I’m violet. I’m twenty years old as of October. I have been writing in a journal for such time, about three years of documented torture, sadness, addiction, depression, and EDNOS. It’s crazy that just me, one person, can have such a powerful story. One I’d like to document. Even if this is never looked at, than just for me in the future, when I redeem myself. I am lost now, but one day I will be found.
it all started when I was very very young, just twelve years old and I’m in my room, ripping my hair out, going crazy and I’m thinking what else can I do to make this pain go away. I don’t know why I did this, it just came to me. I think I had saw it on a movie before, it felt like I was in a movie. I grabbed a knife and I just sliced my arm open. Now remember this is when I was twelve years old, all because I had been called fat. Can you believe my parents didn’t know until I was eighteen years old? Eighteen god damn years, alone.
I want to document my next months until rehab. (Again) but also take you back to how it was before present time)
Now, let’s fast forward….it’s age fourteen and I’m still cutting. My arms are so fucked up. Then I meet my friend, still good friend to this day, Loren and we discover pills first. I’m taking OxyContin and Vicodin in eighth grade. This was normal though, right? Just harmless fun, right? Loren and I started using weed and pills and alcohol that lasted until I was seventeen. I finally met more friends, a whole group, they were a family. I saw them everyday for about a year. We all had a cool house to hang out, get high and drink every night great isn’t it? But I have a disease, I can’t stop. I met this guy, his name was Dj. He became my best friend. We hung out every single day. I’d pick him up from work and drop him off, he worked nights at the time I met him. We’d do Molly all day and he’d go to work and I’d be there when he got off, we’d do another line and fall asleep and do it all over again. Now time passes and Dj and I move out. I meet the neighbor his name is Mike, now he becomes a best friend too. Still is to this day. I start doing Xanax and more pills as more parties and more Mike enter and control my life. I start using opiates my biggest nightmare of a word ever. I still use them. I stopped for a while but one day my buddy comes upstairs, and says “everyone get out of the house the Feds are coming on a drug case” we get out and he says (with so many tears) “I found Dj in the basement” my heart sank, my life flashed and I fell. I remember that day everyday and all day, over and over and over. I still can’t cope, I hardly feel anything. My best friend, the only one there for me all this time had hung himself in our basement. I couldn’t believe it. I still can’t. I just drown and drown in drugs. Until I don’t remember. Ever since that day, April 20th 2012. I have not stopped cutting or using drugs and alcohol. Before his death I had been puking and starving but that stopped after that all I did was eat. Now it’s been ten months since he’s passed and I’m still so sad. I need out. This blog is just to show the daily struggle. I will post pictures from old journal entries and stuff like that. My story has more detail of course but at least you get a little history. Thanks for reading if you did. =)