Wonde_Alice_rland
Greenlighter
- Joined
- Oct 23, 2014
- Messages
- 21
Early in my childhood I acted in such a way that my teachers were concerned I was mentally challenged, because of this, I was given an IQ test; which I performed extremely well on. As such, I was labelled as a child prodigy early on. My father was very abusive, not only to me but to my mother (in fact, my earliest memory is my mother getting between him and me, to which he then grabbed her and started hitting her, shover her in the bathroom, and kept hitting her. We moved around a lot, I went to a private school for third and fourth grade, then went to the school literally across the street from me during fifth and sixth grade. Between fourth grade and fifth my mom gave birth to my brother (my only sibbling). I would either excel at a class or practically fail it; which would depend on two factors: how much work they wanted me to do and if I thought the work was at all challenging (if the work was challenging and/or they didn't want me to do a lot of work, I would get an A; however if I thought the work was easy and/or they wanted me to do a lot of work, I would quickly prove to the teacher I know what they are teaching and then not do any of it, resulting in a much worse grade).
After sixth grade my mother divorced my father. Since my father was very rich, having his own company with many employees; making hundreds of thousands a year, he hired a very proficient lawyer which was able to grant him 50/50 custody for me and to my dismay, my brother as well. Since my parents recently divorced, it was more socially acceptable for my father to pay attention to my depression and so I then started seeing a psychiatrist and therapist. Very soon after I started seeing them, they realized that the divorce was not the highest contributing factor in the pain I was experiencing. I was diagnosed with Depression, PTSD, Bi-Polar, and a few other things. I was started on a regiment of ever-changing medicines to try and combat my pain. During seventh and eighth grade I met my best friend, while continuing the way I applied myself (or the way I didn't) to school. During this time, I felt more safe to express myself, being with my mother half the time. I was born male but always wanted to be female, I thought it was something that every boy wanted, like wanting to win the lottery or play with friends. During summers in which I was at my mom's house, I would go and dress in her clothes and play videogames all day during my mom's absence. However, both of my parents were very religious and I was aware of the extreme hatred my father displayed towards gays and those who were not christian so I was scared to display my feelings to anyway. I excelled at the sciences and math during these times so I took a placement test which allowed me to bypass highschool and go directly to college. During this time, one of the pseudo-intellectual conversations I had with my father drifted to the realm of religion. I expressed that the deity portrayed in the Christian Bible was contradictory in properties and stated that only a fool would believe it was possible it would exist. He took this as an assault on his intellect, so for the umpteenth time he started hitting me. I made the mistake of trying to fight back, so after I pushed at him he hit me very, very hard. I fell to the ground and he got on top of me and started choking me. My brother ran in screaming "No, stop, dad please stop" over and over. I squeezed out of his hold and started running but he gained on me, so I grabbed a small, flimsy, vegetable knife, pointed it at him and started screaming for him to stay back. I think it took him off guard for a brief moment, but when he started coming towards me again I ran down stairs and called the police and hid. However my father hired a lawyer against me and I had the charges pressed on me after a few weeks. I had the option to enter diversion (a program which subverted a trial to a private hearing where I would get a sentence off-record). The sentence could range from litter-pickup, juvy, to tons of other stuff. However after hearing both mine and my fathers story, the sentencing counsel said they believe I was wrongfully charged and were very sorry this happened; they gave me the absolute minimum sentence of 3 therapy appointments (which was easy for me since I was already in therapy). This gave me for the first time a sense that what my father was doing all these years was truly wrong (sure my mother, therapist, and psychiatrist would say so as well as I would think so, but the fact that a sentencing counsel said this gave backing to the claim.
