. And she held me, and she let me cry. All the rest of that night, I cried.
And then after calming down from those horrid thoughts, I cried some more, when I realized the selfish act I was so close to committing. I cried when my roommate (and dear friend) came home and I called them in, because he was the one who most likely was going to find me, not alive. And that thought killed me. And it triggered another thought. I pictured my family and my classmates finding out, and I pictured my close friends finding out, and it tore me apart. I had to live with even more guilt. And it hurt. It hurt so much. And I hated me.
I stayed on the living room sofa for the rest of the night. My bestfriend stayed over, and I let her rest on my bed. She fell asleep, but she let me know beforehand that if I needed anything, I could come to her. In the early hours of the night, my other close friend, Sarah, called me to see if she and another friend could capture me. They knew I was having a bad night, but they didn’t know the extent of it. We drove to campus and parked behind the library in the parking lot, rolled down the windows, and just talked. I tried to play off being okay for the first bit, but then I broke down and told them what happened. They listened, and they comforted me, and my friend Sarah gave me the most beautiful response ever. I wish I could remember it word for word, but what she said really stood out to me.
“You didn’t do it. You could have done it, but you didn’t. You walked away, and for that, you are the strongest person I know. Your life is not anyone’s to take. It belongs to you. You didn’t allow him to take that from you. It’s yours, and only yours to decide what to do with it.” She kept telling me how strong I was, and after hearing it so often, I started to take in her words and believe them.
Some people don’t realize how much they can destroy a person with words, or with silence. Regardless, its hard for certain damage to be undone. You should never shut a person out of your life, with no warning, because it does things. Instead, you should talk to the person about it. And especially console them if they are in a weak mental state. Ignoring someone at a time of need is the opposite of helping them. But keep in mind- the other person- they’re human, too.
Where am I now? It’s four months later, and I’m the healthiest I’ve ever been. I’m happy. I’m closer with my family, I have a great Spring semester, I’m graduating in only a matter of months, I feel really close to my fraternity brothers, and I’m happy. I’m with my beautiful girlfriend. She knows about my mental health and what I’ve been through, but she seems like she’s here to stay. She loves me, and she let it be known. It’s nice to have found someone who accepts me for me. When I have my bad moments, she knows that its not me. I’m not there. She helps me until I am there again.
There is only one drawback keeping me from being completely healthy.
My ex is a psychological trigger for me. For those who do not know exactly what a trigger is, in the strictest sense of the term, trigger is used to refer to experiences that “re-trigger” trauma in the form of flashbacks or overwhelming feelings of sadness, anxiety, or panic. The thought, sight, or mention of my ex triggers flashbacks for me. I will explain to you what that means for me. When I’m slipping into a flashback or a dissociative state, my surroundings begin to look fuzzy. I feel as though I am separating from and losing touch with my surroundings, other people, and myself. Although our circumstances differ, I show symptoms similar to someone with PTSD. Although everyone experiences PTSD differently, there are three main types of symptoms: Re-experiencing the traumatic event, avoiding reminders of the trauma, and increased anxiety and emotional arousal. What happens to me the most is reliving the experience. When I experience this type of flashback, my mind goes back to the time and place where I felt most hurt and vulnerable. The flashbacks are of a time where I felt genuinely suicidal and hopeless. For me, this is the time after I was hospitalized again, and I was becoming no longer acquainted with my ex. I cannot control my triggers, or the reaction my body gives to them. It does not matter where I am or who I’m with; if I experience a trigger, there’s no stopping it.
When I’m having a flashback or a trigger, I find myself back on that bed, contemplating the decision to make with my life. All of those feelings become real again. I feel that I’m back in my room, back in that same position, shaking. I relive the whole experience all over again. I feel worthless, I feel scared. I feel like I am waiting for his text back, and each moment I’m waiting, I’m dying inside. Literally, dying.
That is my traumatic experience to me. That feeling is the experience. Whether it is silly to someone else, or relative to someone else.
I feel almost ashamed that this happens to me. I’ve explained it to a couple of people who just don’t understand it. They don’t realize how real these flashbacks are to me. Having to relive it is a terrible experience. One moment I could be with my friends feeling really great about myself, and then the next moment I’m blanking and blacking out and entering that time again. I know I shouldn’t be ashamed. But it happens, and recently, it’s been happening a lot.
What am I doing about it? I’m going to seek a professional counselor. I’m hoping that they can help me.
I changed my name. I chose to go by something differently. On January the 1st, I posted on Facebook for all of my friends and family to see:
“Family and friends, for the time being, I would like to be referred to by my given middle name, Catalina (Catherine). I know that it will take some time getting use to, but I appreciate the courtesy you have to try it for me. I want to change some things up this new year.”
