Mollie Rock Bottom

trigger warning- drug usage, suicide, self harm.

I wonder when I will stop fantasizing about disappearing. This is a very sad day because yesterday was so beautiful and happy. And today I am using all my self-control to not hurt myself. I have such a sophisticated way of appreciating and feeling things nowadays, but that also means I hurt even more than I thought was possible. If this depression gets the best of me… I want you to forgive me.

Last night I opened my email and was so excited because I got a new comment on my first post. Until I read it.

The thing is, whoever Karma is, is right about me. Not about Sasha, because Sasha is the only reason I don’t kill myself at times. She has driven me to stay alive. I don’t know why people say things like this. There was a boy who came over to my apartment a few days after Dom died because he had something to tell me. He told me, and I believed this for 2 days, that Dom killed himself because of me. This was a detailed story and perspective coming from an acquittance of both of us. I will not get into it, because it was all a lie, but I don’t know why he did that to me. At Jack’s funeral, a girl approached me and Sasha and blamed Sasha for being the reason Jack decided to end his life. How the fuck do you say that to someone? Why did this boy create this story and why did he convince me that I was the reason why. I can’t believe these are the people who get to live.

After he left me sobbing, I dismantled my razor and just started digging into the top of my wrists, my thighs, my ankles. It felt amazing. It made me stop crying. The hurt was released in a sickening way that I unfortunately understand. And I know some of you do too. I feel like a fucking murderer. Maybe I am. I won’t ever be able to get the answers I want from people because they are all fucking dead. I ruin everything. I upset so many people. I can’t even be around my family because I think they would be happier without me, even though they tell me they love me. What I do know is that when you love someone you have to let them go. And you need to leave first so you can’t get hurt. I’m trying to learn the art of detachment. I just want to forget everything and everyone I know. I don’t want to be me anymore.

This was in May, and I haven’t done anything else in over a month, because I truly am trying to heal. And bloody flesh is not very healing. Something about seeing the blood surface was so beautiful to me. I really wish I had the courage to cut deeper and just end it all then. But here we are. And now I’m just sadder. But I’m too scared to hurt myself right now. I’m a coward.

I miss ketamine so much. Despite spending hundreds of dollars every week on little baggies of white powder and losing myself to horse tranquilizer, I was very calm and content. Nothing will ever feel as relieving as 30 seconds after burning my nasal cavities with an old rolled up bill.  It was like I was able to leave my physical body and just be relaxed, calm, carefree. No other substance I’ve ever done made me feel so safe. Unfortunately, I think I must stay away from it forever, but I truly believe that medical ketamine therapy can change lives and heal people. My issue is that once I start, I can’t stop. I realized this though. I knew this when I transferred my entire life saving to my checking account so Nora could give Sandstone my credit card information because I was incapable of doing anything for myself. 

But even though I stopped snorting them, the lines stayed. This time they weren’t crystal white. They were deep red. And the satisfaction of watching the blood drip down my nearly lifeless body was mesmerizing to me.  And they scarred. Not all of them, because I was pusillanimous to dig deeper. But the ketamine and cocaine never stayed, it just left me empty and poor.

I replaced thin little lines with thin little lines. And I miss them both. I miss the burn of deviating my septum. I miss the sharpness of the razor that distracted me from my emotional pain. Cutting lines, in both circumstances, was the only thing that stopped my crying diamonds like a river of tears. Now I just have to deal with shit. I’ve accepted the fact I will never catch a break. I have accepted the fact I probably will spend the rest of my life living for other people, and not myself. I have accepted the fact that the only thing I have to look forward to that is inevitable is death. That will be the end of my suffering. 

Dom and I only talked about what our future would look like a few times, probably because we were so young, and imagining marriage and kids is terrifying. But once we talked about baby names. It is not that uncommon for every other girl you know to have a list in her note’s app of potential names. I explained that to him as I went through the list of boys and girls. I would write them, but I don’t want anyone to steal them. I don’t know if I want kids anymore actually, but in case I do I must gatekeep these names. 

But the first name, was Lance, which I have always planned to name my son if I have one. Lance was my dad’s baby brother, who was brutally killed by a drunk driver while on his motorcycle driving home from my dad’s house. This was on September 10, 1994, two months before he should have turned 21, the same age that Dom passed. Lance was an incredibly hard working, intelligent, and selfless young man. He was in school to be a firefighter because he desired to devote his life to give back to his community. The man that killed him was convicted for his 5^th DUI. That monster is still alive. I believe that Dom and Lance would have been good friends. They were both gentle, kind human beings.

