~This post will be a trigger. If for any reason you are not feeling confident in your sobriety or are feeling your bipolar disorder out of whack, please do not read until you are feeling 100% and are confident you are 100%~
There are no pictures in this post. There is no breaking up the words because they mean a lifetime, they mean innocence lost, they mean too much to fill them with silly pictures you find on the internet. No, this post doesn’t belong with flowers or cute pictures of cats with hats on. There are no pictures that could be in place of these words.
The number 12 has been an issue with me since well I was 12 years old; it marked an incredibly damaging year in my life so yes a huge defining year that just got worst year after year until I was about 17. At 17 I moved out of my parents home and that was yet another defining moment but not as defining as the years before.
At the age of 12 I felt, and went through a lifetime of pain and depression. It bombarded me for so long, for many years and I still feel that year in my body, it was so costly to my being and soul; it will most definitely stay with me for the rest of my life no matter how I try to push past it.
Lets start with I was 12 when I first smoked pot, which btw I need to put this out there; I do not care about whether someone smokes it or not and I say lets fucking legalize the plants already. Anyway, I started to smoke pot and started my alcohol career. I had sips before but no actual alcoholic drinking, when I turned 12…it all started. At 12 you’re suppose to be thinking about which boy is the cutest and writing little blurbs on your flute case, Bats Loves ??? But not this 12-year-old.
I got off my school bus early and went to a friend’s house and for about an hour, friends started showing up and the ‘fun’ began when all of us had arrived. Grain alcohol, was my first real drunk. BTW I suck in the game of quarters, and that’s what we played. Grain alcohol and fruit punch. I never bothered to think or ask, where did you come up with the alcohol, no I didn’t care. From my first cup I felt the supposed glorious buzz, I felt real, I felt like people weren’t judging me, my clothes, or my thoughts. I felt comfortable. Maybe if I hadn’t felt so comfortable, I wouldn’t have kept going for so many years but who knows? For me to drink, was to be. No I didn’t get the after effects, how or why I, don’t know. Well yes I do, I’m an alcoholic and have been since that very day and maybe before that but I haven’t figured out yet whether or not genetics played a part in my drinking career.
From there the defining year really took my heart and ripped it apart.
I was 12 when my brother started molesting me. I knew how wrong it was but still didn’t tell until I was locked up at the age of 15. I stopped looking in the mirror because of it, I no longer saw a simple, childlike face; I only saw an old withered witch. My self-image was ripped apart just like my innocence and heart.
I was 12 when my mother said to me, “Bats, don’t tell your father but I think I love this man. Our secret, okay?” I didn’t tell my father until I was locked up at 15. My mother’s manic depression had progress into craziness and this was the first time she handed me a knife and told me what she wanted me to do. She wanted me to kill my father but she thought he wouldn’t die, she just wanted me to stab him. “Don’t worry sweetie, you won’t get in trouble.” I didn’t do it, I couldn’t. I didn’t understand that she was manic, I didn’t understand she was crazy, and I certainly didn’t understand why she picked me out of us three kids to torture and hate so much. I didn’t want the secret and I didn’t want the job of seeking her acceptance. She would tempt me to do any of her evil biddings with cigarettes.
Oh and I was 12 years old when I started smoking cigarettes.
I was 12 years old when my mother was diagnosed not only with manic depression/split personality but also with cancer. To see her in the hospital so weak, so timid, so scared just didn’t seem right. I secretly wished upon any star that she would be dead when I woke up every morning.
I was 12 years old when my life overtook me. I was 12 years old and felt like I had lived so many years.