Being raped by Joe and even more, the abortion served as the catalyst for the great depression. I was alone with only one friend who knew what had just happened and who stood by my side. The guy I was in love with had abandoned me, disgusted with me. My friend was dealing with her own issue…her boyfriend (my roommate) had just decided to move back to Sweden and left. She was devastated and had no one else to confide in. We became best friends…although not the healthiest of friends.
I was disgusted by her, actually. She had crushed on Joe. Even after what happened, she asked me one day if I wouldn’t mind if she hooked up with him. I was stunned! “Are you freaking serious? What the hell is your problem??” I responded. I couldn’t believe that just because he was good looking, she was willing to overlook him raping her friend. So, even though she was my only close friend at this time…I knew I was truly alone. She really didn’t have my back after all.
My downward spiral was quite ugly. Everything from my childhood came back. I had never officially dealt with being consistently raped as a 9 year old. I had never dealt with what my dad did. I had never really dealt with my dad’s death and the fact that I still felt guilty for ‘causing’ it by wishing it. My support system within the church was gone, my relationship with God, my Father, had waned. Most of the men I had a relationship with had screwed me over somehow. I spiraled completely out of control. I dove into the rock music…I found the lyrics related to me now, the angst in singers’ voices resonated with me. Instead of focusing on the Bible, I focused on the lyrics to rock songs. They understood me. They felt my pain. There was a magical, yet nonexistent relationship and understanding between rock songs and I. I kept playing my guitar on the streets, now with more gusto and more emotion. I wrote songs, I wrote various little odes. I will publish some for you…they are terribly sad.
I lost interest in one of my most favorite things: eating! I became anorexic. I was depressed for years, anorexic for years and suicidal. I made several half hearted attempts. They weren’t ‘attention seeking’ as people might like to label it. No one knew about it. I did it in secret and in private. I remember the last time quite well. I cut…with a piece of glass that I called myself. I was in fact, broken. I was nothing but broken pieces, broken glass…piercing, slicing, hurting everything it touched. And in fact, I did feel as if I messed up everything I ever laid eyes on. My life was sh*t. I was sh*t. I had done the worst of the worst in terms of sinning. God clearly didn’t love me and was pissed at me. I felt like He wasn’t interested in helping me because I had sinned so badly.
I just…wasn’t worthy. Of anything.
I was super skinny, never ate and worked out like a madman. I think I was punishing myself by not eating. After all, it was one of my greatest joys in life. I could barely function. It was all I could do to muster the strength to drag myself out of bed and into work in the mornings. I dropped out of college and didn’t finish my Master’s degree. I could barely survive.
My depression was deeper and wider than any ocean on earth. I was literally depressed for nearly an entire decade. A DECADE!!! This was no joke, no ploy for attention… the worst things had happened to me and I had done the worst things…and I just couldn’t bear it anymore. At the age of 9, my life went down the toilet. I just wasn’t meant to be.
I clung to music, if nothing else. I found lyrics that echoed my soul’s cries.
“Battle axe with locks of curls,
Do you remember the bedroom,
Was it your cell or was it your tomb…
Children, learning the secret knock, a nickel
To enter that place,
The place you would go to make things okay,
My cost, the price of a broken doll, can you
Remember that place,
The place you would go to take pain away?”
The line “battle axe with locks of curls” makes me picture a little girl with blond curls ramming her head against a wall, like she’s been so destroyed by abuse that she’s now self-destructive. The line about the bedroom being your cell or your tomb resonated incredibly with me. I asked myself that every day. Was the abuse that occurred in the bedroom a temporary cell? Or was it going to kill me, eventually becoming my tomb?
I loved the release that listening to Korn gave me. I related to the lyrics, the pain and agony and felt better…even relieved after listening and screaming along with the singer, Jonathan Davis. Turns out he had been raped as a child too. No wonder I connected…
I feel dirty
As a child
That’s a good boy
Your own child
No one hears me
I’m not a liar
Saw you watching”
To this day, that song brings me to tears. At times, I tried to share it with people. I didn’t want them to think Korn was this evil rock band, like people want to label all rock bands. If your children relate to these lyrics, you should be scared. And you should inquire with them what it is they relate to. They might just need your help.