To the heroin addict who told me to kill myself after I just survived a suicide attempt.

If my life went differently. If certain things didn’t transpire. If I had different parents. Different genes. No genetic predispositions then maybe, just maybe I wouldn’t have this immense fear of abandonment. Maybe you wouldn’t have been able to hurt me the way you do.

I was 15 years old and I didn’t know what I was getting myself into. My parents excuse is that I refused to stay at the local high school and they had no choice. But I was a minor. I was only 15, they should’ve looked out for me and told me I had to stay. Instead they just got rid of me. The only thing a parent should ever do to their child is completely love and support them. Tell them they are beautiful no matter what. And do anything to try and understand whats hurting them. I remember my first suicide attempt at 14. It was a cry for help. That I couldn’t live like this anymore. I needed somebody to understand. Instead my parents drove me to the emergency room and were screaming at me the whole time telling me how stupid I was. A constant theme in my life. I always felt like nobody understood me. I was being sent to a therapeutic residential facility upstate. Because according to my CSE I was a flight risk. I had ran away from home a few times. I think it was more than home I was running away from. My parents were driving me to the school upstate. I repressed the memory of my parents dropping me with my things and walking out the cottage door to go home. I think it was too much of a painful memory to remember. That night I adjusted to my new “home”. I was unpacking and making my bed when there was a brawl breaking lose in the living room. The cops were called and somebody was arrested. And yes the police came usually on a regular basis. We had one officer, officer Jones who often stayed down at the school during the day and watched us. That’s how bad this school was. I was the epitome of a little rich white spoiled girl from the suburbs. I wore velour Juicy Couture track suits, Chanel lip gloss and always rocked designer hand bags. I was different. They were all from the inner city. All poor. All ghetto. All grew up fighting just to survive. I didn’t fit in. And I was a victim. The second day at my new school was the worst. The girls in my cottage took all of my things. Everything. My clothes. My comforter. My shoes. And threw them all on the front lawn. I remember just crying praying they didn’t rip my pictures off the wall. The only reminder that I still had a family. People were screaming hysterically for me to go back to Long Island and that I did’t belong. Threatening to hurt me. The staff had to bring me down to the the lower field far away from the cottages that were on top of the hill. I don't even know what caused it. I believe I was purposely instigated so that they could start a fight with me. From this moment on my life was a personal hell. It got better overtime when people got to really know me. And when I hid d**** for them and learned to never snitch. But it was still hell. I’ll never forget this one girl. I won’t use her name. She bullied me relentlessly. I remember standing at the desk to ask to use the phone as she was sitting on the couch behind me. And she kept hysterically laughing saying I have gross cellulite. Constantly called fat. Constantly made fun of. Bullied day in and day out. I wanted to kill myself but I honestly didn’t have the guts to do it for real. It got the point were I was bullied so bad that I walked up to one of the girls crying screaming "Do you want me to kill myself, is that what you want?!" And she just pointed and profousely laughed at me. I remember the phone call I had with my mom early into my stay. I called her hysterically crying “ Mom I need to come home. Today the police came to our cottage again to arrest a girl. The people here are dangerous. Everyday I am taunted. Everyday. Single. Day. I wake up to the agonizing pain of being bullied and harassed and go to sleep the same. Please Mom, I need to come home.” I was crying so hard, I could barely get the words out. Begging and pleading please let me come home. Please Mom, I can’t take it here. But she kept saying this was my fault, I put myself there. And eventually she hung up. I spent hours in my room crying and jouranling while listening to country music. I was often put on arms length because I was displaying suicidal ideation. And often had the room right next to the staff desk, so they could watch me. But the staff bullied me too. And prayed on me because I was weak. Not too long into my stay, I went out of program. Which means leaving the cottage against the rules of the staff. I was being rebellious. But really just acting out because I was troubled. I was hurting. I had given up on myself. And couldn’t see the light anymore. I did’t realize this would happen, but it did. My therapist there was sadistic and evil. She always purposely hurt me. Our first session she smirked at me and called me selfish for attempting suicide before I got sent upstate. I ran out crying. I wasn't selfish. I was in so much pain. And nobody seemed to understand. I was only 12 when I was diagnosed with a life long illness. I was only 12 when I found out I had bipolar disorder. And I had already started developing border line personality disorder. I didn’t know how to handle it. I was only a kid. And from that moment on I felt broken. Not heart broken. But like I was a broken person. And I could never be fixed. My therapist see’s me crying in the gazebo outside. A staff member is watching me. She walks up to me and sternly says that I have lost my home visit. This shook me and took me for a spin. My thoughts were spinning faster and faster. I started sobbing furiously. And yelling over a waterfall of tears “You can’t do that. You can’t take my family away from me!” I ran back to her office