Personal Change - Blog Posts

*Trigger Warnings: Details and Descriptions of su*c*d* attempt, su*c*d*l ideations, emotional abuse, verbal abuse, mental abuse, drug use, guilt, anxiety, bipolar depression, PTSD symptoms, eating disorder, passive aggressive humor.* Sunday, May 28th, 2023 Part 7

12:06pm

So yeah, I tried to kill myself. Emphasis on “tried”. I packed up all my shit, so that you and Gem wouldn’t have to touch it or look at it. I took those pills, all of those pills, because I couldn’t and still can’t cut myself. And, I waited in an alley 2 blocks from your apartment in the biting cold for 3 hours, so I wouldn’t die in the apartment, your home.

That slap must hurt, doesn’t it?

Then… nothing.

Nothing happened happened that is. I waited 3 hours, watching Steven Universe to leave with my last chance at happiness and nothing fucking happened. “Oh well”, I thought.

So, I got up, walked back to the apartment, called an ambulance because I took a shit ton of medication that was going to do something other than k*ll me. Went to the hospital, told them not to call you for a few hours because I didn’t care to. The drugs kicked in and I was high out of my mind, couldn’t even walk by myself (HA! LOL), and then… there you were.

I only remember two bits from that conversation. 1.) That you got me food because I realized I hadn’t eaten in however long I was there. And 2.), That you were kicking me out, said I couldn’t come back, that first you felt guilt that switched to anger, that you're "shipping me back to my mom", that what would I think if Gem found me dead in my room, and what would it be like for you both to have to find a new place. And I said, “I’m sorry”.

And I still have more sorry's to give. I know that what I just said was hurtful and unfair and completely victimizing myself, even if it is my side of the story. I’m so sorry for that. Genuinely, I’m so sorry.

I’m sorry that me arriving came at a time, where you and Gem were struggling with new jobs and the eventual lawsuit possibility. I’m sorry that I was another person with damaged mental health added to your household, when you felt like you were the only one keeping everyone afloat. I’m sorry that I never just told you the truth, my truth. Of how I was feeling and how much I was struggling.

I’m sorry that things never went the way we expected. I’m sorry for not being there for you and Gem, the way you both were for me. I’m sorry that I “fed off the energy in the space” and “exacerbated what was already in the space”. I’m sorry for not seeing the obvious signs that you both needed space.

I’m so sorry for not being able to leave the house or eat without being told. I’m so sorry for not being able to find an out-patient program or a job fast enough. I’m so sorry for making you be my one and only protector and supporter.

I’m so sorry for becoming your and Gem’s suffering, instead of just my own.

I’m so sorry for putting myself in your hands when you weren’t prepared.

I’m so sorry for making you take responsibility for me.

I’m so sorry for sharing more with Gem than with you.

I’m so sorry for not making my choice to say, “Yes, I’ll come stay with you”, shown and worth it.

I’m… so sorry… for putting you and Gem through the trauma of me attempting su*c*d*, and the strain that must have caused.

I’m.

So.

Sorry…

For Everything.

Part 1 -- Part 2 -- Part 3 -- Part 4 -- Part 5 -- Part 6

*Trigger Warnings: Descriptions of su*c*d* attempt, su*c*d*l ideations, emotional abuse, verbal abuse, mental abuse, guilt, anxiety, bipolar depression, PTSD symptoms.* Sunday, May 28th, 2023 Part 6

12:06pm

I’ve realized that I wasn’t broken or shattered when I came to you. I was cracked. Hundreds of jagged lines waiting to be smoothed over. But from Langone to those next 6 weeks, pieces were starting to fall faster than the cracks were sealed. The first hospitalization at Emory, moving to New York, our fights, my Granny passing, more fights, my birthday, to that last Monday that I saw the apartment, to the last time we were together. Everything in-between was beautiful and warm, and those specific moments were pain and suffering.

I thought I had reached my breaking. But the truth is, my breaking point was 100 times higher than I ever thought. My mask was too thick, right? So thick that as tears rolled down my face onto the floor and as “I’m sorry” rode along my shaky breaths, the splashes and shakes couldn’t be heard.

You know, it was the smallest thing that pitched me off the tallest cliff that is my breaking point. It was another of your fights, another “open conversation”. I bought my tickets to go see our cousin for Christmas, something that you not only suggested, but I informed you that I decided upon the week before. And, as I listened to you say it yet another slap to your face (this should be a new record at this point, what’s the count, 6?), as I felt the quivering of my anxiety claw at my lungs, as you brought up trying to buy my tickets as if it wasn’t the first time I was hearing it, as I felt a good moment fade… I knew I needed to leave.

