If you get through all of this, thank you for bothering. I guess I need to finally tell my story somewhere safe, because I can’t do this any more, and I’ve never had anyone to listen. I’ve never wanted anyone to listen. Wasn't sure if this was the right place to post.

Right now I’m stuck in a tiny flat on my own with my two-year-old daughter. She’s lovely…I should give her more attention but I often physically can’t; half of the time I’m unable to move, curled up under the blankets, the other half her energy is just too much for my head which is chaotic enough as it is. And I’m here, and I’m not sure how I got here. I’m not sure I should be a parent. I think I might need to be in some group home or even the hospital, I’m really not well and I put up such a front no one around me even notices. Not that anyone sees me for them to ask questions; apart from my mother I never see anyone. I’m stuck inside a hollow façade of clutching at strings that seems to shred themselves more every day.

I was sexually abused when I was very small. I don’t have a very vivid memory of it but it manifests in frequent rape dreams and I’m sure it has a lot to do with my problems now. I think I have maintained some sort of abusive complex as much of my later relationships have been of a similar nature. It’s something I don’t ever talk about. Letting anyone into -me- is nearly impossible, and there are only two people I think who have ever done so. Everyone else gets the mask. I don’t want to do that any more.

My dad left when I was two. My earliest memory is he and my mum arguing. I adored my father…he was everything to me. Could do no wrong in my eyes, if he came to visit my life was complete, but he slowly stopped coming until he didn’t come at all…we would go down to visit him about twice a year, until he disappeared. I know now he is in Australia.

My mother brought my sister and me up as fundamentalist born again Christians. Sometimes I wonder if she’s really altogether stable…she did on a couple of occasions burn our toys because she believed demons would enter the house through them. I admire her resilience in bringing two children up single-handed but I question her methods; my sister and me were pretty scared of her and she would resort to hitting and smacking for pretty minor things. Everything she did was supposedly commanded by God and we moved around the country a lot because of ‘divine instruction’. Because of this I was jumped around from school to school and was always the social reject…the strange new kid everyone likes to call names, punch, spit at and pull hair.

I loathed school from the get go, and by the time secondary school came around I was vehemently opposed to any form of education and made it painfully obvious. By that time I hated life, hated everything, me especially. My escapism had already started to manifest itself in the form of writing, Star Wars specifically, and an obsession with sex, and I would spend hours doing nothing but imagining myself away from this world. I made up stories about myself to people around me…just to be something different from myself. I discovered self-harming…at first it was a way to back up the stories in my head but I realised I wanted something to detract from the emotional pain and it progressed onto an addiction.

This continued when we moved from Birmingham to the smaller city of Lancaster. By then I was fascinated by the concept of drugs and desperately wanted to try them despite never having any access or contact with the sorts of social circles that took them. That changed when I went through my metal phase and fell in with a group of stoners. I’d skip school more and more often to head down to the castle and the roman baths and get high. I started staying away from home, drinking heavily, going out to the local metal nightclub and basically enjoying myself. I had my first ecstasy tablet there and I was in heaven.

The girl who had given it to me, a 20-something screw up called Jolene, basically took me under her wing and I left home at fourteen to go and stay at her place. At that point I was drinking two litres of white cider every night…the nasty cheap stuff you see every homeless drunk begging for change for. I can’t remember how long that lasted…I just remember it ended when I met a guy called Michael. I went round to his house one night after the nightclub and never left.

At six years older than me we got a lot of questionable looks, but I thought I was the most mature thing around and so did he…we could relate to each other and spent hours talking about life, the world, the universe and beyond. He told me about spiritualism and energy and I was fascinated by the concept of magick and things like reiki. He got me into acid…although I had a really bad trip…and we took pills and speed, smoked weed every night…but it was good. I felt relatively happy for once.

I lost my virginity to him…three months later I was pregnant. But I was excited, at the time I thought it was the best thing that ever happened to me…I researched it through and through and you could have asked me anything about pregnancy and I’d have known the answer. I stopped everything…all the drugs, the alcohol, smoking. Besides the fact smoking made me verge upon regurgitating everything I’d had for breakfast, I wanted this baby.

The labour was traumatic. I was terrified…I was induced, and by the third day I was in so much stress and the baby was losing enough oxygen for them to prep me for a caesarean. I could barely sign my initials for the release form. Luckily in the last half an hour I dilated fully and they pulled him out by ventouse. I was so out of it from nitrous, meptid and the epidural that I didn’t have a clue what was going on, but he didn’t breathe on his own for ten minutes and we nearly lost him.

I plunged almost immediately into very severe postnatal depression. I never loved the child…never felt anything towards him. It was cold from the get go. I lost touch with everything…with any type of normal emotions. Michael and me started falling apart…I didn’t feel anything toward him anymore either. I didn’t want to feel anything. On New Years Eve I caved, and returned to my mother’s house where she took up the care of the baby.

I started wandering…down the river path, over the farm fields…trying to find someone or something that might understand. I begged some form of something constantly to just take me away…I wanted to die but I was too scared to do anything about it. One time I cut myself so badly I was rushed to hospital.

