A little History
I'm seeking entries that go back to the years before the diagnosis and the time that led up to it. They'll be posted the best chronological order i can manage. This was written in 1998 for the pastoral counseling team I was seeing at the time.
2 months into my first high school year I was smoking pot. Started writing poetry and short stories. Stephanie Anne Ross was born. An alter ego 3 years older and far less afraid of parents or police than I was.
Created problems at school. Set fire to my jacket in class. Principal reminded me that he knew who I was, hated Quintanas, and was watching me. Started disappearing for a day or a night. Spent one night on the roof of a building taking the skin off my left arm with a piece of glass. Got so cold I started walking. Was picked up by a couple of guys in a truck. They saw the blood and called an ambulance. Spent the night in the police station. Tried to refuse to go home. Parents decided to try family counseling. Counselor at Mental Health Dept. told parents I was a discipline problem and my attention seeking behavior was to be rewarded with punishment. He told my parents I was simply a liar and to treat me as such. Mum was ecstatic, Dad was furious. We did not go back
Cut my wrists in the bathroom during lunch. Ran from the ER. After I was caught the principal took me into a room alone and slapped me then threw me into a wall. I was then arrested for assault. My father threatened a lawsuit and charges were dropped. I was admitted to the first hospital that night. Stayed the week of Thanksgiving.
Was placed in an alternative school. Got caught smoking behind the school and when told to put it out I put it out on my arm. So burning was added to razor play. I spent most nights in my bathroom with a razor and cutting my wrist under the running water. Found that if I did a little each night it would leave a huge scar and that should I get caught, it couldn’t be stitched up. Also started burning myself with other things. A curling iron was effective if slow. After putting a 3-inch burn on the side of my face I was sent to a neurologist. He found nothing wrong aside from my attitude. Next several months are a blur of nights in the bathroom, drugs, running away, and overdoses.
Sometime during the summer I cut into an artery for the first time. I got scared and called a friend. She called an ambulance. I took off for the river near our house and hid until they found me. The EMT asked if I had been drinking and spoke to me about alcohol abuse. He told me about AA and gave me the places and times of some meetings. He suggested I try it. My parents were furious at the idea but allowed me to go with the understanding that it was only as a support system for me outside of the hospital. By the time I tried to tell them that I had a problem with drinking, they refused to listen or believe.
Ran away to DC for 2 days. Was picked up by a guy that offered me a way to make money. Stayed with him until realized what he meant then cut my wrists at his house and told him not to waste his time with me. Spent the next couple of weeks with a friend and then my sister.
Became a candy striper through a recommendation from my youth leader. After deciding I didn’t care to be around people, I started working in central supply. Found it to be a good source of blades, xylocaine, syringes, and suture kits. (Had learned to do sutures watching my sister practice) So now I could cut to my heart’s desire without feeling the pain that came from hitting tendons and arteries. I could also stitch myself up to save my parents the expensive doctor’s bills.
AA was of little help, as my primary symptom wasn’t drinking. No one could relate to my other efforts at self-destruction. I did meet a man named Jim who invited me to baby-sit for him and his wife. Jim became a very good friend and before long I was showing up at their door on Friday nights and staying ‘til Sunday evening. Jim’s house is where I met Charlie. We were not instant friends, but he was only person who could make me laugh. I started showing up at Jim’s and hoping to see Charlie’s Nova parked outside the house. I didn’t know then that he was coming over in hopes of seeing me. After treating him really badly for no good reason, he was the first person to show me what forgiveness was. I didn’t know it then, but see now that I had never had anyone put a wrong so completely behind him and never remind me of it again.
There were another couple of overnight hospital visits and another week at the local hospital psych unit. Then back to the hospital in Sleepy Hollow by police escort. My parents were told that I would need long term care and to start looking for somewhere that could take me for years rather than weeks. After discharge I refused to go home and moved in with Jim and Brenda. My parents gave them legal guardianship and paid them for my room and board. I became their live in babysitter. It quickly became a nightmare as I realized that I had moved from one miserable troubled house to another. I wound up walking away one night. Swallowing 150 aspirin and hitching a ride out of town. When the ringing in my ears was so loud I couldn’t hear anymore I made my way back to their house. At dawn I told Jim what I had done. He made me apologize to his wife. By the time the kids needed to get to school I was ready to go to the Emergency room. My parents were told I would probably lose kidney function altogether, if I was lucky. Another few days in the local hospital, then after convincing a judge I didn’t need commitment, I went back home. Within a couple of months I had had enough and spent several days saving up the meds I was supposed to be taking. Over 2 days I took 2000 mgs of Tofranil. By the time my mom realized I had OD’d it was in my system completely. I had a grand mal seizure at the hospital and I’m told, went into cardiac arrest. Again my parents were told I wouldn’t make it and was air lifted to Children’s hospital in DC. My parents brought Nora and Zac to say goodbye in ICU. I spent the next 5 weeks in the Psych unit of Georgetown University Hospital in DC. Before coming home I told my Dad about the sexual abuse in childhood I could remember. I made it home days before Christmas. (I don’t remember a Christmas morning after I was 10)
My Groups
-
Long Road to Recovery Updated: 13 hours ago
-
Dissociation Updated: May 17, 2009
-
stigma awareness Updated: May 27, 2008
Neighborhood
Explore friends, family, friends & family, or entire neighborhood.
