My husband did not want me and I did not want him. He had hurt my angels and I wanted justice but I had no way to get it. By this time I was buried so deeply into the mental health system and so medicated, I was unable to live unassisted. I had moved out of my friend’s home because I had become too much of a burden for her. I was placed in a group home living arrangement. I remember my friends telling me my husband had come to see me and had threatened me. This was no surprise, he’d done it before. He’d told me he didn’t want a sick wife, but he wasn’t going to let anyone else have me either. I knew he’d kill me if he got me alone, so I never was alone. But the additional stress made me sicker. I got so sick my therapist told my friends they were wasting their time on me, that I’d never get better. I couldn’t take my own medication, brush my own teeth, or dress myself and all I wanted was to die.
Soon after losing my parental rights, I was diagnosed with Borderline Personality Disorder. This was a second diagnosis to my Bipolar Personality Disorder. I was a mess. My friend got me enrolled in a new mental health clinic with a new doctor and a new therapist to hopefully get a better chance. This was a new beginning for me. It just took me a long time to realize it. I was enrolled in an eighteen-month treatment program that included Monday through Friday all day therapy and classes in coping techniques. It was mandatory attendance and even though I did not want to go, I did.
One symptom of Borderline Personality Disorder is self-mutilation, which I had started doing. I was cutting on my wrist as often as I was could, but it was never about suicide. It was about a release of pressure, feeling something, anything. It was about seeing the blood flow and feeling better. I don’t know how else to describe it. I would cut with anything sharp I could get my hands on. I had a hidden collection of craft knives along with my rainy day box. Either my husband knew about my rainy day box and never cared enough to take it away from me, or I’d hidden it well enough he never found out about it. Either way, I still had it. But now I had another box as well.
