Disclaimer: This post contains information that may not be for everyone. It may be disturbing or frightening to some.
So, honesty time, I'm done being people's doormat. I haven't posted in a while because honesty time, I have severe depression. I'm not just sad all the time. This is not something that I can just take a pill for and feel better about. No amount of counseling has made me feel better in the more than a year that I've been seeking help. If anything, it's made me feel worse. Honesty time, one therapist told me I wanted to be "fucked up" and that's why I was raped. Honesty time, my depression isn't about my rape, my depression is about so much more than that. It's about years of abuse at the Louisville Ballet School. Honesty time, I'm done keeping that a secret. Honesty time, I'm done listening to little girls say "I'm a pretty ballerina". Honesty time, I'm done pretending to be happy for parents talking to me about their kids dancing. Honesty time, I have no idea about what the solution to this problem is. If I did I wouldn't still be depressed. But let's get back on track.
Honesty time, my depression isn't as Robert Curran put it, "sitting in a dark room and being sad". Honesty time, Robert Curran can go fuck himself. He traumatized me for too long. I'm done seeing him in my dreams every single fucking night telling me to go die. He insinuated that if I left the ballet, there would be no one watching me to make sure I didn't kill myself. Two witnesses.
Honesty time, I have had no idea who to tell about this since it happened over two years ago. I have had no idea what to do about it. All I can do now is to tell my story and tell how I feel about it.
Honesty time, I don't know what to do.
I'm thinking very heavily about quitting a job that I have loved for three years because of some very hurtful people. I don't care if this hurts them because they have hurt me very much. Honesty time, they may not have known that I've been suicidal for a long time. Honesty time, they might not know that their words are some of the words I hear when my brain starts planning how I'm going to die. Honesty time, they hurt me. The director at my work has hurt me by belittling me for a long time. She purposefully doesn't support my endeavors even when I donate my time and donate my money to their institution. She calls me an intern though I have been staff for three years. I am an educator in my work, and do more than any other educator who works there. The other specific person who hurts me at my work is a co-worker. Honesty time, I'm done being watched every step I take and being reported on when I'm not doing anything wrong. Honesty time, I'm done being "educated" on my job that I have had for three years, each year by the seasonal co-workers. Honesty time, I don't care if you're two years older than me, I've worked here longer than you, stop telling me what to do. Stop telling the director step for step what I do. Honesty time, I can't read minds, and I honestly can't do what you want me to do unless you tell me to do it. Honesty time, I can't work with kids anymore. It reminds me too much of my abuse. I constantly wonder how many of these little kids are going to grow up to be domestic abusers, rapists, school shooters, and honesty time, I don't know how to raise these kids to be the best that they can be.
Honesty time, I have a lot of people in my life that I love. I don't doubt that they would be heartbroken if I died. I don't write this lightly. I've been thinking about this for months, years. How do you go on living when your life has just been depression and coping for years? How can I just see the light at the end of the tunnel and heal? I don't know if there's a heaven out there or not. I have so many people that I've loved that haven't been able to keep going. I see Casey Hoke's brother on television almost every night and just cry, thinking about how much I loved him and still do love him. But I can't help but think about how much people would love me if I was gone. Why do we appreciate people so much more when they're gone. Even now, as Notre Dame burns, so many people are wishing that they had gone there. They just send out so much love to France as one of its trademark landmarks burns to ashes. So many people would look back on the interactions they had with me and would wish that they were nicer to me. They would know what they had done to me, how much they had hurt me. I think about all the people at the ballet that had hurt me. All the girls, all the teachers. I think about one of my former roommates, Kate Stranathan who, when I was having a terror attack filled with hallucinations told me to get out when I brought someone over to help me. Why? Why did you hurt me. Did you know that you were making me want to kill myself? Honesty time, I have to tell what these people did to me or I can't keep going. I can no longer just let it sit inside me for no one else to know. I have been so fucking hurt by so many fucking people and I'm done with it. I'm done being bossed around by other people when they know that I am a capable adult.
But honesty time, I have to live. I have to live to prove to my abusers that they were wrong. I have to live to keep telling the people that I love that I love them. I have to live. Sometimes I don't know how, but I just have to keep going, it's all that I can do.
Disco Chicken of Love
sTate fair ready!
seed starting 2019
ky state fair quilt
A sustainability major at U of L, beginning farmer, crafter, and writer.