Affected

     Over the years, because I hadn't dealt with the pain or even the truth of what had happened to me, the affects it had on me became deeper, more intense, and much bigger to deal with and heal from.  Not only was I addicted to many means of escape, but I was always sick, afraid of interacting with people, and had a self hatred that kept me alive.  Let me explain.  At about fourteen years old I wanted to die.  I drank too much, I fought with anybody I thought could put me out of my misery, and continually teased death, but in my heart I knew I had to suffer on this planet because of who I was.  I deserved to be miserable.  Living was my punishment.  I abused myself more than anyone ever had or ever would.  Every morning, I flipped myself on in the mirror and then continued through the day with negative messages.  I called myself stupid, ugly, fat, and many other things that would have hurt coming from someone else, but I didn't see it as hurtful coming from me.  Over the years, I isolated more, dreamed of a good life less, and waited to die.
     In public, in front of people, I laughed and joked all the time, but the energy it took to be around people completely wore me out.  I was being someone I was not.  My whole life was an act and it was exhausting.  Because I loved my kids so much and I had already given them a crazy, damaged life, suicide wasn't the option it had been.  I couldn't hurt them anymore, so I have actually prayed for a heart attack.  I could be talking to someone, laughing, smiling and playing the role of the happy person, while in my head a voice was screaming out to God, "Please, just let me go.  Take me out.  Take me home.  I can't do this anymore."  We all suffer pain through life from loss of loved ones, hurtful words and other dissappointments, but the pain from being sexually abused is a pain like no other.  Normal life pains bruise your heart, even scrape it sometimes until you can feel it bleed, but sexual abuse pain is like a cancer that starts eating at your heart from the inside.  It doesn't heal with time like a bruise or scrape, it grows eating up more of your heart as time passes, until your not sure if there is even enough heart left to make it worth healing. 
     I was so angry at God.  Why hadn't He protected me?  Why didn't He love me?  Why didn't He send somebody to help me?  Why didn't He just let me die?  There were times when I was a kid when adults would show some interest in me by asking about school and such and inside I was hoping they would ask me what was wrong.  There were times it all would have come spewing out like water from a broken dam.  But nobody asked.  I would continue into my adult life as the kid on the playground sitting by myself, wishing I was like the other kids, but knowing I would never fit in.  Why was I even here?