I had never wanted to go to my father's house, but after this event my feelings against going there were much stronger. However, my father started hitting my little brother just before all of this happened. There was no way I could not be at my father's when he was there. I could not do that even if I tried, I would stay up nights and worry at all times if he was being hit. So I would go to my father's when my brother was there, so I could get between my brother and father if he started hitting my brother. My mother was dating several men off and on after the divorce, the longest relationship was between her and a very uncaring, unclean, man who was not the type to use his money wisely. For a long time every time I went to stay with my mom with my brother, we would both sleep on the man's couch. I was given $20 a week for food, which is less than $3 a day. My mom could not apply for foodstamps in fear that my father would get full custody of my brother and me if her situation was documented. My step-brother from this relationship was in and out of juvy. He also smoked marijuana; this reinforced what I was taught about drug use being bad for the user. As such, I was a huge anti-drug nut during my early college years. In my first year at college, I made my friend swear he would never smoke weed again after hearing that he was smoking it (if you knew the utilitarian/hedonistic type person I am now, the outrageousness coupled with the baselessness of this little scenario combining with my ethical cant I currently hold would make you laugh even harder than you are now). I was going through heavy suicidal ideation during college (I thought as soon as I got out of gradeschool and into college rain would turn to rainbows and my life would get better) and as such I went to a psych ward during my first post-college summer (after I told my therapist I was going to kill myself, thinking she wasn't allowed to share what I told her due to doctor-patient confidentiality; incorrect). I thought this too, would have a magical cure. I thought I would go there and I would get "real" therapy, psychiatry, meds, as well as some magic cure; learning that it was more of a detainment facility for the mentally unstable to provide a safe place for them.
After leaving and simultaneously starting my second year of college, all my hopes had been wiped away and I was left alone in a world which would never get better, no matter how hard I tried. Some time during winter quarter I decided I was going to kill myself. I took around 600 OTC pills and about 180 prescriptions in what I thought was surely one of the last things I would. I lay down in my water bed, closing my eyes with all stress washing off me. The next thing I experienced was blackness, a feeling of being covered in goo, filled with the most amount of pain I had and have since ever experienced. I had awoken in the middle of the night, soaked in blood-vomit with bits of medicine in it. My father came in asking what had happened, I thought I calmly stated to him what happened until I realized I was simply screaming in pain. He carried me into the shower and washed me after calling an ambulance. I went in and out of consciousness, the next thing I remember was being in the hospital. I stayed in a psych ward again. After getting out I continued with my final year of college and I graduated with my Associates degree with high honors, the state shoehorned in a state-given highschool diploma along with this degree.
I had researched the best undergrad schools for my chosen degree and was accepted with a scholarship. During summer my friend said he believed marijuana would help me, especially when I was extremely depressed. I no longer had any form of self-pride and so I thought if I was going to kill myself anyway, why not. It helped immensely. My PTSD was not as strong and if I thought I was going to start down the mental path of convincing myself to commit suicide, marijuana would relax me enough to feel as though suicide wasn't necessary. I went to the new college where I begun work on my BA. I met a few friends who thought I was weird, but likeable. They invited me to my first party, I drank too much and the alcohol reacted with my meds; my new friends just months after meeting me were then put into the situation of holding me down so I wouldn't kill myself as I spouted nonsense (this even both teaching me not to drink alcohol with my meds as well as alienating me from anyone in the group). I strongly struggled with my gender identity and it was an overlaying factor in my constant depression, feeding in to the thought that I will never get any better. Just before the end of the third quarter and the start of summer, I had a mental breakdown, I didn't attend classes for weeks and after talking to my new therapist there I was given academic mental health withdrawal and went back home to be monitored. I soon turned 18, something I thought nothing of at the time, but changed my and my brother's life for the better. One day my brother ran up into his room screaming and I heard my father going up the staircase to chase him. I hurried to get in between my brother and father in order to shield my brother. My father attacked me and continuously hit my brother as well. This was the first time I had a car at my father's house, so I grabbed my little brother and did my best to shield him from my father as we were struck. I blocked the door outside as I gave the keys to my brother, giving him instructions to unlock and get in my car as I blocked my father from getting outside as I was repeatedly struck. Once my brother got in and unlocked the car I sprinted, locked the door, and yelled I was going to my mom's house. Knowing my father would then chase me to my mom's house, I went the opposite way and instead drove to the YMCA. My mom called and said the police were looking for my because my father said I kidnapped my brother. She knew from experience what was really going on and drove to the YMCA after I told her where I was. As she drove over I received a call from the police and told them where I was and how to get to where I was. Since I was legally an adult, they took my testimony totally different than they had all those times before. From then on my brother and myself lived with my mom full time. (As a side note, my father rarely drank and never got drunk. I almost wish he did, so I could blame it on alcohol, but he simply is a terrible person).