To rid you of my presence, my two suitcases, of my laptop, of the heels I bought as my birthday present to myself that I returned because you suggested (another irresponsible spend), of the list I made you of all my favorite foods of me washing the dishes and cleaning the bathroom and staying home and watching the cats as you and Gem traveled on a trip that I was invited on first and of the packet that you and Gem promised you would help me with but didn’t and of me with my angstand my sorrowand my guiltand my anxietyand my depressionand me…

Part 1 -- Part 2 -- Part 3 -- Part 4 -- Part 5 -- Part 7

*Trigger Warnings: Descriptions of su*c*d*l ideations, emotional abuse, verbal abuse, mental abuse, guilt, anxiety, bipolar depression, insomnia, PTSD symptoms.* Sunday, May 28th, 2023 Part 5

12:06pm

I was hiding my anxiety, my depression, my rage, my insomnia under my mask that I guess was too thick. So thick that it shadowed the drips and drops of the truth, my truth, that I hoped would grow into waves large enough to show on your radar. That I was not okay. Not okay at all. But okay enough to manage, right?

My world was changing so fast and everything was too much, yet slow enough and just not enough that I could see my only motivation to even have a world, flickering in and out with every interaction. With every text left unsent. With every phone call unrung. 

I thought things were getting better, I thought I was getting better. But how could I with no therapist, no meds, no one to help me sift through that packet, no one to talk to? All I had was that packet, my laptop, and two older sisters that switched from laughter to comfort, to withdrawn to frustration. From me being there, to me wanting anything but anywhere…

The way you spoke, the way you acted, the way you looked, set me on edge. I felt like an intruder in your home, and during some of your “open conversations”, I felt like you thought so too. There were lines drawn in the sand, when you said you would always prioritize Gem over me, when there shouldn’t have been. There were so many contradictions, “We’re not roommates in college” vs. “I’m not your parent”, or better yet, “You’re an adult who can make their own decisions” vs. “You should at least inform me of what’s going on, so I can help you”, that should have been cut and dry. There were assumptions, so many assumptions, “I think you look for drama” vs. “I think you were trying to be insensitive”, that could have been questions. 

So many times, we had “open conversations” that were plainly and painfully, just one-sided. In which your claws were out, and I cried and apologized. Even the one time I found the strength to stand up for myself, I ended up saying “I’m sorry”, drowned in tears enough to last a lifetime.

Part 1 -- Part 2 -- Part 3 -- Part 4 -- Part 6 Part 7

*Trigger Warnings: Descriptions of su*c*d*l ideations, harassment, trauma, hospitalizations, breakdowns, triggers, depression, PTSD symptoms.* Sunday, May 28th, 2023 Part 3

12:06pm

That incident with the driver triggered me, so badly to the point where for the next week, it was like I was back with Dad and with my step-dad. I couldn’t separate my past reality with my present one. And, 4 days in, I stopped going to classes. I missed 2 weeks by the time that I almost acted on my su*c*d*al ideations. I stopped myself though, and told my therapist. She suggested I go to an in-patient hospital down the road at Emory, and I took it. But, it made everything worse, and I regretted it.

I went without telling anyone, and I thought the school would handle all necessary communications with my teachers, like they said they would, but they didn’t. I was bitter and sad and angry and numb the moment I stepped out of the hospital after almost a week. Then, I spoke to you and the New York Plan started.

You were the first and only person that I told about the hospital. I thought you would be mad at me, at least I made myself believe that. But, you were the opposite, you were mad at Emory like I was, and after you told me what you went through to try to find me, I thought you were finally starting to understand why I didn’t like it at Emory. You were fiercely protective of me like you always have been, and I knew that my big sister had me.

But then, you called back later that day and said that I should fly out to New York the next day, and for the first time, you scared me. Everything was moving too fast all of a sudden, and me, being where I was, just out of the hospital and so ready to die, I was so ready to come to you, but the logical side of me pumped the brakes so hard and so fast.

Of course, I needed the support, I wanted the support, but there was no way that I could just up and leave, but also, leave and then what? We didn’t talk about that first. I had to think about my college trajectory, how things would change, what I would be risking, what and who I would leave behind. Everything was too much to work out to just leave the next day. I processed and understood that enough to take a pause, which in hindsight, I really commend myself for.

The next 2 weeks were awful. I was breaking down crying almost every night, trying to wrestle with the fact of leaving not just just Emory, but the life that I had staked everything and was failing to maintain. I was losing an already lost battle, but it was just catching up to me. When my professors told me that I either would need to leave or fail my classes, when my therapist was pushing for me to go, when my advisor told me leaving would save my full-ride scholarship. The world decided for me what would be next, and I watched my world shatter. It was heartbreaking and frustrating and so filled to the brim with grief that I was drowning, truly, when I already thought I was. But, there was you and there was Gem.

