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My name is Billie. I'm 21 and a single mom. But you don't really care about that, do you? You wanna hear about the girl with the problems. How does she survive? What happened to her, well, maybe it was a string of events, who knows? All I know is every day I'm battling with extreme emotions, terrible anxiety, and other things but we'll get to that. I'm not sure when it started exactly. Maybe after my godfather killed himself. Maybe when I was a young child and I was touched by someone I was supposed to be able to trust. It wouldn't be the first time it happened though. I think what really set it off was when my moms boyfriend tried to have sex with me and she found out. Guess what happened. He told her it was my fault. I was coming onto him. Always playing house and flaunting around. She bought it. I was only twelve. That wasn't the end of it though.
Around then though was when I got heavy into alcohol. Self-medicating, apparently that's what you do when you can't handle reality. I went to the psych ward multiple times for attempted suicide but also homicidal tendencies. What was wrong with me? I was scared and alone and the one person I always turned to continued to love and defend the person who hurt me the most. I still struggle. I const string flashbacks, my memory assaulting my happiness with no mercy. I'm terrified of men and hate the authority figures I come in contact with. My anxiety blocks my airways and seeming cuts my vocal chords making it hard to mutter the words I desperately need to get out.
Nobody will talk about the torments of my past, it's almost as if people believe blocking it out makes it go away. It doesn't. It isolates me. It makes me invisible. I'm not invisible though. I also have ADHD and often I find myself suffering from sensory overload unable to focus or even sit still. I try to meditate only for the hope that maybe it'll ease the pain inside, but then I get jittery and uncomfortable. I suffer the angst from being so low and depressed for weeks I don't shower I may overeat or not eat. Sleep is a thing I only hope to embrace for more than a few hours. Then there are the manic episodes.
Don;t be confused, not all mania is hyper and happy. While that is a slight bonus, for me comes the anger. A red hot rage stirring in my stomach that makes me mean and hateful. Sometimes I lose sight of who I really am. Am I the mean angry woman who has seen the darkest side of reality she's filled with just hate? Or the uncontrollably hyper and exuberant one? Maybe, just maybe, I am just the depressed lonely one? I just don't know. I also don't know why I'm writing this. I gave up writing. I'm not very good. Maybe it's because I so desperately need someone to hear my voice. Maybe because I want people to know their not invisible nor alone. I will hear you.
My anxiety tears me apart. I find human contact to be terrifying. For some reason, it's not so scary when I hide behind a phone. I have been on so many medications, and still am. Some days they appear to be working then the next day I'm punched in the face by my own dark reality. My son is the reason I keep fighting the good fight. Keep fighting guys. There's always a reason.