Ongoing mental health battle

Most of my childhood was either spent outside of the house, not usually by choice or inside a counselors office. My mom thought I needed “help” ever since I can remember. Funny, she wanted me to get help from a counselor or a psychiatrist but I was never allowed to actually talk about my home life so she wouldn’t get in trouble with DSS (what DCF was called when I was growing up).

How can one get help when they cannot talk about the root of their problems?

I blamed myself for the sake of protecting my mother. “This is just how I am and how I’ve always been”. She always threatened if I talked too much or said things about our home life that me and my sister would get taken away from her.

I was diagnosed with ADHD when I was fairly young, maybe 5 or so. I wouldn’t stay still for anything and my mind moved faster than I could keep up with. As time progressed (still in counseling and seeing a psychiatrist) I was diagnosed with anxiety, depression, post traumatic stress disorder, a touch of obsessive compulsion disorder and Bipolar. These diagnosis’ were just big words to me that meant nothing. I listened to my mother and took my medication and that was that for now.

When I was 16 I came out to my mother about being a lesbian. She was not pleased at all, In fact, she didn’t talk to me for weeks and when she did it was only to tell me how disappointing and disgusting I am. This was the beginning of a very toxic relationship for us. She put me in christian conversion therapy and eventually when I had enough of the bullshit I quit it and also quit taking my medication.

You see, my mother and I always had a very distant relationship. She didn’t really hug me or tell me she loved me. She barely spent any time with me and there was always a void between us. She also had the same diagnoses as I did from her psychiatrist and her mother suffered from schizophrenia. Mental health issues ran right down the bloodline. I never met my father and my step father (my sister’s biological father) was a piece of shit alcoholic who beat on my mother, my sister and I. He pretty much did everything and anything to terrorize our lives when he was drinking unless he was in some manic great mood where he wanted to act like a decent human being. When sober he kept to himself and was grumpy most of the time. My mother lived in fear and her priority was always pleasing him first and unfortunately my sister and I took the back burner. More so myself. Our family was miserable eighty percent of the time. The other twenty percent took place on holidays where my sister and I were spoiled regardless of the fact that my “parents” didn’t have much money at all. Bittersweet memories.

I started cutting. Not often but every now and again. Eventually, I was hospitalized because I cut a little too deep one day and started panicking. My mother saw what I did and brought me to the hospital. My first experience in the psychiatric ward and I was pretty much a testing rat with all the different types of medication they had me trying. Some had me feeling like a zombie and others had me scratching the skin off of my legs. In there was where I had my first panic attack. Of course my mom was displeased with me for my actions and this only proved to her just how bad I needed help. Again, what could I say? Nothing. I took the blame. “This is just how I am”.

I got my first job at a fast food restaurant and that’s when I noticed just how bad my anxiety was. Busy store, long lines and having to learn so much in such a fast pace. Every day for about a year there was a borderline panic attack experience. Fast forward a little bit until I turned 18 and moved out the very next day after my birthday. Of course, like most teenagers I ended up moving back in with my mother because I didn’t realize just how hard it was living in the real world and affording everything.

Shortly after I went through a pretty bad break up with “my first love”. It was a long distance relationship and I had only met her once when she came to stay for a week from Colorado to meet my family. I was going to relocate to be with her and the day before I was about to buy my one way ticket I had found out she had been trying to get back with her ex and even contacting her while she had spent the week with me. I was heartbroken. This was someone who I put so much love, trust and effort into. Not to mention I was going to move across the country to be with her. I broke it off and slipped into a deep depression.

One day I was crying to the point of no return and came across a few bottles of prescription medication. I decided to take a handful of each with the motive of killing myself. A few minutes after I instantly regretted it. I called my mom and told her what I had did and she rushed home to find me in and out of consciousness. Again, I was hospitalized. This time I did a lot of thinking. I didn’t want to be on medication again. I wanted to own my life, completely. I wanted to be “okay” because I had a handle on my mental health. I didn’t like the idea of “help” because every little thing I did since I was young my mother would say how much I needed “help” like I just wasn’t okay on my own.

