Over those 4 years, I had seem gruesome scenes of violence and overdose. I had added multiple drugs (from xanax to percocet to cocaine) to my daily arsenal, and had begun dealing drugs. I had caught my mom also using drugs, which had widened the gap in our already distant relationship. I had nobody positive in my life, so I turned even more so to the streets. I accumulated an extensive rap sheet, with dozens of charges, mostly including possession of drugs, selling drugs, and committing robberies. At almost 17, I was caught with about an ounce of cocaine and threatened to 10 years in state prison.
The first time I drank I was 12 years old. Now this- this was the “more” I was looking for. I continued my normal activities of living, but not long after started smoking weed. By the time I was 16 I was taking Ecstasy and smoking crack on a weekly and sometimes daily basis. By the time I was 17 I had dropped out of school, stolen thousands of dollars from my family, hurt my four brothers in ways i could only imagine, and had already been arrested four times. On and off probation, in and out of the hospital, this chaos was exactly what I craved. It was never ending and I fed off of it. And I wasn’t stopping there. Why would I? Remember how I took pride in everything I did?
Constantly surrounded in a darkness that I can’t seem to shake. I spent two weeks of my life in a hospital ward for teens who have tried to commit suicide. Once I returned home I wasn’t the same. My mood stayed the same, despite the fact that I wasn’t physically hurting myself. I spent my days blinking back tears, and my nights crying alone in my room. With no one to turn to, I started losing my faith in the Lord. My last prayer to the lord was… “Father, you have left me alone with no guidance. Please send someone to help me, someone to guide me out of this, and help the pain to stop. Thank you Lord, Amen”
I received a call at work telling me that our youngest son had had a psychotic break and been picked up by the police and taken to the emergency room. What did that mean? I had no clue what the word “psychotic” meant. What in the world was going on? I could barely breathe. I left work and rushed to the hospital. I’ll never forget entering that bare locked room in the emergency department. There was my precious 17- year- old son lying all alone with a look of utter terror on his face. He was staring at the ceiling in silence. I took his cold hand and began to gently talk to him.
My name is Laura… I am 25 years old.
I have been struggling with a Mental Disorder my whole life up until now. When I was 7 years old, I started pulling out my eyelashes…I was a very painfully shy kid who had no outlet. My father was a very mentally abusive alcoholic and my mother worked all of the time and when she wasn’t working, I was attached to her hip. By the age of 14, I began to self-mutilate. My parents tried to figure out what was wrong with me.
I was in love, with that pill. I could feel good even though I was hurting on the inside. But that ended in disaster and I tried to take my life.
A different kind of counseling is called for when communicating with someone who cares for a loved one with mental illness. This is due to the fact that mental illness prohibits those affected by it from perceiving life in the same way as those whose minds are healthy. Depending on the illness, it may be difficult for a mentally ill person to distinguish between reality and non-reality.
What I wanted, needed and waited for my whole life……
I always longed for my moms love and approval. She was very abusive to me. I was taken away from her at 12 years old. Yet the longing for her love and approval never stopped..When I had my son Chris she showed up at the hospital. I got so excited and thought I was going to finally have what I longed for. We stayed in contact, but never seem to meet her approval. It was very unhealthy, but I was relentless in pursuing that love and approval.
It’s so easy to expect others to give you want you need and want. I just wanted to know love, to feel love. Loved for who I was, not fit in to another’s expectation of what they wanted me to be. I spent my whole life performing for that love and acceptance. I was wounded and to say the least very tormented. Which led to drug addiction to mask the pain and that was the only time I felt good, but it was never enough and only added to my pain. I caused much pain to others. I tried so hard to get people to love me, but only ended up destroying the relationship’s. I ended up hopeless, not because God wasn’t able to help me, but because I couldn’t believe that He loved me or even wanted too.