And even though I had a January deadline to meet and the pressure equaled my sorrow, I knew what to be done. So, I filed the medical leave, and jumped on the plane.

Part 1 -- Part 2 -- Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7

*Trigger Warnings: Descriptions of harassment, panic attacks, PTSD symptoms, anxiety, threats of physical violence. Mentions of trauma, abuse, bipolar depression, PTSD, anxiety, coping, self deprecating thoughts, dark humor.* Sunday, May 28th, 2023

12:06pm

This is the letter that I wrote to my older (half) sister, before the texts in Part 1 the next day.

Here’s what I said to her:

“Hey Angel… I think it’s time we talk about the distance that we both have experiencing. Honestly, I don’t even know how the distance started, but it’s something that I fell into and followed. I would like to talk when you’re ready because it’s necessary that we do. That we talk about everything for as long as we both need, and that we come into this conversation ready and willing to hear each other out. Just let me know.”

“I was in such a dark place when this all started. I think after looking back on it, that I never took the time to properly explain what happened, what’s been happening…

As you know, I’ve had such an extensive amount of trauma, especially from my supposed father-figures. It was September… I was on a shuttle, trying to get to my rehearsal for dance on a Sunday afternoon. I stepped onto the shuttle, wearing my headphones, listening to the same playlist that I do before I dance. It’s my… ritual, the thing that grounds me, calms me, but also, psyches me up to go. And, that’s the paradoxical thing about having anxiety as well as bipolar depression; you have to calm yourself down in order to build yourself up to feel excited.

In that process, I missed the driver telling everyone to not get on if they were not going to the next stop, which would unfold in our confrontation. 

I got on the bus, and when we arrived at the next stop, I didn’t get off the bus, which was odd, but not too unusual… until I noticed the yelling. I took out my earbuds to hear the driver yelling, and it took me a second to realize that he was yelling at me. He was trying to force me off the bus because I apparently wasn’t supposed to be on otherwise.

I was confused, and shocked, and frightened, but I found the courage to ask why. I didn’t know at the time that he had said that he would swing back around to get the people going to main campus. I got frustrated with how he was acting, because we would get there eventually ‘cause the route is continuous, as all bus routes are, but he kept getting more aggressive as he was trying to force me off. His reasoning was, “because he said so”, instead of any semblance of reason. It reached the point where other students were getting on to return home, and that spurred him to park the bus, say that he wasn’t moving until I got off, and threatened to call the police or physically removing me himself. I was panicked, so I did what my mind told me to do in the moment. I made my way off, asked for his name, which was like pulling teeth, and tried to call the office to make a complaint. He drove away, I was officially late to rehearsal, and then, I realized that I had no idea where I was.

My anxiety was building exponentially as I called the transportation office 3 times with no response before I realized there wasn’t going to be, because they are closed on the weekends. I then tried calling all my friends, with cars, to see if they could pick me up to no avail. Then, I had my first panic attack on the curb of a parking lot in an unfamiliar place, while people walked by with odd stares and no concern for me.  Then, I tried calling all and any family I could, my mom, you, Camille, and Auntie Roz and Auntie Julie, but no one answered.

Cue my second panic attack.

A friend called me back, I explained the situation, but they couldn’t come get me. So, I made the decision to call an Uber with the last $11 I had. On the drive, my mom called to see what was going on. She responded to the story by saying “Get over it”. Not understanding how triggering it was for me, or caring for how upset or shaken I was. I got out of the Uber, had my third panic attack in 40 minutes, and after, I noticed the time.

Rehearsal was over, and I cried.

I called my professor to apologize and after I explained what happened, he Venmo’d me for the Uber, but that’s where the resolution of the incident stopped. I did end up filing a complaint, and they took my side, but didn’t act on any of the solutions I asked for. After that, well, I spiraled.

Part 1 -- Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7

Monday, May 29th, 2023

3:29pm

Here’s the texts of when I texted my older sister, 5 months after everything that happened while I was in New York City with her.

Here’s what I said to her:

Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7

hi my name is duchesstopaz and i’m a trauma survivor. there are so many things that i want to say, need to say… but no one who can understand if they don’t listen. i want to use my blog to just vent and get out all of this that needs an escape because it’s eating away at me. i am constantly evolving and changing and have grown so much over all of these years. i have a story to tell and this is one of the ways that i can share. so please watch as a 20 y/o shares way too much on the internet lol :). feel free to interact if you would like, feel free to give advice if you would like, but this is truly something purely for me that i would like to share.