When I was 20 I kind of ran away from home into the arms of a criminal. He was renting a house in Quebec and I was suicidal at the time. He was mostly nice to me the whole time. I stayed with him for about a month or two. Two weeks before we broke up he raped me. We were about to have sex, he asked if we could do anal, I said no and he held me down and did it anyways. I didn’t cry. I didn’t respond. I was there. I didn’t know what to say. He was a loser.
I oscillate these days whether I call it molestation or rape. I was 11. He was on top of me and it ended up making me give him oral sex. I felt violated. I felt like my virginity was lost. I call it rape. I was trapped.
A year after it happened, a friend in my school told me she slept with him too. I was shocked. He was a few years older than us. I hadn’t told a soul what happened. I was worried he hurt her too. In reality, I think they were just dating.
The weekend that it happened it was a weekend fishing trip with my grandma and her boyfriend. It was his son. Shortly after my friend told me about the sex, and I had my horrified look, two older boys were at my school playing with fishing wire. It got wrapped around my neck and left a mark for like a week. I definitely think it was a threat. Too late to report it to the police. Maybe if my parents would have known things would have been different. Maybe my father could have helped me through it.
I don’t blame the university, I blame myself. My stomach still had issues. I didn’t know what the problem was. I went into university depressed. I don’t think going was a mistake, but I wish I could do it all over. If things were different though, I wouldn’t have my beautiful children. The classes were interesting, but I didn’t go to orientation. My mother had a bad habit of reading my mail and not giving it to me. I had a bad habit of not being prepared and should have looked into university more.
I didn’t have the best first impression with my roommates, my mother was setting up my room. She bought all of the stuff without my opinion on anything. I would have preferred to have some say. You could say she didn’t want me to grow up. She was very controlling. I yelled at her to let me at least set up my room myself. I should have just let it go for appearances sake. I was never into appearances. I didn’t spend much money on clothes yet. I had way too much black in my wardrobe. I had a terrible Jackie Warner short haircut. I never hid my emotions. I was super repressed, but I never tried to hide my face.
In high school I had no problem making friends. I dated a lot and slept more. I didn’t mind being a social butterfly. If I just went to class and didn’t talk to anyone that was fine with me. I could go home and rest. At night I might lay in bed and talk to boys online. I didn’t know why I felt this way, it just was. My doctor kept insisting it was just anxiety and depression. I think it was a mix of that and the FPIES and possibly MCAS. School and bed was my life.
University wasn’t that big of an adjustment because I didn’t find a social group. A suicide attempt ended me in the hospital. The hospital kept me two weeks and I missed my final exams. The university was nice enough to take those classes off my record. One year of university and only three classes are recorded. I ended up doing a six-week program at the hospital including CBT, cognitive behavioural therapy. It helped a lot with my assumed bulimia. At the time the only thing that made me regularly sick was pasta. Turns out, I have issues with basil. I went vegan for a while, that helped with the dairy aspect.
In university I tried to kill myself twice. In my life, probably a dozen times. 2009 was the last time though. I have had the thoughts since then, but I vowed not to. When I got back, I saw my family doctor. He asked if I was going to try again, I replied that it never works, so no. Now, I have my children to live for. I love them so much. No matter how hard or lonely my life is, I love my little leaches. They inspire me so much. I also have a healthy fear of the afterlife. If I die, do I come back? Am I a ghost? What am I? What if I am reborn under worst circumstances? What if I’m destined to repeat my soul lessons until I toughen up? What if my kids have kids with FPIES and they need my help and support? I want to always be here for my babies.