begging her please I need to see my Mom. please you don’t understand. I just keep crying and managing to formulate the word please over and over and over again. She said no, it was too late, I broke the rules twice. I went into the CRC room the rest of the day. And they let me stay in the small room with just the desk so I could be alone. Because I couldn’t stop crying. And kept thinking over and over again how could she does this to me. I felt that once I spoke to my mom she would tell my satanic therapist that I needed to come home. I was only 15 years old and I was at a strange school, with strange people who bullied and threatened my safety, 4 hours away from where I used to live. But I called my mom. And she heard me crying. I know she heard the pain in my voice. I know she understood the torment I was going through day in and out. From staff picking on me because they were underpaid minimum wage workers who didn't give a f*** about mentally ill children. And from students too. For so long I would stare in the mirror and cry. It took me so many years to find myself beautiful. Because of all the pain and suffering I went through, I hated myself, for a really long time. I cried into the phone “Mom, Mom. my therapist won’t let me come home. Tell her I need to. Tell her I need to see my family” “Please mom, please let me come home.” And as if my Mom was emotionless she responded to me that I could not go home because I broke the rules. I tried to explain that I ran out of program because I was crying after my therapist called me selfish for my suicide attempt. But she didn’t care. She never took my side. She watched me as I cried. As I kept getting hurt. She listened to me sobbing that I needed to get out of this place. That I couldn’t take it anymore. But there was no empathy. And thats the first person who abandoned me, my mom. After that phone call I wasn't allowed home. I went six months without seeing my family and they were only allowed to come for a short day visit. It was even longer than that before I could actually go home for a visit again. Most of my nights there I cried myself to sleep. It seemed like a never ending hell I’d never get out of. I have horrible night mares I’m back at that school and I wake up in cold sweats sometimes screaming. This is why I have a strong fear of abandonemnt.

I write this story to you, the first person I ever truly loved with my full heart. I let you in. I told you my secrets. I told you about my illnesses. And you even mentioned my fear of abandonment many times. And how you realized I’d go crazy when you wouldn’t answer because of this fear. But you didn’t care. You didn’t care about me or my sickness like I did for you. Do you remember when we first met. I told you I had just gotten out of the psych hospital for a suicide attempt. I only told you this because you made me feel like I was safe. Because the night before we spoke on the phone all night and you opened up to me about your moms mental illness and that you had been addicted to Xanax. I felt I could trust you. And that’s only because I didn't know the mean sadistic side of you yet. I thought this way you. I thought you were a loving caring person. But I fell into a trap. I was at a hotel with my family for my Uncles Funeral. He was 90 when he died. Right before I went to sit down with my brother to have a couple drinks you called me. I answered the phone and told you I was just about to sit down with my brother. I was a little aggravated with you at that moment because you never said ‘I’m sorry for your loss”. When I told you I was going to PA for my uncles funeral. And you were making comments that I was having fun because of the meals I was eating or the hotel my family was staying in. I didn’t realize that thats just who you were. You’re just an extremely self centered person. Even when we reconnected this past month I don’t think you asked me one question about myself, as we spent a year and a half apart. Not even about what was new with my newly started business. You never even texted just to ask “Hows your day going?” Our whole relationship always completely revolved around you. I explained to you that I was upset you hadn't said sorry for your loss. And that I wasn’t trying to start a fight, but I had to get it off my chest. You said “ I know, I didn’t mean to not say it, I thought I did, but I am sorry for your loss.” Because one thing you are never capable of doing is saying sorry. It’s always “If you want an apology sure, I’ll apologize but what you did was worse”. Like I said it’s always all about you. I told you thank you and said I could call you when I got back to my room later but it may be late. You told me to call you when I got back to the room and it didn’t matter what time it was, you said it was okay to keep calling until you picked up. I got so emotional and told you I felt like you were the first person to really understand me. And you are, you also understand very well how to hurt me. I felt like I had met my soulmate at that moment. You seemed to be the first guy I could trust. During drinks with my brother he was telling me how much he loved and cared about me. I went to the bathroom and started crying ironically I felt so selfish for almost leaving him and my entire family. How painful it would've been for them if I died. I called you crying and you calmed me down and I admitted everything to you. And you told me it was ok, that I could trust you. During that trip I spoke to you constantly. I told you my secrets. And you told me yours. You weren't shooting up yet and had a job. But I wasn't working at that point and was severely ill. So we planned to meet for the first time, I was going to take the train from manhattan to see you. I called you the night before though because I was scared. I was struggling a lot and I thought you understood that. Until you didn't it. One of the two worst things you