Last chapter of “The girl” series.

Trigger warning on talk of suicide. 

The girl was just a little girl when she took a bottle of her mother’s pills. Ones in the back of the drawer that would never be missed. They weren’t…ever missed. She was young. She didn’t know that a bottle of those pills wouldn’t accomplish what she thought. She waited but nothing happened. The little girl went to school and promptly after eating a corn dog for lunch started vomiting. Her mother was called and it was determined she had a stomach bug. She never ate another corndog for the rest of her life. I don’t know why the little girl wanted to end her life at 10 years old. I just know it is horribly sad that she felt that was her only option. Maybe one day she will remember why she wanted to die, but I’m guessing she hopes that stays blocked out forever. Whatever it was is the root of her trauma though. It is where it all began.

The girl was a teenager when she took her next bottle of pills. This time she knew what pills to take and I can tell you exactly why she took them. She knew there was no way out. There was no one to save her. There was no rescue mission planned for her. The teenage girl felt helpless and hopeless and could not live another day. She told. She asked to be saved. She begged for things to change. But nothing did. She got the keys to her mother’s white car. Why it matters that it was white I don’t know but it seemed important to the girl for you to know it was white. She drove it to the side of the road where she looked up at the sky and closed her eyes. Then she thought she didn’t want to die alone. She drove to her friend’s house. He welcomed her in. She lay her head on his chest and his voice lulled her to sleep. He was kind. He was another sprinkle of light in her life. The next thing she knew she was dancing. He was dancing with her. “Dance with me, stay awake.” He knew. He called 911. She looked into his eyes and they were full of compassion for the teenage girl. He wanted her to live. He danced with her limp body until the paramedics arrived and took her to the hospital. The nurse told her, “I hope you enjoy all the throwing up you will be doing. Maybe that will keep you from doing something this stupid again.” It didn’t.

The girl was still stuck. She felt that she was ruined. She felt tainted. She couldn’t get away from the pain and she couldn’t get away from the people. She was surrounded by perpetrators and their minions. Again, she didn’t want to live this way. She saw no way out. She had failed twice in her attempts to end her life. This time she was more determined. The girl drove her car at a high rate of speed. It was a blue car. Why the color of the car is important I don’t know but the girl felt it was. She ran her blue car off the road into a ditch, into a tree, and the car flipped. Nothing happened to the girl. She was perfectly fine. On the outside. 

Death was not the answer. She had not succeeded on her third attempt to end her life. 

She never told anyone about what she did when she was 10, or what she did when she drove her car into a tree. She only told me. It wouldn’t have mattered who she told. It didn’t change one thing after she attempted suicide and everyone knew. It was just a “cry for attention,” they said. They didn’t understand that the girl really did not want to live anymore. She was so sad. She was so alone. She felt there was no escape from the life she was trapped in. 

The girl felt the only solution was her death. 

How incredibly sad. How many people could have saved the girl from her circumstances? Many. How many chose to look the other way? Many. 

The 10 year old girl needed someone to listen to her. She needed someone to hold her hand and rescue her from what was happening. But no one noticed. 

The teenage girl needed someone to listen to her. She needed someone to hold her hand and rescue her from what was happening. After that, she knew no one was coming. There was going to be no hand. 

The girl had to rescue herself. 

The girl had to break free from the chains that were binding her. 

It took a great deal of strength to find safety on her own, but she did it. 

It took years for the girl to understand that her life meant something and shouldn’t just be thrown away. It took until now for the girl to understand that death is not the only option when a person is trapped and alone. 

I asked the girl, “ Do you ever feel like harming yourself now?” She replied, “ When my 10 year old self is brought forth by a trigger and I forget that I am an old woman now. When my teenage self comes out in an emotion that was long buried, by a trigger that makes me forget I am no longer, that girl.”

I asked the girl, “ How do you keep yourself from going back to that dark place when you have triggers?” Her reply, “I go to that dark place all the time. It is a struggle that PTSD has left me with. Dissociation takes me to my 10 year old self. I just have to find my way back. I always find my way back. My core self wants to live. Finding my way back to my core self is not always easy. I’ve just chosen not to give up on myself like others did. I’ve chosen to love that 10 year old child and that teenage girl so that those parts of me can heal.”

Understanding the girl has changed my life. Loving her has changed my life. Everything is in perspective because of what I have allowed myself to learn from the girl. 

Finally, I have found, all of me. 

I am the girl.

30 thoughts on “Last chapter of “The girl” series.

  1. I know you’ve heard this before, but I have to say again. I’m so proud of you! I’m going to do it all uppercase letters. I’M SO FUCKING PROUD OF YOU!!! I truly am. I love you. This is so beautiful because you have come so far and you have come along way. I’m so proud of you! I love you. Hugs!!

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  2. I am deeply moved. Wow. Just wow.

    I am that girl, too. I hung myself when I was fifteen. I am so thankful that I did not die that day, almost half a century ago. But at the time, I believed it was my only way out of hell.

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  3. Your story reminds me of a discussion I had with someone. He said he enjoyed skydiving because he felt alive. It’s a terrible thing to feel dead. Life becomes like a foggy haze. These are the feelings I drew from this writing. I will tell you the whole truth. I felt that way BC; that is, before Christ 😊. What a difference letting go and letting God have at it has made in my life. Every I feel a fire, passion and purpose that propels me to finish strong 😊

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    • Wonderful. God can bring purpose and light where there was none before. I had Him and then lost him along the way and refound him when I was 23. I know He was there all along but it became an active part again in my life at that age.

      Liked by 2 people

  4. It sounds so much like my story – except now that I am the old woman and I’m not trying to die they (the helping professionals) keep accusing me of trying to suicide. Aargh!

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    • Oh NOOO!!! Why on earth would they be doing that! Well, actually I know. They are so disconnected from their patients. I am so sorry you went through that younger and now are going through this older.

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  5. I am also that girl. And even at 51 the wolves come howling at the door sometimes. You have captured beautifully both what it like to carry the legacy and what it like to strive to be whole. There is nothing linear about PTSD. There is nothing linear about healing. But I know that if I had succeeded in killing myself at 12, I would have missed not only the pain but also the true moments of joy that have happened since. I am grateful to be here even when its hard.

    Liked by 2 people

    • You have written such beautiful poignant points. I would not have a a 20 year old daughter or found the love of my life. So the balance…well the good outweighs the bad even though sometimes the bad, like you said, comes to the door.
      Thank you so much for sharing your story. I’m sorry you were the girl too. I wish none of us were that girl.
      And linear and PTSD. So right. So not linear! Your message is inspiring.

      Liked by 1 person

  6. I’m so glad you didn’t succeed in suicide. Your presence has been such a blessing to me. You have made so much of a difference in my life and your blog has truly inspired me to be more authentic in my own writing.

    Oh and that nurse…what an asshole. WTF is up with nasty nurses. People like that need not apply.

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