I created a whole new identity for myself. All of those experiences were from Melissa, but I’m not her anymore. My name is Catalina, and those negative experiences are not associated with me any longer. I am a new person. I am beautiful, strong, independent, and wonderful. NO ONE is going to take my smile away from me.
I am prepared to not surround my life around one person. For instance right now, I’m happy with my girlfriend Tiffany. Things are beginning to get serious with her. We’re looking at apartments together, and thinking of adopting a dog. I’m building a life with her. However if that were to end tomorrow, I’ve already prepared myself to be okay. I have another plan in set. If Tiffany and I end tomorrow, I have my life planned out, still, just with the original plan. I know where I will move to, and what kind of life I’d like to live. Tiffany is my life, but at the same time, she isn’t my life. I’m not going to make the same mistake again. It was a lesson learned. This was, of course, my first serious first love.
I recently caught up with an old friend. I told her about the situation, and she was such a help for me. She actually went through the same thing. I thought it was only me. I thought maybe I was being silly and Leroy was justified in his actions. It was a comfort knowing that she had gone through the same thing as me. We both were able to get out of that situation.
He doesn’t deserve my attention. She is absolutely right. As I’m typing this out now, I’m realizing that more and more.
I confronted him about the situation. I thought no better way to face your psychological fears than to confront them up front. I thought it would do me good. He’s joining an organization that I’m in, so I figured the right thing, for me, would be to confront him, after not interacting with him all this time. I figured I would tell him I’m happy he’s interested in joining my organization, and I will voice my concerns. We have to be able to be in the same room as each other. I thought I would tell him how he had hurt me. I’m sure he didn’t mean to cause the damage that he did. I wanted him to know that regardless of who it is, for the future, he should never shut someone out like that the way that he did. I thought this would give me some sort of peace. Psychologically, I mean, something were to change. All I’ve ever wanted was to hear that apology. Even though it cannot change the past, it’s still something.
I was wrong. It did nothing. In fact, it only made matters worse.
This was about a week ago. I learned his true colors that day. Getting this response really hurt. Knowing everything that I went through that night and since then, to know that he would take the same course of action again…really, hurts.
For those of you who have been a Leroy, please know that your actions can really hurt people. If you’ve hurt someone before, it’s never too late to say you’re sorry. Even if you don’t necessarily mean it, those words can heal. Not complete wounds, but maybe little visible scars. I found this wonderful page that talks about the power of an apology. http://www.psychologytoday.com/articles/200208/the-power-apology
And if you’ve ever been me in this case, please remember, YOU ARE WORTH IT. You matter. You are wonderful, and NO PERSON should ever make you feel small. You cannot change the course of actions of others. You can, however, change who you surround yourself with and what you do with that time. Work on always becoming a better you. You’re the important one in the end.
However, in the past week since this happened, my fraternity Brothers have been so supported. Never have I ever felt to protected, cared for, and loved. My friends outside of APO, too. Everyone has been so understanding, and listening and dear to me. For the first time in, a really, really long time, I do not feel alone. And for the first time in an even longer time, I love myself again. I love myself again, fully. And it feels wonderful.
Leroy, you no longer control me. You are not allowed to interfere in my life any longer. You hurt me. You destroyed me. But I’m not allowing you to take my life away from me again. I am not the same, weak, pathetic person you knew me as. Without you, I was able to find who my true friends were. I know who I am, and the person I want to be. I pray that no one ever does the same to you as you did to me.
In time, I’m going to forgive you.
Everything in this entry is personal to me. The content is nothing I’ve ever completely talked about before. For four months, I’ve been quiet. I’ve been letting this eat away from me, but now, after writing this, I feel so strong. I’m looking at myself and this whole circumstance from a third angle, and WOW, I cannot believe myself. I made it through. I did it. I conquered, and I’m continuing to conquer all. Things are only going to get better for me. I still have my flashbacks, and I still have those moments where I zone out and I’m slowly going back to that moment in my bedroom. But my friends now know of my triggers, and my symptoms when I am having a flashback, and they are there for me. Together, we can stop my flashbacks from happening before they do. I know I’m going to get through this. I didn’t know that then, but looking at how far I’ve gotten now, I know I’m only going to be climbing mountains from here.
Thank you for reading.
-Catalina
My beautiful girlfriend. We’ve been together for a couple of months now, and she’s shown me what real love is. I have never in all my years felt so safe, and loved in someone’s arm. This person is also the best friend I described above; the person who first came and stayed over when I called. She was there for me since the very beginning, and I know she’s going to be there for me until the very end.
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“The happiest moments in life are when you finally break free.”
Laughing With Elephants 