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The Story of JadedSilverMist

*TRIGGER*
Content on this page can get graphic, and may be a trigger for other survivors.

Please go forward with caution.

Well, this is my story. The story of my life. The story that I hate to tell.
Although I'm only 25, sometimes I feel like I'm a hundred years old, because I've had to grow up so fast. The reasons for which you will soon find out if you read on.
You may find my story hard to believe, I mean I hardly believe it myself most of the time. But amazingly, every word I type is true.

Now, onto the story of my life... I learned at a very young age not to trust people. I was ritually and sexually abused continually by my neighbor for years as a child. The main abuser was female, (which as you can imagine has left me at times very confused about my sexuality,) and she would have me hold rituals with her/them, and made me believe that the "spiritual beings" would bring harm to me and my family if I ever told anyone about the abuse, or didn't obey her orders. So my mind began to split, thus causing the beginnings of my DID/MPD, and needless to say, it continued for way too long. I apologize that I cannot say more about this, as my alters are the one's that hold most of these incredibly painful memories and protect me from them. So I can't remember much at any given time. It's always in small fragments.

My mom and I lived with my grandparents while I was growing up. I loved my grandpa with all my heart, and he loved me with all his heart also. He was like the dad that I never had. After all, he was way more than I could've ever asked for in a dad. He was my solace when things were tough. I still remember him getting down on one knee, and reaching his arms wide open as I ran to hug him. I remember it so well that I can still feel the stubble on his cheeks. When I was 11, he had had cancer for some time, and it spread through his body and he died two days after Christmas, after several very miserable weeks. That broke me more than anything ever had. He meant the world to me. I still remember the morning he died as if it were yesterday.
My mom got married right around the same time to a guy that I hated. He had a horrible temper, and there was something about him that I just couldn't stand. But worst of all, he stole my mom away from me, and he eventually broke her down. I couldn't stand my home life after they got married. The constant screaming and crying; it was just too much for a kid to take in. So I began to look in other places for love. But unfortunately, I was looking in all the wrong places.
At the age of 13, I got involved with a drug dealer that sexually and physically abused me for months, and even though I came home with bruises and smelling of his ejaculate fluid, my Mother didn't notice because at the time she had enough trouble of her own with my new "dad". It really wasn't her fault, and I don't hold anything against her. Then when I finally managed to get away from him, I got a boyfriend who was 18 (I was still 13,) and only wanted me for one thing. Well that was just the beginning to my long string of tormenting relationships, and that cycle continued for quite some time.
Finally at the age of 15, I started getting involved in church. I made lots of Christian friends, and cut off the bad friends. I had never been so happy. I was healing from my past, and enjoying not being used, and being liked for who I really was.
We went on road trips, stayed out all night making fools of ourselves, went on mission trips, etc. etc. Life was great. But I should've known that couldn't last forever.
My wonderful "Christian" friends started to use me. They payed attention to me when they wanted something from me. And if I didn't give them what they wanted, they got mad and blew me off. And they also turned out to be nothing but a bunch of big hypocrites. They could preach the best message of purity that you've ever heard, but wait until those curtains close, and they're no different then the rest of us.