My ever-increasing walks eventually took me into town…to my old hang-outs. I met up with some old friends and one weekend just stayed out. Got high for the first time in ages…I couldn’t believe how much I missed it. Sometimes I took Logan into town with me…but I never took him around drugs, never. I hate that people will take a child into situations like that and I was always sober around him. When I went out on my own though it was usually a cocktail of pills, speed and alcohol to start off with then weed later on for the comedown.

One day I decided to go into town with Logan, but my mum had other plans. I’d met a guy called Pete, we’d gotten together at a speed party of his and I was planning to go visit him at his sisters house, who was totally straight headed and pregnant as well. If this girl had even heard the word drugs she would have probably called the police.

My mum wouldn’t let me hold him. She kept me at arms length…I guess somewhere there must have been feelings for him because not being able to hold my baby killed me. I wanted him but I couldn’t pull him off her because I didn’t want to hurt him. That was the last day I ever had my baby boy.

I understand she was doing what she thought best, but her following actions were completely selfish.

I went to town in a terrible state…the police wouldn’t assist me and so I called Michael and asked him to go and get Logan. He did so, taking him to his paternal grandparents…but my mother got a court order to take him and place him with her. She initiated a court battle to get custody of him…and during this time I completely broke down.

I was homeless and tripping from place to place every night…couches…sometimes squats…sometimes a shop awning. Pete eventually told me to come and live at his sisters, but the relationship was extremely dominating from the start. I was being fed on a diet of weed, speed, pills, acid, mushrooms, poppers, mdma, pcp…thankfully nothing opiate, I’m at least vaguely grateful for that.

I don’t know what it was. We had a bad argument, over something trivial but it turned into a several hour fight through the streets on the outskirts of Lancaster. We were by a pub and…I don’t know. I don’t really remember. There was me, arguing, and then I was gone. Pete said I was screaming nonsense and stumbling in and out of the road…I do remember being scared of everything, it all seeming totally different, everything being way too intense but at the same time being somewhere else entirely.

I was still fed drugs. I would have psychotic episodes of destroying everything in sight, screaming, pulling clumps of hair out, being completely out of control. I felt like all the worlds emotion was balling up into one and hitting me all at once…I felt connected to everything and I couldn’t move. I was hearing what people said before they said it, seeing auras around things, channelling/trance channelling spirits and making predictions. I believed I had a mission to save the world, that I was Gaia, and that I could control energy. I saw energy and spirits everywhere and could not be in a room with more than three people as I ‘felt’ them. I’m struggling with these delusions even now.

The relationship got very abusive; I was locked inside for days when Pete would go out, left with no food, and I only had the computer for company. He would deal with my episodes by pinning me to the ground; a couple of times I got dragged about and hit. The internet however proved to be my lifesaver- if it hadn’t been for an msn chat room and someone in particular I’m not sure I would be here right now. A couple of failed suicide attempts happened and I'm surprised I wasn't kept on a psych ward.

A guy called Jack saved my life. Somehow, despite all the masks I put up, even on this chat room, he saw through it. At the time I thought I was in love with him, however I now realise this was circumstantial and nothing compared to what I’ve come to understand love to be but I will always be extremely grateful and have a lot of respect for him. He was there when I got raped, when I got beat, and he was there to give me the confidence to finally walk out of the door. I owe my life to him. He died of cancer about a year later but for some reason I never felt anything, I think it may have been some sort of protective reaction.

I ended up at Michael’s new place for a while after walking out with nothing but the clothes on my back. Logan was living at his parents following my mother dropping the court case, as Michael had ‘appeared to prove himself as a father’. We were still taking pills, speed, and weed…and ironically, on another New Years Eve, I’d had enough and went back to my mothers again. After a few months I was starting to feel stable and got my own flat in a nearby town.

But Michael had introduced me to the underground dance scene while I had been staying at his…and the apparent accepting open nature of those into it had been so refreshing I started going out more. At this point I was surprisingly stable despite a descent back into very heavy speed and ecstasy consumption, heavier than previously and I also started taking cocaine. I’m surprised I didn’t break apart again due to the amount I was putting into my system but this time it manifest as extreme paranoia and I simply equated it to the comedowns- on the come-up and peak I experienced little or no paranoia at all.

My time with these people was relatively short lived…I’m not sure whether this was paranoia or actually occurred but I spent a night with someone popular in the scenes ‘hierarchy’ and I believe he drugged and raped me. However, I was extremely wasted and I can’t say for sure, which frightens me and terrified me at the time. I went to talk to someone the next day and it got out and I began to get shunned within the scene.

I had met a guy called Alan, who I actually knew from the metal scene as well, and we ended up together. He was great at first…I’d never met someone so confident and friendly, bouncy, fun loving and just great to be around. He had used to be a heroin addict but managed to get himself off it and just smoked weed all the time, yet despite that had boundless energy. It was all a façade…he was actually extremely moody, bad tempered, selfish, arrogant and mentally abusive. I was his scratching post. I was stupid enough to think it was a phase he was going through and when he got kicked out of his bedsit I let him move into my flat. I was already two thousands pounds in debt from spending all my money on coke and pills instead of paying my rent. During that time I believe my stability slipped and I trance channelled spirits a few times.