The first time I tried to kill myself I was ten years old. It was labour day weekend before grade 5. My best friend at the time was over for her tenth sleepover that summer. I got into my mother’s bottle of clonazepam. My friend caught me and took the other half of the bottle. We ended up being high as a kite but totally fine. We went to the hospital and drank some tar like substance and were home the next day. I can’t fully explain why I did it. It was also the night I cut myself for the first time. I don’t even know where I got the idea from. I had anxiety about school. It was possibly my first panic attack. Something came over me like I was good, I was done. School was admittedly exhausting, and I did have ignored stomach issues. Since I stopped puking, there was no reason to go home from school. I was constantly toughing it out.
Over the next eight years I tried repeatedly to kill myself. I did so in secret with only a select few knowing the depths of my depression. I mostly kept everything private. I didn’t see the point in burdening others. I didn’t think anyone could help me feel better. In high school the vomiting came back as I switched up my diet. Living with my mother meant more dinners with cheese and pasta. Moving in with her made me sicker than ever. She was also smoking in the house. My father smoked too but he installed a fancy air filtration system when my youngest brother was diagnosed with Asma. I missed my father, that didn’t help.
I’m so grateful to be in a place where I value my life. I’m so done with that kind of thinking. I want more than anything to have a full life with my family. I’m looking towards the future, although I wanted to acknowledge the past. I have so much to look forward too. I hope if you are in a dark place you find the things to help you push through. Feelings may be overwhelming but they do pass.
I was always envious of the close knit family you have. I was never close to my mother and I don’t speak to my biological father. I love your son. I always have.
Things got off to a rocky start one morning when I was coming off night shift. We ran into each other at breakfast and I was a bit too exhausted to get your jokes quickly. I was following Greg and didn’t say hello one morning. I’m sorry, that was rude of me.
The next time we saw each other I was pregnant. It was so soon, it was awkward. I get that I wasn’t initiated into the family yet. A lot of my parenting decisions were different than yours. I made my baby food and used cloth diapers. I baby wore and extended breastfeed. I’m your hippy weirdo.
I’m sorry that we got off on the wrong foot. I’m sorry for all our fights. I’m sorry I hurt your son with our separation. I actually admire and respect you both, and although you may never like me, I will always like you. I like how you are a clan, a tribe together.
Thank you for helping with the kids. Thank you for watching Gavin during the day.
Life has been treacherous since Gavin was born. One day I hope you understand. The stress that boy put us through was great. Now that he is healthy I hope we can all heal.
I think I got diagnosed PTSD before I actually had it, well that is what I used to think. Now I believe the memory issues are real PTSD. In the hospital in September I had my first flash black experiences. It happened twice. I was standing there and it was like I was bouncing my son in his Tula a few days before he was diagnosed failure to thrive. I had a MRI and I was told it was fine but I didn’t see it and I’m not sure if that rules out PTSD. Drs also said my bloodwork was fine but I was on boost. Wish they went over the results with me.
In August I pushed my body to psychosis. 40 hours without sleep, basically no food or water. 24 hours of walking. A nurse suggested severe depression, suicide not an option, so my brain made up some thing; taking in clues, or it was fate. What are the chances I was in a building that kept paging “tower level 4”. I felt like when I got to the tenth tower I would be safe, it worked, my mom was gone.
At ten tower I wrote: “This book is fiction. If you believe everything you read on the internet, you are me. JK my MIL is scared of Web MD, so I had to. This is my ASSHOLE book. It’s fake news. For entertainment only. If you believe parts of it you are an idiot or genius, IDK, take a Mensa test.” Grow where you are planted.
They say that Lilith was Adam’s first wife. Eve is the second wife. Adam and Lilith made from the same soil. Maybe they were made from the same soil. Eve apparently made from Adam’s rib. Lilith an evil whore, killed thousands of babies legend has it. Eve is docile and sexless.
I’m going to be the Eve to Adam’s Lilith, and save thousands of babies. I have a theory. Babies don’t need to be puking. Breastfeeding saves lives. I think babies vomiting is food allergy and it can be helped. Some babies are sensitive to their mother’s diet. I think MCAS is out of control FPIES. I’m going to write a book on it. Track your food, save your baby.