I got burned by them more and more, until I couldn't stand it anymore. When I was 18, I stepped down from my position in the church, & then left the church altogether, only to leave myself searching for love all over again. And, unfortunately, I ended up in the arms of a very mentally unstable individual.
He was 26 and I was 18.
I still remember the moment I first saw him as if it was yesterday.... My eyes landed upon the most handsome guy I'd ever seen in my life. Assuming that I had no chance with him, I just drooled over the gorgeous site sitting in the car next to me in the parking lot for a little longer, and was going to be on my way. But to my COMPLETE shock, he began to get out of his car, and then came over and knelt down by mine. He introduced himself, and was complimenting me all over the place. I was so dumbfounded that I think my tongue must've locked itself in place, because it just wouldn't move.... but despite my complete dorkiness, he still asked for my phone number. We started talking on the phone for hours a day for a couple weeks getting to know eachother, and then he asked me out. I could've died right there, I'm telling you. So he took me out, and he treated me like a queen. I don't know that I have ever been treated so royally. I was completely love struck. We continued to spend pretty much every moment either together or on the phone. He was the most romantic guy I had ever known. He would listen to my heartbeat, whisper things in my ear that would make any girl melt, and he loved to just hold me. Things were wonderful.
What could go wrong now, right? WRONG.
One night when he came over to my house, he brought me a drink (non-alchoholic, just soda or something, I don't really remember what it was.) And he got really pushy that I drink it. But he got weird like that sometimes, and I figured it was just another one of his strange trips that he got off on, and I took it so he would calm down, because I thought it was no big deal. And a couple hours later, I woke up on my back wearing hardly any clothes, not having a clue what had happened or why I had fallen asleep. I hadn't even been tired when he came over. But my rose-colored glasses were so thick that I was convinced he could do no wrong. I'm sure I made up some dumb excuse as to what happened in order to calm my mind, and continued to see him. Then it happened again; I woke up in my bed at 4:30 in the morning, again wearing next to nothing. And AGAIN, I convinced myself that he wouldn't do anything like that, because he treated me like such a princess all the time, apart from his occasional mood swings; so STILL I continued to see him, and the same thing kept happening, leaving me confused, naked, and having absolutely no memory of the events, or any clue as to where the time had gone.
He started changing over time, until suddenly it was like he snapped. He wanted to know where I was all the time. He got jealous of my friends, and wanted me to quit spending as much time with them, so I could commit more of myself to him. He also started buying clothes and accessories for me, and telling me that he didn't like what I was wearing, and that he wanted me to wear what he got me. And if I didn't do what he said, he threatened to beat me.
Then one night, he made me take yet another drink, and yes, believe it or not, it happened one more time. Then he broke up with me soon after I woke up.

Very soon after the break-up, I came to the shocking discovery that I was pregnant, and had herpes. But I never had sex with him, or did anything else for that matter that could've gotten me pregnant. So how is this possible??? I thought. At that point, the rose-colored glasses had FINALLY started to break off, as they should have long before, and I started to see things as they really were. I started realizing that there were some BIG pieces to the puzzle that were missing. I started thinking about all the times I seemed to black out, then woke up on my back every time, with complete amnesia from the past few hours. It is so obvious what he was doing, but I didn't want to admit it. I was in total denial for a very long time, unable to admit that my "loving boyfriend" had repeadetly drugged me up and raped me, leaving me with no memory of the event. You may think I must be the stupidest person on the planet after hearing this, and much of the time I think the same thing. But I mean, come on, if it were you, you would do everything you could to make yourself believe that this incredibly sweet, romantic guy that says he will never do anything to hurt you, would never do such a thing, right? Well, that's just what I did. But I have to face reality. This really happened, and I have been completely and totally violated by someone that I put my trust in. And even worse, by someone that I loved.
I was forced very unwillingly by others to abort the baby, and hardly anyone knows what happened to this day.
There was a period of about 15 seconds during one of the rapes that I came to, but even though during that time I could see my surroundings, I couldn't do anything. All I remember during those 15 seconds is looking up and seeing him over me, with a look on his face I had never seen before. The look that is forever burned into my nightmares.

As a result of the abortion, I developed a rare disorder called Asherman's Syndrome, which causes the uterine walls to adhere to one another, and on top of this, not all of the placenta was removed during the D&C. I had surgery, and my uterus was opened back up, and the remaining piece of placenta removed. I still have severe uterine scarring, and haven't menstruated since. And, as you can guess, I am unable to have anymore children. Sometimes I think maybe this is God's punishment to me for all the horrible things I've done.

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.

Well, for those of you that have made it this far, I hope you can take something with you as you leave my site. Even if it's just comfort that you're not alone. That's a bigger deal than it seems; at least that's what I think.

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.

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