A year went by of me going to my therapist and psychiatrist, attending a few painting classes at the local community college, and going through sever depression and debating suicide. The next winter I decided I was going to kill myself, and this time I was set on not messing up. I purchased a shotgun and that night I drove to my local park. I didn't know how to operate the gun so I tested it out on a few trees and signs. I then put in my earbuds and listened to my music, crying about the negative effect my suicide would have on my brother and mom. Eventually I saw a few shadows moving around the park fast and took off my earbuds. I started talking to them and found out they were a swat team that arrived after a police officer responded to a call of shots fired. I didn't want them to bean-bag or tazer me so I put the gun to my head. I talked with them for a long time and decided I didn't want to have 30+ people witness and be traumatized by watching me blow my head off, so I gave up and went to a psych ward.
I heard about Silk Road and bought a wide variety of drugs to see if any would help or if I would enjoy any. I settled on amphetamine and cocaine intravenously as my help before I got to the point of no return concerning suicide. I started talking to my therapist more and more about my gender identity and told my mom as well as one of my friends, even showing my friend what I looked like dressed up with makeup (tons of anxiety during showing him, but he was supportive). My therapist and psychiatrist recommended Electroconvulsive Therapy (ECT). I wanted to start hormones to transition to being a woman, but they said it would have to wait until after ECT if I wanted to do ECT. So I did two months of ECT and spent a month in recovery and well, here I am. This is where the story hits the present. ECT has helped, I can see myself making a living as an artist, I see that my gender identity issues can be solved, and generally have more pleasant interactions with my family.
However I am still going through intense depression and suicidal ideation. A few nights ago a walked around the town listening to music, crying, and debating whether or not if I should jump off an overpass onto the freeway. Tonight I was going through similar feelings and recognized the pattern, so I IV'd some cocaine and listened to some music. I really don't have anyone to talk to about this, so that is why I came here. I don't know what I am expecting, but I really need to talk to somebody.
Thank you,
Alice
After sixth grade my mother divorced my father. Since my father was very rich, having his own company with many employees; making hundreds of thousands a year, he hired a very proficient lawyer which was able to grant him 50/50 custody for me and to my dismay, my brother as well. Since my parents recently divorced, it was more socially acceptable for my father to pay attention to my depression and so I then started seeing a psychiatrist and therapist. Very soon after I started seeing them, they realized that the divorce was not the highest contributing factor in the pain I was experiencing. I was diagnosed with Depression, PTSD, Bi-Polar, and a few other things. I was started on a regiment of ever-changing medicines to try and combat my pain. During seventh and eighth grade I met my best friend, while continuing the way I applied myself (or the way I didn't) to school. During this time, I felt more safe to express myself, being with my mother half the time. I was born male but always wanted to be female, I thought it was something that every boy wanted, like wanting to win the lottery or play with friends. During summers in which I was at my mom's house, I would go and dress in her clothes and play videogames all day during my mom's absence. However, both of my parents were very religious and I was aware of the extreme hatred my father displayed towards gays and those who were not christian so I was scared to display my feelings to anyway. I excelled at the sciences and math during these times so I took a placement test which allowed me to bypass highschool and go directly to college. During this time, one of the pseudo-intellectual conversations I had with my father drifted to the realm of religion. I expressed that the deity portrayed in the Christian Bible was contradictory in properties and stated that only a fool would believe it was possible it would exist. He took this as an assault on his intellect, so for the umpteenth time he started hitting me. I made the mistake of trying to fight back, so after I pushed at him he hit me very, very hard. I fell to the ground and he got on top of me and started choking me. My brother ran in screaming "No, stop, dad please stop" over and over. I squeezed out of his hold and started running but he gained on me, so I grabbed a small, flimsy, vegetable knife, pointed it at him and started screaming for him to stay back. I think it took him off guard for a brief moment, but when he started coming towards me again I ran down stairs and called the police and hid. However my father hired a lawyer against me and I had the charges pressed on me after a few weeks. I had the option to enter diversion (a program which subverted a trial to a private hearing where I would get a sentence off-record). The sentence could range from litter-pickup, juvy, to tons of other stuff. However after hearing both mine and my fathers story, the sentencing counsel said they believe I was wrongfully charged and were very sorry this happened; they gave me the absolute minimum sentence of 3 therapy appointments (which was easy for me since I was already in therapy). This gave me for the first time a sense that what my father was doing all these years was truly wrong (sure my mother, therapist, and psychiatrist would say so as well as I would think so, but the fact that a sentencing counsel said this gave backing to the claim.
