I write this amidst hangover from
an overdose. Beauty lies within knowledge; of what can save you and what can
destroy you. It took all the strength I had the night before to only take
enough to fall asleep and stop crying; to not reenact my almost flawless suicide
attempt nearly a year ago that gently soothed me until I stopped breathing. I
write this because I have no hope for the future but I know you do, and I have
it for you too. What’s wrong with a little utilitarianism here? That’s why I am
about to graduate nursing school and become a psych nurse, but I need a little
support too. Please read this and
comment back if this has influenced you in any way so that I may feel human
again. And though I cannot feel it, I send you love in this letter so that you
can feel human too.
For the sake of this, my name is
Iris Rae. I have severe post-traumatic stress disorder that later blossomed
into multiple personality disorder, anxiety, depression, and rape-trauma
syndrome. I am one of two people at my school ever to survive the prestigious nursing
program I am so graciously a part of… while living out of their car/in a drug
house. I still remain anonymous to most of this in my community and try to
blend in as much as possible, which isn’t hard because I literally feel numb
all the time. Yes, all the time. I hope to one day feel love again so that hope
may resurface once more. I was born into a sheltered life as an only child
where abuse was normalized and I swiftly followed suite throughout childhood
and adolescence. In hopes to get away from my abusive father, I decided to date
my best friend (the son of our town’s police chief) who later raped me for a
few years until I was able to safely escape. The worst of it was how a lot of people knew
and didn’t say anything because I couldn’t press charges. Hush money was paid
in order to keep this ordeal quiet. I
gained a lot of weight in order to look less appealing. This certainly helped,
but I grieve the loss of my purity, innocence, and beauty I once had. There is beauty in the strength and wisdom I
have gained, but it will never compare to the youth I had stripped away from me
so young.
A rugged sedan became my quarters
for a year and a half; even in the heartless blizzards that kiss the Great
Lakes each year. Maybe I took up the
noble profession of nursing to also make up for what I am not proud of
becoming; a thief and a slut. At times when I was most desperate, I did have to
steal food and exchange sex for shelter. The battered women shelters around here
are always full and cannot accept any more ladies. Any irony they send these
women to the shitty little hotel downtown that is famous for drugs, bedbugs,
and prostitution?
I am on a waitlist to get into one
of the nation’s top trauma rehabilitation facilities in Maryland because I
remain un-medicated and unsupervised in the medical community. The facility
gave up my placement a few weeks ago because I couldn’t make it there from my
hometown with a 24 hr. notice. I KNOW HOW FUCKED UP THE MENTAL HEALTH
SYSTEM IS. That’s why I plan on
being a part of the solution, but I need your help. I have been asking for help
for a while, but there is nothing locally for me. Trust me, I want nothing more than to dive
into illicit substances and alcohol so that I may feel something again in hopes
that my suicide may look like an accident as it did last year, but I have remained
sober until today. I pray that all of us
feed off each other’s strength in our time of need and can function as a hydra;
multiple branches will grow in place as one branch is cut from the head. Join me on this journey to find hope again and
to feel light amidst the darkness. I want to hear your story too. #thisismyfightsong
I love
you and stay strong.
Always ~Iris
Rae
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