We split up…but I let him stay, not wanting to kick him out on the street. The verbal and mental abuse continued, even when I discovered I was pregnant. I was devastated at first…I planned on having an abortion but just couldn’t bring myself to do it.

I dropped all the drugs- having not realised I was pregnant at first I was still taking them heavily and I felt so guilty for so long. I had threatened miscarriages which scared me half to death and I was in hospital several times during the pregnancy. After a bad argument I disappeared without telling anyone that I had escaped down to Cornwall for about a month…when I returned Alan was back to his normality of pretending to be amiable but that was the last time I talked to him. Luckily the landlord relinquished me from my debt due to my pregnancy, and I moved back to my mothers yet again.

My faith in everything was nonexistent. I loved my daughter from the moment she was born, but everything was whitewash. Looking after her was easier…however a bout of postnatal depression had my mother call social services and put her on the child safety register due my inability to get out of bed in the morning.

Somewhere in between that, and moving out to a shared house, I started talking to someone. I was going online, had found role-playing forums which gave me a better escapism than drugs. I struggled to stay on top but I ploughed through…marred by a couple of weekends of binge drinking but relatively stable. To my (initial) horror, I realised I was falling in love. Imagine finding someone who understands exactly what you’re going through, has a connection you can’t possibly explain, loves everything you love, sees everything you see, and accepts anything about you no matter what it is, without judging or thinking any less of you. I’d never had that, and I convinced myself that my feelings couldn’t possibly be reciprocated so I was quiet for the longest time.

When I was forced to move out due to a clash of personality between me and the house owner, I found the flat I am now currently living in…almost miraculously; I was close to being kicked out on the streets once again. Almost immediately I found myself utterly, irretrievably completely head over heels for this guy. He’s been at the forefront of my thoughts and affections pretty much for eight months straight, and I was so amazed when we started revealing we felt the same way about each other. That doesn’t happen to me. I don’t deserve someone to love me like that.

My entire life has been black, and now it seems colour has been injected to it, and I’m so scared of losing that. I’m starting to go downhill right now. I have an intense craving to find a dealer and get high, but I would never do that with Autumn. My symptoms are as bad as they have ever been, but with less intensity than during the breakdown but I have started to self harm badly; the cuts keep getting progressively worse and I am suicidal. I have isolated myself from anyone I have ever known, I recently cut myself off from Michael totally and he was about the only person I really saw apart from my mother. I keep switching from believing my delusions to telling myself they’re just symptoms, but half the time I’m terrified that everything around me is all in my head. I’m going to see the psychiatrist to get some medication but I’m very scared of meds, I’ve always been wary of them and their massive side effects and I have half of me telling me that they’re government controlled to stop people who are open to energy thinking and connecting with it, and half of me telling me that’s my illness making me believe so. Sometimes I just keep switching off from everything, detaching from myself, my emotions, my feelings…totally not there. I feel pathetic as I can't take good care of my daughter, me being like this is not fair to her.

I came back to Christianity for a while, but I feel like God is just ignoring me like he always has and there’s no escape, I have nothing. The man I’m in love with brought me back to it, but he’s struggling with his own stuff at the minute and its uncertain whether or not he will come to be with me. Which I understand, I love him so much and want him to do whatever he needs to.

But despite all the shit I’ve been through, all the crap life’s thrown at me I only want one thing. I’m so sick and tired of it all. Life, loneliness, blow after blow. I never talk about my life, never but I no longer know what to do or where to turn and I’m so exhausted of not having anything. I just want to love someone, I can't keep living with this vacuous fucking solitude.

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I just wanted you to know that I haven't had a chance to get through the entirety of your post, and mainly wanted you to know that I will. Please know your posts are important to us and to me. It's good to get your thoughts out no matter how long your posts are.... I've managed to write a few books here myself and always am glad I did In the meantime, hang in there and keep safe!



Aisha

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Sounds like you've had a tough time of it. Best of luck in your struggle.

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I'm so glad you shared your story with us! It's a major step in the right direction. More people than you know have similar stories and others can relate to smaller pieces of what you've been through. By telling your story and working things out in your own mind, you aren't just helping yourself...you are helping others as well. I have to admit that some of the times when I've tried to help others, I've wound up helping myself the most. Keep talking and opening up!

I'm not going to tell you that the road you are walking will be an easy one but I can tell you that it is worth the effort! Both you and your daughter will be all the better off for traveling the road to recovering your physical and mental health. I think one of the best things you can give your daughter beyond safety, love, and attention is the model of a determined woman who is driven to overcome obstacles. Your life is already proof that you are determined. Get all the help you can to to stay on course. Your daughter will thank you for it later.


Lace

We are here for you now hun. Im glad you decided to share with us. Are you at a safe place now?

Thanks guys. Means a lot that people actually read through all that =p

Yeah Sami relatively safe. I'm on my own though. I want to get high so badly and I've only got myself here to stop me.