You can imagine how there was some resentment between my parents and I for a while after I totaled their brand-new car driving blacked out drunk. I could have killed myself or someone else, from the same action that stole my dad’s best friend from him. And I was mad at them. Because they called the cops on me, and 3 years later my life is still incredibly difficult because I am involved in the US court system and had a terrible turn out with the DMW. 

If I was able to drive still, the past few years would have been so much easier. Also, driving is kind of therapeutic for me because I am in control of something. I used to love just driving down this road by my high school and watching the sunset when I was stressed or struggling with something in my own life that I couldn’t exactly fix. At least I had control behind the wheel. When I was sober…

Now I am truly grateful they called the police. As betrayed as I felt, I was out of control. Going through that DUI at such a young age was hard. But the classes and therapy and self-growth because of it is something I will always utilize. Driving drunk is disgusting. Alcoholism is the cause of repeat offenders. The worst thing I could do in my life is get a second DUI, or yet alone get behind the wheel intoxicated. 

One of the positives from this year has been the way my family dynamic has healed, and I’ve formed much stronger relationships with my mom, dad, and older sister. I will have to say that after feeling so strained and so much anger towards my dad for years, I am so thankful for him. When everything else went down, he came back into my life stronger than ever. Because I finally let him in. I was honest with him about everything. He understands the pain of living to try and not die. I get it. I hope not a lot of other people do. He understands how desperate I was to feel something or not feel something that led me to drinking, drug use, self-harm, and other ways of sabotage so many times.

Both of us are highly analytical and probably slightly neurotic people. We don’t talk about things until they are too late. For a while I think we both felt that showing emotion would make us seem weak. We bottle in anger, sadness, guilt, everything. Until it breaks our spines made of glass. Thank you, genetics. The loss of Dom to me was like my dad when he lost Lance. I think it has and will continue to bring my dad and I closer. 

I drank yesterday and the day before, but I have no urge to anymore. I stopped because 2 weeks ago I got too intoxicated and I did actually insane things. Like texting Dom. But I fell to the floor when I hit send and the message turned green instead of blue. That was a new level of pain I have never felt before. He’s really gone. And drinking just makes me sad now. Where do I go from here? I actually don’t know what to do with myself. Maybe throw myself off a building but then people would just get mad at me. But I wouldn’t care cause I’d be dead 😉

It’s crazy how intense daddy issues are. But just because they have been an issue doesn’t mean they always will. It’s different for everybody, but especially girls. The whole entire way we are with men and love and all of that is shaped so heavily by the relationship we have with our father or whoever plays that masculine dominant role. And some people are not lucky enough to have someone to call a father. 

I realized I had basically no standards for myself or who I dated while I was in high school when I felt like I hated my dad. I hated guys who were nice to me and was super into older men who gave me a tiny bit of attention and then I could chase them on a bed of glass and nails till the end of time until I forced myself to get over it because it was becoming embarrassing even for me. What type of attachment style is being severely attracted to people who do not want me? 

Once I moved out, I started appreciating my parents more. I think because I realized all the things they did for me while I lived there once I didn’t anymore. And when I got to college, I had myself together for a while. I was a 15-credit student, and I went to class, I worked full time, and I was almost always sober. And I built standards for myself. I also realized that I can do anything I want and everyone can and will leave me, except for myself. I really love my parents. I wish I didn’t make them worry so much. 

Having my whole family come together yesterday to celebrate the beautiful love between Jake and Emre was my best day this whole year. I am most appreciative for the time I got to spend with my younger cousins. Something about their innocence and radical optimism, gave me hope. I was so genuinely happy. But today I am almost envious. Because I don’t think I will ever find someone who will love me like that. I can’t picture myself getting married, or pursuing a career, or having kids. The only thing I can picture so well about my future is death. Sometimes it gets better, but it also gets worse. And I can’t control it. But at least I can write about it. No one can take this from me. 

This was dark but thank you for reading as always. This has made me consistent about gathering my thoughts, beliefs, and emotions. And I understand them better every day.  Also, please do not ever try my coping mechanisms, but when you do feel that low, reach out to me. Reach out to someone. You are not alone, no matter what.  Remember, there is love. I am doing everything I can to remind myself that love is greater than hate, and it is only my mentality that can decipher if I choose to live life with love or hate controlling me. 

Take care,

Mollie