I had never wanted to go to my father's house, but after this event my feelings against going there were much stronger. However, my father started hitting my little brother just before all of this happened. There was no way I could not be at my father's when he was there. I could not do that even if I tried, I would stay up nights and worry at all times if he was being hit. So I would go to my father's when my brother was there, so I could get between my brother and father if he started hitting my brother. My mother was dating several men off and on after the divorce, the longest relationship was between her and a very uncaring, unclean, man who was not the type to use his money wisely. For a long time every time I went to stay with my mom with my brother, we would both sleep on the man's couch. I was given $20 a week for food, which is less than $3 a day. My mom could not apply for foodstamps in fear that my father would get full custody of my brother and me if her situation was documented. My step-brother from this relationship was in and out of juvy. He also smoked marijuana; this reinforced what I was taught about drug use being bad for the user. As such, I was a huge anti-drug nut during my early college years. In my first year at college, I made my friend swear he would never smoke weed again after hearing that he was smoking it (if you knew the utilitarian/hedonistic type person I am now, the outrageousness coupled with the baselessness of this little scenario combining with my ethical cant I currently hold would make you laugh even harder than you are now). I was going through heavy suicidal ideation during college (I thought as soon as I got out of gradeschool and into college rain would turn to rainbows and my life would get better) and as such I went to a psych ward during my first post-college summer (after I told my therapist I was going to kill myself, thinking she wasn't allowed to share what I told her due to doctor-patient confidentiality; incorrect). I thought this too, would have a magical cure. I thought I would go there and I would get "real" therapy, psychiatry, meds, as well as some magic cure; learning that it was more of a detainment facility for the mentally unstable to provide a safe place for them.
After leaving and simultaneously starting my second year of college, all my hopes had been wiped away and I was left alone in a world which would never get better, no matter how hard I tried. Some time during winter quarter I decided I was going to kill myself. I took around 600 OTC pills and about 180 prescriptions in what I thought was surely one of the last things I would. I lay down in my water bed, closing my eyes with all stress washing off me. The next thing I experienced was blackness, a feeling of being covered in goo, filled with the most amount of pain I had and have since ever experienced. I had awoken in the middle of the night, soaked in blood-vomit with bits of medicine in it. My father came in asking what had happened, I thought I calmly stated to him what happened until I realized I was simply screaming in pain. He carried me into the shower and washed me after calling an ambulance. I went in and out of consciousness, the next thing I remember was being in the hospital. I stayed in a psych ward again. After getting out I continued with my final year of college and I graduated with my Associates degree with high honors, the state shoehorned in a state-given highschool diploma along with this degree.
