The night prior, I had been doing my usual getting drunk and cutting. I cut pretty deep and wasn't sure if it needed stitches so what did I do? To my, now embarrassment, I posted pics of my freshly deeply lacerated legs, still very much bleeding, on here. I was so drunk that I didn't even remember cutting nor did I remember the post I made. I was horrified when I saw it and immediately apologized.
I had pretty much reached the point where your mind is on the balance of severely depressed and gone crazy. Truth be told, I actually did go a little crazy.
Things had been very bad between my now ex-husband and I, as usual. That past September to November we separated on extreme bad terms but tried to work it out. Then in December, it all started again. I began self-harming after the thousandth argument about a girl who was "just a friend" but was also the same girl he kicked me out for and took up her defense, rather than mine and this was the same girl who spent every night and almost everyday in my garage with him. He instantly made her his VP of his car club and never considered me. This is the same girl he'd "run into town" to drop off papers or go to her rescue when her car broke down 8,000 times and wouldn't come home until 5am when he had to go to work.
With all of the proven infidelities I had on him, this was the straw that broke the camels back. Along with his usual abuse toward me, I didn't know how to hold back my anger anymore so after the last fight after he was asleep on a tare night he'd be home, I took it out on myself.
From that point and the progressiveness of his abuse and sneaking, I drifted to a severe depression. I already knew I had something wrong, possibly bipolar disorder but he refused to allow me to get help because he didn't believe in medicine. So on top of an untreated something, this insane depression, the abuse and this girl, I cut more and more.
I could barely make it out of bed in the morning when DS woke up bc I was so depressed. Everything hurt. I woke up long enough to make sure he was fed, changed and happy. I laid back on the couch and lightly slept so I could hear DS. I kept a container of apple juice next to me so I didn't have to get up. DS had his own shelf in the pantry and refrigerator so he could get anything he wanted. I turned on the TV and let him drag out all of his toys and I stayed there until I had to get ready for work. It went on entirely too long.
I began drinking, just a little at first. I always started everything after DS went to bed. Every night. Get drunk, cut, check on DS, kiss him, cry because I knew I wasn't being the mom he needed and didn't know how to fix it.
Around that point, I knew something within me was very, very bad. I knew I needed help. I went behind ex-dh back and saw a psychiatrist. He put me on some combination of medicine. This is where things got worse!
I barely remember the last month (Feb) prior to my change. I know that I was alone every night. Ex-dh was never home, I acquired a dog he brought home but was never there to take care of, I started hearing shit that wasn't there, I cut anytime, anywhere and multiple times a day.
Turns out the medicine had adverse effect on me. They made me far worse than better.
One of my cuts had began to really hurt for about a week and a half after. It began getting really hot, so much so that I could feel the intense heat through my jeans at work. I left it alone but then I came home one day to find all of my hair products, my brush, my straightener, etc...on the bathroom counter. Although I was severely depressed, my house was always clean and I knew I put it away. I called ex-dh and asked why it was out. He nonchalantly said this girl (from before) had needed to take a shower and asked to use it. I lost my shit. DS was in FL that weekend to see my parents. I threw everything, including my straightener clear across the room and punched through the door. Well, fuck now my hand is messed up.
I told ex-dh I hurt my hand and was going to the ER, he didn't care. I went and they looked at it and I asked the dr to look at my leg. He was visibly shaken by the appearance of my leg. I begged him to treat it and not report it that I knew I needed help but didn't know how or what and it wasn't the right time. He treated me for cellulitis and wrapped my hand and off I went.
Fast forward a two weeks and we end up where we started.
I had told my mom I needed help prior but she didn't have the answers. I decided almost last minute before work that, I couldn't do it anymore, things needed to change and I couldn't live this way anymore. Ex-dh told me he had to be in the field that weekend so I told my mom. I told her that I was going to the ER and going to admit myself. I took DS to the babysitter and gave him a big hug and kiss and told him Mimi (my mom) was coming to get him and he was going to stay there for a bit. I told him to be a good boy and that I was going to get his mommy back. I choke up (even now) remembering those words.
My mom was enroute. I was at the ER. They took me back promptly. Scrubbed my wounds which everyone was taken back with. My legs, from knees to hip both, almost every inch covered. Some old, some new.
The ER doctor asked where my ex-dh was, I told her that he had drill in the field but I thought it was BS bc he only took his assault bag and left in civilians. I told her that he didn't know about this, and he really didn't almost 6 months of habitual cutting and my husband had no idea. Shame, huh?
She seemed pretty upset when she found out that through neglect that he didn't know, she also found his story bs, too. It was a really stormy, tornado conditions that weekend. She called his CO who also confirmed that there were no drills that were scheduled that weekend. CO got in touch with him and demanded he meet him at the ER.
He showed up more pissed off that he was inconvenienced than concerned. His 1st SGT, his Platoon SGT and his CO, an MP and him stood in my room while they delivered the news I was being admitted. He looked puzzled and tried to figure it out. The doctor took him aside and told him he was being charged with spousal neglect and domestic violence after I was transferred to an inpatient facility.
He sat in my room next to my bed and held my hand and pretended to be the accommodating husband. His chain left to discuss the matter briefly and I had a hospital security guard outside my door at all times since I was on suicide watch. He whispered to me that I better fix "this shit or what I was going through wouldn't be anything compared to what was going to happen" Fixing "this shit", he didn't mean my mental state or get better, he meant him being arrested.
I called the RN and told her I wanted him out. I lied to the doctor and he wasn't arrested.