Fast forward a couple of months later and my mother and I got into a huge argument. She pinned me down on the couch and put all of her weight on top of me. She punched and slapped me a few times until I was able to push her off of me and kick her to get away. I ran into the bathroom but she ended up busting the door in. She opened my mouth and poured a shitload of black pepper down my throat. I started couching and spitting up blood. I spent hours crying on the bathroom floor and of course I ended up going back to my old ways of cutting again. A couple of days later we got into another argument. She slapped me across my face and I snapped. I completely beat her ass and unleashed every bit of anger and resentment I had for her. My sister called the police at my mother’s command and next thing you know I was sitting in a holding cell. I didn’t start it but I also didn’t have any marks but a scratch or two and my mother ended up having a black eye and busted lip along with some bumps on her head. Was I right? No. Was I fed up? Yes. Over the years I had taken all of the beatings from my stepdad and even some from my mother and had never retaliated. This was years of bottling things up and eventually I had no more room left in that bottle.

I ended up getting off clean after a few days in the holding cell but my mother had a restraining order on me. I was homeless. Thankfully, my best friend at the time convinced her mother to take me in. My best friend and I were rebels. We didn’t listen to anyone about anything. Drinking, drugs, sex, fights and whatever else happened we were down for. I fell in love with ecstasy. It made me feel so damn good and gave me confidence I never thought I could have. I questioned my sexuality a couple of times and had my mother’s opinion in the back of my mind the entire time. Maybe if I had sex with men I could “make myself straight” or at the very least satisfy my mother. Nope, didn’t work. Like I knew deep inside I loved women.

I had a few useless relationships, nothing worth writing home about. Slipping in and out of depression, having random panic attacks and a few temper tantrums here and there were the norm. When my mother took the restraining order off of me I moved back home and added to the holes I had put in the walls and doors of her apartment. I was pretty much a loose cannon at this point and no one could tell me I was doing anything  wrong.

I met who ended up being my wife and we had a very turbulent relationship. When we were good we were great but when we were bad we were horrible. It ended up being abusive in every sense of the word and we were trying to mend something for years that just wasn’t fixable. We both came from broken homes, we both had bad tempers, we both were stubborn and wanted to be the dominant one. We just weren’t meant to be. We both deserved better. It didn’t help that I stepped out on our marriage shortly after our honeymoon. We both deserved a healthy, happy relationship and our marriage wasn’t either. Should we have gotten married? Probably not. Everything happens for a reason though and the years after our marriage taught me a lot.

After our separation I was tested quite a few times and failed every time. I had drunk episodes where I ended up being hospitalized for intoxication. I had times where I cut myself into stitches. I had times I had panic attacks where I hyperventilated uncontrollably. I had times where I threw tantrums and broke things.

Now, here I am. I have two things keeping me sane. My drive to be a better person, using outlets to release my emotions in healthy ways and my girlfriend who I refuse to put through hell. Am I perfect? Hell no. Can I be better? Hell yes. I have finally made the decision to actively get a handle on my mental health instead of just waiting to get better one day. Writing/typing is helping, I am seeking a psychiatrist and my girlfriend never ceases to amaze me with the amount of love, care, patience and understanding she gives me. I deserve a healthy relationship for a change and I plan on keeping mine. I will never blame my mother or anyone for that matter for my mental health issues but I know my childhood definitely played a part in it. I refuse to take the blame for everything else though outside of my own actions. I didn’t ask for these issues. I didn’t ask to be mentally unhealthy. No one ever does. All we can do is cope.

Nonetheless, there will be struggles and I have the strength to pull through. I’m a survivor and I will always have that mode on.

-JayZamora

 

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What I deserve

I have a love/hate relationship with self inflicted pain.

No, not physical.

My sickness is deeper than that.

Cutting only hurts physically, I’d rather torture myself emotionally.

Convince myself everything positive in my life is too good to be true.

Push away anyone that tries to love me.

I don’t deserve love.

I don’t deserve kindness, warmth or security.

I want to stay anxious, depressed and lonely.

Leave me here in the cold dark.

Leave me alone.

My demons work best when I don’t put up a fight.

My demons keep me company.

My demons remind me daily that I don’t need anyone but them.

Why can’t I keep my walls up?

I want you but I want to push you away too.

You’re too good to be true.

You’re not real.

You’re temporary.

You’ll leave me in the dark so I might as well get comfortable right?

And maybe I’m wrong.

Maybe you’ll stay.

Maybe you’ll scare my demons away.

Maybe you’ll love me for me and always keep me company.

Maybe you’re all I need.

Maybe you can set me free.

-JayZamora

Heaven and Hell

It’s common that people don’t believe in God’s existence or aren’t completely sure but so many people whether a believer in God or not are positive there is a heaven and hell. They believe based on your deeds, behavior and even the way your mind works you will definitely go to one or the other when you die.

