Good Morning Sunshines! Today’s blog was very hard for me to write. There is only a handful of people in my life who know the things I am about to share with you. It is taking a lot for me to open up and be this transparent with you because I hope this part of my story can help someone out there. Please remember the things that happened to you do not define who you are.

How do you talk about the darkest moments in your life? I really don’t know. I remember the first time I talked to anyone about what my life was like and they said “Wow! That sounds like a movie! It doesn’t seem real!” It was real, and I never felt like I could escape it, so I thought I had to find a way out, the only way I knew how, suicide.

My life at eleven and twelve was a total nightmare. My mom was a full-blown alcoholic and drug user. She was married to my step-dad and all they did was fight. Not his fault, it was my moms drinking and drugs. In the 70’s and early 80’s, I’m not sure we knew about drug addiction like we do now. The night things went from bad to nightmare was when my step-dad and step-brother were gone for the weekend and just my mom was home. She had gone to her local bar and brought someone home with her. I turned my music on because I could hear them in the living room. They were listening to music and drinking and Lord knows what else. The next thing I knew a man I never met was in my room. He got into my bed and started touching me. I started crying and yelling for my mom. He laughed and said she was knocked out and that she had said he could come into my room. The things that happened to me should never happen to any child. Unfortunately this was the first of many. I remember telling my mom the next day and being so mad at her. She told me that I needed to “grow up and keep my mouth shut.” Whenever she needed a fix and no one was home she would allow these people to come into my room. I remember the day I said no more. I sat in my bathroom up against the door. I saw the razor on the counter. It was a blade from a shaving razor. Back then you would have to open it up and put a new blade in to shave. Well, someone left it out and all I could do was think about not hurting anymore. If I die, she (my mom) would know just what she did to me. I wanted her to hurt as bad as I did. I just wanted to die. As I slit my wrist and started screaming my mom burst into the bathroom. She asked me what the hell I was doing. I yelled “I want to die!” She grabbed a pair of scissors and started to attack me. I raised my hands up to protect myself as she yelled “You want to die, here I’ll kill you!” The scissors puncturing my hands and arms over and over. Finally, something in her snapped and she realized what she was doing. She got up and ran out of the room. I remember hearing her vomiting as I sat in the bathroom with blood all over me. I had grabbed a towel and wrapped my wrist. I was so scared. I had no idea what would happen to me. She called a friend over to look at my hands. We didn’t talk for a few days and I missed school. My mom told me to call my dad and see if I could visit for the summer and that’s what I did. However, things were not sunshine and roses there.

My dad was a very stern man. I didn’t really know him… still don’t. What I knew was he was a Marine, police officer, correctional officer and does not handle weakness well. I had a friend’s brother commit suicide and asked him if I could go to the funeral and he told me only weak people kill themselves and I could not go. I could never tell my dad the nightmare I lived through because he would think I was weak and look down on me more than he already did. My heart was broken. Not feeling safe with either parent and not knowing who I could ever trust with this secret that kept me feeling dirty every day of my life.

I look at my hands and wrist now and can barely see the scars. I remember the day I told my youth pastors wife some of the things I had gone through, testing the waters to see if she was a safe adult. She was! She hugged me and said she was so sorry that I had to go through this. She found a counselor for me to talk to. She found a doctor who made sure I was physically ok. I wish this was all in a short amount of time, but it took me three years to tell anyone what happened. I was fifteen, living back with my mom and just worried that things might repeat them selves, so I needed to find a safe place. Things didn’t repeat, but repercussions effected everything else that happened (that’s for another day).

Where is the good in this story? I wish someone would have told me things will get better. I wish someone would have told me suicide is not the answer. I wish someone could have walked with me through that nightmare. I wish I would have spoken up when it all started. There are so many young people out there today who are dealing with nightmares of their own from bullies at school, or maybe even the ones at home. There are people in your life right now who think that suicide is the only answer. We need to make sure they know things will get better. It’s ok to feel like your whole life is falling apart and not know how to deal with it. BUT somehow we need to let people know we really are here for them and then be there for them. I’ve had this hopeless feeling several times, but I reminded myself how things did get better. I now look at the scars on my hands and wrists as a reminder that things will get better, just don’t stop fighting. I hope that you make yourself available to others so that they know you are a safe place. If right now you need someone to talk to, talk to me. I want you and everyone to once again Find The Good In Your Lives.