Do NOT read

Published March 5, 2017 by Chloe Madison

Seriously. It’s not a joke, not a silly catchy title. Go. Away.


I just need to get things out somehow, some way. I really hate to bring others down, so I don’t want to do so by putting this out there. But, I HAVE to get things off my chest some how.

I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I am so incredibly irritable. Lately, I’m always mad. Anger is something kind of new for me. I’m not the kind of person who gets angry and stays angry over things. But lately, every single little thing has been pissing me off to a degree that’s just not normal.

Then there’s the eating. No matter how much weight I lose, it’s not enough. I feel disgusted with myself when I eat. I know that’s not right. My hair has been falling out in handfuls for months now. My nails are breaking and splitting and have these weird lines and bumps in them. I can’t tell if my irritability is from depression or from being hangry.

Then there’s this overwhelming sadness. Like it’s pressing me in from all sides, top, bottom, everywhere. I’m constantly on the verge of tears. I can’t even force a fake smile anymore. When I’m lying to someone, saying I’m fine- I can no longer look them in the face. I feel suffocated, like there’s no escape. The only escape I have is sleep. I’m taking handfuls of sleeping pills…and last night I mixed it when another kind of pill. I slept so hard, it was great. Woke up with a migraine, but that’s ok. So many hours passed by when I was asleep that I was relieved to not have to deal with life during that time. It seems like sleeping is my only escape.

I’ve been thinking of my early life and my family quite a bit recently. I think of how f**ked up I am as an adult. I think of how incredibly shy and scared I was of every one as a child. I think of my dad and all that he did and didn’t do. I used to think he was a good man that had a problem. I don’t really think that anymore. The more I’ve learned, the more I think about it, the more I accept the fact that he was a sexual predator. He was a child molester. Period. End of story. There are no excuses for that. And I can’t seem to move beyond it.

Then I think of my uncle committing suicide, my grandmother and my mother covering up the fact that I was sexually abused by my dad. That’s really f**king with my head. My mom…my grandmother!!! I feel betrayed by my entire family- to now know that they conspired to keep my abuse a secret. Unf**kingbelievable. This has turned my whole world upside down. I’ve been reliving what memories I still have and I see that they’re all tainted now. I wonder if my grandma was so sweet to me because she felt guilty. Shit, I hope she felt guilty. And the more I think, the more I can’t deal with it. I thought it would take me some time to process through things, it would be difficult, but I’d accept it and move on. That just doesn’t seem to be happening.

I went for a long walk today and I could only think of two things- the warm sun on my skin (which felt really good) and this oppressing sadness. I walked through the field where I envision shooting myself and stopped…I don’t know…maybe 5 or 6 times. I stared at the wild grass blowing in the wind the same way it does in my vision. I found a spot where the grass was swirled into a circle and had been pushed down. I thought that’s a perfect spot to commit suicide. No one would see the body for days, maybe weeks.

And then there’s God, my Father.

I love Him.

I know I’m not good enough for Him to love me, but I know He loves me anyway. He loves us all. I feel bad that at the moment, I don’t seem to have enough faith that God can heal me. I feel bad that I’m so self-involved right now- that I’m not more focused on others, as I should be.

Let me tell you about one of the only comforting visions I have. This one came to me when I was in the midst of healing many years ago. I picture God sitting on the throne. I can’t see Him, but I know He’s there…He’s huge, like Lincoln sitting there at the Lincoln Memorial. God is wearing a white robe, one that’s oversized and has multiple folds in it and spills onto the ground around His throne. It’s there that I am. I hide behind his throne in the folds of God’s robe. I lay down and curl up, hidden from view, covered by His robe. Do you remember that time that a sick woman reached out and touched Jesus and was healed? Jesus knew that someone had touched his robe, the Bible says he felt power go out from him. It’s kind of like that. Even though I’m hidden from view, God knows full well that I’m there. He knows, He glances back periodically and He continues with whatever He’s doing. He doesn’t say a word to me, but He lets me stay there.

That’s my safe place. My only safe place.

I don’t know how to move beyond feeling worthless, useless, broken beyond repair. No one wants me, no one needs me, most people don’t even notice me. It’s like I’m wallpaper. Always there, never seen. I take ownership in some of that- being shy and being scared to talk to anyone somehow invisibly pushes people away. I don’t want that. I am completely and utterly ALONE. Ugh. Y’know what? That’s so trivial and it doesn’t even matter at this point. I can’t see myself living another day. That’s the real issue here. This could serve as a suicide note. This whole blog could.



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