I had researched the best undergrad schools for my chosen degree and was accepted with a scholarship. During summer my friend said he believed marijuana would help me, especially when I was extremely depressed. I no longer had any form of self-pride and so I thought if I was going to kill myself anyway, why not. It helped immensely. My PTSD was not as strong and if I thought I was going to start down the mental path of convincing myself to commit suicide, marijuana would relax me enough to feel as though suicide wasn't necessary. I went to the new college where I begun work on my BA. I met a few friends who thought I was weird, but likeable. They invited me to my first party, I drank too much and the alcohol reacted with my meds; my new friends just months after meeting me were then put into the situation of holding me down so I wouldn't kill myself as I spouted nonsense (this even both teaching me not to drink alcohol with my meds as well as alienating me from anyone in the group). I strongly struggled with my gender identity and it was an overlaying factor in my constant depression, feeding in to the thought that I will never get any better. Just before the end of the third quarter and the start of summer, I had a mental breakdown, I didn't attend classes for weeks and after talking to my new therapist there I was given academic mental health withdrawal and went back home to be monitored. I soon turned 18, something I thought nothing of at the time, but changed my and my brother's life for the better. One day my brother ran up into his room screaming and I heard my father going up the staircase to chase him. I hurried to get in between my brother and father in order to shield my brother. My father attacked me and continuously hit my brother as well. This was the first time I had a car at my father's house, so I grabbed my little brother and did my best to shield him from my father as we were struck. I blocked the door outside as I gave the keys to my brother, giving him instructions to unlock and get in my car as I blocked my father from getting outside as I was repeatedly struck. Once my brother got in and unlocked the car I sprinted, locked the door, and yelled I was going to my mom's house. Knowing my father would then chase me to my mom's house, I went the opposite way and instead drove to the YMCA. My mom called and said the police were looking for my because my father said I kidnapped my brother. She knew from experience what was really going on and drove to the YMCA after I told her where I was. As she drove over I received a call from the police and told them where I was and how to get to where I was. Since I was legally an adult, they took my testimony totally different than they had all those times before. From then on my brother and myself lived with my mom full time. (As a side note, my father rarely drank and never got drunk. I almost wish he did, so I could blame it on alcohol, but he simply is a terrible person).
A year went by of me going to my therapist and psychiatrist, attending a few painting classes at the local community college, and going through sever depression and debating suicide. The next winter I decided I was going to kill myself, and this time I was set on not messing up. I purchased a shotgun and that night I drove to my local park. I didn't know how to operate the gun so I tested it out on a few trees and signs. I then put in my earbuds and listened to my music, crying about the negative effect my suicide would have on my brother and mom. Eventually I saw a few shadows moving around the park fast and took off my earbuds. I started talking to them and found out they were a swat team that arrived after a police officer responded to a call of shots fired. I didn't want them to bean-bag or tazer me so I put the gun to my head. I talked with them for a long time and decided I didn't want to have 30+ people witness and be traumatized by watching me blow my head off, so I gave up and went to a psych ward.
I heard about Silk Road and bought a wide variety of drugs to see if any would help or if I would enjoy any. I settled on amphetamine and cocaine intravenously as my help before I got to the point of no return concerning suicide. I started talking to my therapist more and more about my gender identity and told my mom as well as one of my friends, even showing my friend what I looked like dressed up with makeup (tons of anxiety during showing him, but he was supportive). My therapist and psychiatrist recommended Electroconvulsive Therapy (ECT). I wanted to start hormones to transition to being a woman, but they said it would have to wait until after ECT if I wanted to do ECT. So I did two months of ECT and spent a month in recovery and well, here I am. This is where the story hits the present. ECT has helped, I can see myself making a living as an artist, I see that my gender identity issues can be solved, and generally have more pleasant interactions with my family.
However I am still going through intense depression and suicidal ideation. A few nights ago a walked around the town listening to music, crying, and debating whether or not if I should jump off an overpass onto the freeway. Tonight I was going through similar feelings and recognized the pattern, so I IV'd some cocaine and listened to some music. I really don't have anyone to talk to about this, so that is why I came here. I don't know what I am expecting, but I really need to talk to somebody.
Thank you,
Alice
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