“You never have to do this day over again.”

-Cameron Seltrecht

Life has been a roller coaster. I generally do not fancy roller coasters. But here we are. I made it out of what I would like to believe will be the end of the hardest times of my life. To catch you up to speed, here is a little more in-depth explanation of the things mentioned in my opening post.

Growing up

My mother was young (17) when she had me, and she was alone. My father was young and wasn’t quite ready in life yet. For a couple of years, it was just me and my mom. Then came my brother, and not long after him came my second brother. Mom had her hands full, to say the least. We were poor. No nice way to put it, honestly. I learned what food banks and food stamps were pretty early on. My mother worked multiple jobs, sometimes doing odd jobs for family as well, just to keep me and my brothers afloat. She met the man I call dad when I was 8. He did his best to take us three in and help her; he was terrified of us. Rightfully so, as we were terrors. My brothers were rough and rowdy, while I was very moody and opinionated.

They gave us my sister a year later. We moved a lot, sometimes staying with family or even at a motel once. I never minded staying with family, as that meant I could always go stay with my grandma. She was an eccentric free spirit with her own ailments. I adored her. I’ve seen and been through a lot of things by now, like loading up all of our belongings to move into storage, living with or without water or light for a short time, but none of that compares to watching your mother feel as though she was failing despite all of her efforts. School was a whole other demon. I didn’t quite fit in with any group. I was small, quiet, and loved to read, immediately crowned the weird girl.

My childhood wasn’t all bad, though. My parents took us to as many events as possible; if there was a fair or free event nearby, you better believe we were there. They always made Christmas magical somehow as well. To top it off, they knew how to turn any difficult time into fun. You’ve never lived until you’ve danced in the rain, spent hours for days trick or treating at all the events in your town, as well as surrounding areas, and seen every Christmas light as far as you could drive has to offer. I think I was pretty spoiled as a kid. I was surrounded by family, and that’s more than a lot of people have.

Teenage to 2013

Unfortunately, I was still a teenage girl, and my mental state was less than desirable. Bullying was even more rampant in middle school, and I was a prime target as I was still quite small, quiet, and developing rather quickly. Music and books were my saving grace, but self-harm also became a stress relief technique. I hid things very well, but my mom knew. She tried to get me help in the best ways she knew how. But she was a young mother with very little support or knowledge in the area of mental illness. I had my first hospital stay at 13. Somehow, everyone at school found out, and my life became a living nightmare. I went from the weird girl to the ‘crazy’ girl. I did my best to embrace the title and appear unbothered, but it still did some damage.

When I was 15, I met my son’s father. I thought I knew everything about life, and of course, I was very naive. I had my son in the freezing month of January at just 16 years old. Being 16 with a baby is difficult in itself; now throw in an abusive relationship, and it went from rough to downright miserable. I didn’t know any better. I spent years being love-bombed, manipulated, cheated on, mentally, emotionally, financially, and sexually abused. All while being forced to be completely alienated from everyone I loved. After sleeping with a gun pointed at my head under a pillow for nearly a year, I finally realized it was only getting worse. Somewhere between here and there, I visited the hospital a few times for mental health stays. He had convinced everyone I was the problem.

Finally, at 23, I’d had enough. Unfortunately, I only saw one way out. After being told for years that I was nothing and no one loved, cared or needed me, I believed him. So after a huge fight, I drove to a nearby park and swallowed a bottle of medication. Once I realized what I had done, I forced myself to throw up in a panic. I drove home, cried, begged, and pleaded for help. There was met with name-calling and being violently pushed into a car and thrown out of said car once we reached the hospital doorstep. I was in and out of it from there for the next few days. My world felt like it was ending. My parents stepped in and took me home with them.

2013 to 2018

Now I must confess, I had confided in someone I thought to be a friend. Months before my hospital stay, he reached out. After catching up on each other’s life stories, he decided to capitalize on my vulnerability and made himself the “knight in shining armor” I thought I needed. I thought it was a sign. He was everything my son’s father wasn’t: kind, caring, respectful, and protective. Constantly professing his unyielding love for me, exclaiming I was the one who got away. I felt like I had found “the one”. Boy, was I wrong. I didn’t know what love bombing was, but it quickly became a thing. Every small argument or incident in our relationship was met with gifts. I wasn’t innocent. I started to realize every time he messed up, I got something. I began to think in an unhealthy way that I “deserved” those things. Again, things went from bad to worse. If most toxic couples were a competition, we would have won. I lost a baby and my gram in the same year. I started to use drinking, Klonopin, and Ativan as an escape. With every physical assault, I grew into a monster I didn’t recognize. I had lost complete control. I was going against every boundary and moral I ever set or had, crying out in all the wrong ways. But again, I was made to believe I was a burden and the problem.

2018 to now

Sharing my thoughts with my best friend was all I had. He was the only one who seemed to hear me. But I felt as though I was an obstacle in his way as well. He was fighting to escape a failing marriage, and I didn’t want to be the one to add to the reasons why it failed. My family also did not approve of him, as he was sort of just thrown into the mix. July 22nd, 2018, was the last straw. I got into a fight with a family member, and it solidified those thoughts of worthlessness, and I yet again did the unthinkable. I went “home”, started a bath, and tried to drown my sorrows in three bottles of various medications. Cam reached out to the knight, urging him to call 911. Completely out of it, I threw on my pajamas and crawled into bed, awaiting what I thought would be freedom. Paramedics arrived in no time, as we shared a block with the local fire station. They got me into the ambulance, and within minutes, I was unconscious. I spent 11 hours on a ventilator. The muscle relaxers had started to stop my lungs from working on their own. I imagine the rest didn’t help either. Upon waking, I was extremely out of it. I was pretty good at hiding it, though, as I had been taking those medications for some time. Miraculously, I convinced the doctors to let me go, stating it was an accident. Things to this day are still quite fuzzy after that visit to the hospital. I attempted to stay at several places, but in my state of being, I was not content or comfortable anywhere. I ended off at a friend’s house for about a week or so before I moved in with Cam. The person who had literally saved my life. My family was furious. Rightfully so, as he was going through a divorce, and I was out of control. They were ultimately worried I had walked into another horrible situation. I continued on my path of self-destruction for some time. Taking my anxiety medication excessively and drinking. I hated everyone and everything.

One night, Cam brought it to my attention that I had a problem. I was addicted to self-harm, pills, and alcohol. I was furious. I couldn’t believe he implied I was an addict. Out of spite, I grabbed all of my medications and improperly disposed of them (do NOT do this), exclaiming I could quit anytime. I’ve been sober since. He once again saved my life. I want to say, “The end, folks, we lived happily ever after!” but I’d be lying. We’ve fought hard for each other. Both going through many internal and external battles. I still have so much to work on trauma-wise. But having a supportive and patient husband has made things much easier. Most of the posts here on out will mainly be centered around the tools I have used to get where I’m at.

Take care and be kind to yourself.

~Sami