I don’t believe in either. Although I may have a slight fascination with the idea of hell when it comes down to it I do not believe there is an existence.

The best argument I’ve had against it is when someone said: “If energy cannot be destroyed but can be transferred then when one dies it has to go somewhere and that would be heaven or hell.”

Although that’s a good point, that doesn’t necessarily mean it’s correct and my theory may not be either but I personally believe that when ones physical body dies that their energy stays here on earth with us.

When people who are into spirituality put their energy into something whether it be a stone or any other object they are transferring good energy into it. When one summons energy from an ouija board they are rolling the dice so to speak because they may be putting good energy or bad energy into the universe and that will result in what spirits help them with their experience because after all, the spirits stay with us here on earth and they are the carriers of this energy.

I believe this also explains how people sometimes feel or see loved ones that have passed in their dreams or even in reality reaching out to them because after all they never left them. They are still here on earth which is why psychics can still reach out to them. If they were in another “world, place, universe” they’d be out of reach and wouldn’t be able to communicate with the living.

Again, this is my theory and you’re welcome to have your own.

-JayZamora

Energy

Energy can be transferred…

The way you look at me, the glow on your skin, the way you smile…I feel it in my stomach.
Your hand in mine, your head on my chest and your arms wrapped around me…I feel it in the depths of my soul.
Your lips against mine, your hands on my face, your stare when you open your eyes…I feel it in my heart.

Every bit of emotion you feel when you’re with me, I feel it too.
As soon as your body touches mine every ounce of love you’ve ever felt for me, I feel it too.
Every word that slips off of your lips that escaped your heart, I feel it too.

Your energy keeps me grounded when my head is lost in the stars.
When you’re around your energy becomes mine…

But it can never be destroyed.

-JayZamora

Bleeding hearts

Love is hard, painful.

You give your heart to someone thinking they’ll care for it the way you would theirs and in the end they give it back to you completely destroyed….a hundred stab wounds and what seems to be a never ending stream of blood.

You have to now sew up every cut and reattach it hoping it’ll heal and work the same again. It won’t though…your heart will never completely heal because scars never go away and all you need is for someone to open those same wounds again.

Now, every time you give your heart away you have to worry if they’ll just reopen those old wounds…who wants a heart full of scars anyways? Who wants a damaged heart when there’s thousands of whole healthy ones to choose from that you don’t have to worry about being careful with? Hearts that haven’t been broken, hearts that beat like they’re supposed to. No one wants the challenge of taking care of the wounded one.

Can you blame them? It’s messy…but if you take care of it that bleeding heart will love you more than any whole one could. I hope you don’t mind a little blood.

-JayZamora

Shackles

The feeling is familiar…you know that feeling you get when you walk into the deep end of a pool and your feet can no longer touch the bottom anymore?

Your stomach drops and your heart jumps.

That scared, nervous feeling.

That’s the feeling I get every time my world is about to crash.

The shackles show up and latch onto my ankles.

They pull me down to a cold, lonely place and make sure I don’t go anywhere.

I try to pull away but the grip is too strong.

The light is too far away, unreachable.

What’s the point in trying anymore when it’s easier to just lay there…because after all no matter how far you get away the shackles will always be there to pull you back.

-JayZamora

Kintsugi

Kintsugi is the Japanese art of filling broken Pottery with gold.

There’s this quote I see all the time about how when you drop a plate it shatters and you cannot fix it because it’s broken right? Then it goes on to say that when you break someone’s heart it is the same…that no matter how many times you apologize for your mistakes that the damage is done so basically you can’t do anything to fix it.

So in that sense you would give up on it and throw it away right? Stick with me here. Say for instance someone else picks up the pieces of the plate and puts it back together by filling the cracks with gold. The plate is now not only fixed but looks better and is worth more. Now using the same analogy with a heart the next person would “fix the broken pieces by filling it with gold”. The gold could symbolize love, trust, respect and happiness.

I assume you get how this all ties together now but in case you don’t basically what I’m saying is when someone breaks your heart and gives up on you that the next person may be willing to take those pieces and put them back together with something much better because of course you can’t take back or fix someone else’s mistakes (the dropping of the plate) but you can do what it takes to instill something more valuable into them. When I read about things I try to figure out how they could potentially fit into my life or what I can learn from it and this is what I got from reading about this Japanese tradition.

-JayZamora