Moving along. I made a close friend soon after, who was a horrible influence on me. I was on several psych meds already which I was warned not to drink alchohol with, but I didn't care. I didn't care if I died, in fact I hoped that I would. So I would drink whatever, Everclear, Hot 100, beer, sometimes all mixed together. Once I woke up on the floor in the bathroom of someone else's house, after having a severe fit of vomiting. That day I thought I might die, and I will admit that I was dissapointed when I woke up. For the next 2 years I continued on a path of severe self-destruction, mixing Valium, Ambien, and Everclear, smoking, cutting myself with whatever I could find, small knives, butcher knives, lancets, scissors, needles, even once an ice pick, carving shapes and words into my skin. I would go home and when everyone had gone to sleep, I would go into the kitchen and take some of every medication in the cabinet, which was alot. My own prescriptions, my mother's prescriptions, otc drugs, and just down them all and wait to die. I never told anyone, there were a couple times where I blacked out, but I never went to the hospital or sought medical treatment. There were times when I was manic and thought I was invincible, I remember once I walked into traffic on a really busy 4-lane street. My friend did come through for me that day, talking some sense into me and getting me out of the street. I really don't know why I am still alive, and seeing all of this together it is an absolute miracle.
I remember very clearly the last time I drank. Because the results that night were devastating. A cousin who had been overseas in the army came back to the U.S., and came to town to see all the family. Him and I had always been good buds, joking around and giving eachother a hard time. He was always my favorite relative to be around. So when he invited me to come hang out after our family dinner back at his motel, I thought nothing of it, and went with him, expecting to have a great time goofing off and whatnot. He bought two 24-packs of beer, and we smoked and binge-drank like crazy, and we were totally hammered. He started to change. He wanted to show me porn on his computer, which made me start to get uncomfortable. Then he started making comments about my breasts and things of that nature, making me more uncomfortable. Finally, I was sitting on the bed watching t.v. trying not to think about the things he had said earlier, when he attacked me. He jumped on top of me and pinned my arms above my head so I couldn't move. He began to molest me. Thankfully this time I was able to put up a fight. I hollered and squirmed and kicked and hit him until I got away from him. I demanded that he drive me home right then, I didn't care how drunk he was. He didn't want to and kept trying to talk me into staying the night with him, but I wouldn't shut up until finally he gave in. I remember every second of that night, as if I hadn't had a single beer. We haven't spoken since that visit, and no one in the family knows what happened, and they never can know. It would devistate my aunt. My experiments with alchohol were done after that night. Haven't had a drop since.
Over the next year I continued to lose time very frequently due to my DID/MPD which was really out of control for some reason at that point in my life. But when I was in control of the body, I was growing more and more mentally ill, until I had lost touch with reality due to being in a state of manic suicidal psychosis, and at 21, by my psychiatrists orders, I was taken involuntarily to a psychiatric hospital, and put on lockdown on the Acute Crisis Stabilization Unit, and stayed on SP (suicide precautions) the whole time I was there. I hated it with a passion, and begged to get out from Day 1.
And the last 4 years have basically just been spent waging the war in my head. I have recently begun therapy, which I am really having a hard time with. And we have exhausted every class of anti-depressant out there, to the point that ECT (Electro-Convulsive Therapy) has been put on the table. It terrifies me, but it looks like I may not have a choice, as I can't keep going on like this.
As for why I'm still alive, I don't have the answer to that. Wish I did. I sure hope God has a reason for all my suffering.