could do to me. You abandoned me. When i needed you most. On the train I was texting you that I was almost at Penn station. But you blocked me. Just like blocked. Blocked me on everything. Social media. And my cell phone. I couldn't understand how you were doing this to me. My thoughts were completely spiraling. And I was having a hard time trying to keep my composure and not break down and cry in the middle of a form of public transportation with people surrounding me. I just needed to be home. I needed to be alone. I got to my room and started messaging you from all these fake numbers. I was completely spiraling out. I was having a horrible BPD episode and I had lost control of my emotions. My impulse control was at an all time high and in retaliation to you abandoning me I texted you that you were all these horrible things. A loser drug addict with a pill addiction, with a whore for a mom whose crazy. I didn't mean them. I was always mean to you when you’d ghosted me because I needed you to feel the pain you were causing me. You respond and you said “Your fat go kill yourself”. I remember exactly where I was standing when you sent that text, next to the foot of my bed on my red oriental carpet. I saw it and became frozen. I just started at the screen. In utter disbelief. How could you say this to me? I didn't ever think you were this mean. I thought how could this be the same person? I almost died form a horrible suicide attempt the month before. I fell to the floor in agony and started weeping. I couldn’t bring myself to stop crying. I grimly walked over to my bed and sat down. I reached over to my night stand hysterically crying, my hands were shaking and I grabbed my pill bottle. The same pills I took just that month before. The same pills that almost killed me. My hands were shaking feverishly as I held the bottle in my hand and I cried as I held the bottle. I put the bottle down, hands still shaking and texted you back. “is that what you want you want me to kill myself. Just tell me thats what you want, I’ll do it now.” You texted back that I was begging you for attention and you weren't going to give it to me. That’s what I was doing right? Using my mental illness and suicidal ideation for attention. I told you that wasn't true. Tears flowing down my face that I’m not seeking attention from you so you’ll feel bad for me or talk to me. Don’t you understand that I am sick? But you blocked that number too. And then I lost you. The very first time you abandoned me and its a pain you kept putting me through for two and half years. A long with saying things about my weight. And as you were calling me fat I suffered from bulimia. I’d read the texts that said “You’re a cow. MOOOOOOOO. If I poked you, would you bleed grease? Great tell the cops to come and tell them to bring cake. Fat people love cake”. I was sick. And you didn’t care. You just made me even sicker. And you did, you made it worse. For the next three months I felt worse than before my suicide attempt. You had the opportunity to help me, to help make me better. But you used my illness, my weakness to keep hurting me. For those three months that winter I drank so much. I never left my house. I felt so empty that it was so painful I couldn't sleep. I was forcing myself to throw up so much that my esophagus was so bruised it burned. All because you abandoned me. It set me off into a spiral. And from that point forward you never cared about my mental health. You never asked if I was ok. If I needed somebody to talk to. You were mean to me and said you “Weren’t my comfort dog”. You made fun of me for wanting a therapy dog. And over and over and over again you kept randomly ghosting me and blocking me. You didn’t care at all that you were slowly killing me. Later on I found out you were shooting up. You told me. But I chose to take your illness seriously. I chose to help make you better. I didn’t run the other way. I didn't purposely hurt you. I did the exact opposite. I loved you and tried to do everything to make this disease easier for you. I tried my hardest to help you get clean. But where were you when I was sick? Where were you when I needed somebody to be there for me? And even after I did all those things for you. Loved you even though you were a heroin addict and even though you weren't there for me when I was in your shoes. You still kept doing it. You still kept ghosting me. And I would get so upset and go crazy and say mean things. And do crazy things. And it was always, always, always, all my fault. Nothing was ever your fault. And you never had anything you should be sorry for. You left me that summer after I tried to get you clean and you ghosted me for and entire year and a half. Such a horrible pain that I rather die than live through it again. I’d cry for hours begging you in texts to please answer, that you were killing me. You refused to say anything. And really all I did was cry most of the time. And wish I could be dead. But I also didn't want to kill myself. I was wishing somebody else would do it for me. This past Christmas I went to sleep the emptiest I had ever felt. I was so numb that I couldn’t even form tears. And I asked god to please take me in my sleep. That you were emotionally torturing me and I couldn't bare it anymore. We ended up talking again a year and a half later. No you did not apologize for anything. Because as always its always been all my fault. Things were going really well. Until you slowly started hurting me again. But this time you were ghosting me and messaging from fake accounts. And when I’d reach out saying I know its you, you just kept ignoring me. You want to hurt me and I don’t know why. And I really wish you’d tell me why. Why don’t my illnesses matter to you? Why weren't you there for me when I was sick? And why oh why oh why do you keep abandoning me every time you come back into my life when it hurts me the most?