I was given Ativan and transferred 30 mins out to an inpatient facility. My ex-dh convinced me that I wasn't allowed to have my own clothes or anything. He took the bag of clothes I packed, took my wedding set, my earrings, etc..I left with the clothes I walked in with.
I was inpatient for 2 very, very long weeks. I learned a lot. I was diagnosed with rapid cycling bipolar disorder type 2, OCD, MDD and Battered Women's Syndrome.
I told ex-dh when he felt like calling me, I was allowed my own clothes and asked if he could bring them. He said yes, after 2 weeks, he never did. I was in the same clothes for 2 weeks. Thankfully, I could wash my clothes every 2 days.
It was a long 2 weeks but really it was what I needed. I came out a changed person for a bit.
I made the poor choice in going back home. The day I was discharged he said he wouldn't come get me so the hospital paid for a taxi. The fresh air hit me and so did the Klonopin. I felt so high, which didn't happen while I was on it inside.
I got home and to my...lets say....unsurprise or expectation, he'd been playing house with a new chick which is why he was "so busy" he couldn't come visit once a week.
I just plopped on my bed, contemplating about just ending it, polish off the new bottle of Klonopin and say fuck it. Nothing was going to change. I dozed off before I finished my thought process and woke up the next afternoon to the front door opening. I laid there and he just stood at the edge of the bed and stared. I said, "what?" He said, "Just making sure you're breathing.". My reply was, "Sorry to disappoint you but I am."
That was the first time he had come to check on me. Over 24 hours out of the hospital and that was the first time.
I asked where the puppy was (a new one he brought a few weeks before I was admitted), I asked to have my wedding set back and my earrings. He said he sold everything...EVERYTHING....the puppy, my wedding set that was my dream set, my set of platinum earrings my parents gave me for Christmas a few years back. I asked why. He said, "because I could and I knew they meant something to you. Now you know what it feels like to have everything you want gone just like you almost did to me when they were going to arrest me." I remember those words too well. They stung.
Things never got better. DS was still in Florida with my parents. I was still adjusting to my medications so I still had pretty bad episodes. I did learn to cope with my cutting and didn't revert back to it. I learned other coping skills that made me stronger and helped get through his shit....
I became much better but it still wasn't good enough. He left one day after an argument that I finally stood up for myself. On the way out, he threw his ring at me and before he opened the door I asked why he ever married me. He said, "because you were pregnant". I reminded him that I was definitely not pregnant and demanded the real reason. He said, "for the dependent money".
Ouch more hurt.
I was okay that he left. I was getting stronger. I was excited. The dog I was left with before had her puppies a few days after I got out of the hospital. It kept me busy and something to look forward to. I had the mom and the 2 puppies to care for, go to work and get better, enough to be with my son again.
The next few weeks, I'd come home and something would be shut off. He eventually shut everything off. The electric, the water....you know...necessities and cut me off financially. I made very little at my job. Money was overdrafted on purpose so I had hardly any money from my paycheck. I had to keep mama dog fed so she could feed her puppies so that took the priority. I could only afford the cheapest kind but it was something. I had to limit her more than I wanted. She was a big dog and I could only afford two bags a month with me going hungry. It was March/April in GA and already scorching hot. I did the best I could to make sure the dogs were cool while I went to work. Everyday, I had to go beg for water wherever wasn't tired of seeing me so I could fill up her huge container of water and grab enough for me to "bathe" with. The cheap food made her sick and she shit all over the house on beige carpets. I was obsessed with those floors and steamed cleaned weekly. With no water or power...I had no way of getting the stains out. It was vial. I would come home when it was dark and light a candle so I could see. The mom and puppies were in my bedroom so I played with them and stripped down to nothing to lay on my damp bed from the humidity. I kept my windows open 24/7 in hopes it would cool the house a little. My diet consisted on saltines and food that was about to be trash at work (I worked at a gas station with a deli). I had to sneak the food which was so humiliating. I always kept enough for my dog to have a little. The puppies were begging to wean so she was sharing her food with the puppies and I had to buy puppy formula to mix with it to make it mush. My funds were depleted quickly. I had a 45 min drive to and from work. The conditions I had to live in were disgusting. Somehow, I managed to pull of a kept appearance that no one could tell anything was wrong at home. I couldn't leave. The puppies and mom would die of starvation if I left.
One of the puppies ex-dh took before he was ready to go to his new home. He told me that mama dog was his and he'd have someone come get her. The other puppy I couldn't find a home for. My dad came one day with a moving company in tow. He packed my stuff and told me I was coming if I liked it or not. So, that was it.
I called him and told him I was moving out right then. I told him I was taking the dogs. He told me to leave mom. I did and took the puppy.
I moved back to Florida and after almost two months, I was reunited with my amazing son. Even though I had just gone through Hell and back and back through the cycle again, I was stronger, more stable, I was much more of a mommy that I knew I could be. I never cut once during the whole thing.
I started going back to school a month later and everything was looking soooo amazingly! Life was much better, I was finally back to a person I recognized. My DS said, "My mommy came back!" Again, choked up.
I finished the semester with all A's, got re-accepted into the EMS Academy that I left before, finished Phase 1 in December.
So, today started the major change I needed. I have relapsed a few times with cutting and just came out of another wicked depression but my meds are fixed now.
I am finally the mommy I was before all of this happened, I'm the mommy DS deserves. I'm much stronger than I was. I have issues with some things, still but next year I hope to be far better.