This letter is not to anyone in particular.

I am 33 years old. I fought through all adversity to make this life mine. I wanted it bad enough that failure was never an option. I’ve lost and gained a great many people, pets, and things along the way. I’ve given this everything I have.

When I was 6, it was the pedophile molestation and child pornography. When I was 12, it became drug-induced sleeps, waking up without clothes on, and more violent abuse. I lost my hearing and my two front teeth due to head injuries – One while being punched in the head repeatedly and the other while my head was being slammed into a metal mattress frame. When I was 15, it became repeated rapes, agonizing fear, and torture of my pets. I tried to commit suicide for the first time at 15 with a few bottles of pills and alcohol. Child protective services ended up putting me back into the same trailer with my stepdad. I was called a liar, a manipulator, someone seeking attention. Even by my own mother, who was drugged, raped, and severely beaten everyday.

I lived my life in filth. Sweltering hot trailers with no AC, severe roach infestations, bed bugs, and I rarely remember a time I didn’t have lice. Drug paraphernalia littered the moldy carpet and rotting linoleum floors. Food bags filled with roach eggs or mold, both I just learned to eat around. I’d wake up early enough before school to cook breakfast for my siblings to make sure they ate. Then came along my stepdad’s friend, whom he sold me and my mother to. Another broken down trailer, another abusive addict. Enough of his hands down my pants and I tried to kill him by putting rat poison into his food. It didn’t work and he found out. He locked me in a closet for days where I had to use the bathroom on myself and sit in my filth. When I was finally let out, I screamed at my mother, calling her a bad parent. She broke a mirror and attacked me with a shard of glass. This leads to the second time I tried to kill myself. I wrestled the shard of glass out of her hand and sliced up both of my arms as many times as I could, hoping to get deep enough to reach the appropriate vessels. Covered in blood, I fled the trailer and called 911. Again, I was placed back in the home with this man and my mother. Again I was called a liar, a manipulator, and seeking attention. No one listened to me back when and no one listened to me then.

When I finally got away for good, I had already done 2 years in a children’s psychiatric hospital, where I turned in a male nurse who had molested and raped multiple pre-teen girls in the computer room. I fought him off. I lost all of my friends that day. All of the girls, who came from terrible backgrounds, became angry at me for being a snitch. They wanted the attention and it was so sad to see that these young girls had no idea that it was wrong. It was sad, but I got it, because I was taught from 6 years old that sex sells. Sex manipulates men to get what you want. And women are good for cooking, cleaning, and sex.

The third time I tried to commit suicide, I was sitting in an isolation room, in punishment for fighting a nurse. In my defense, the hospital knew that older males caused me to have PTSD flashbacks – maybe it wasn’t a good idea to send in a male nurse into my room. But they took my shoe strings, anything sharp and locked me in a padded room. So, I did the only logical thing and deconstructed my bra, removed the metal, and sliced open my wrists. I wanted to die. I had wanted to die for years. I can’t explain to you the pain that sat inside. The inescapable nightmares, the ghost hauntings, the night terrors, the screaming and the blackouts. The wails and screams of other young girls who were in just as much pain as you. And worse, I was on a medication that I was extremely allergic to. It had locked up my jaw and swollen my tongue to where I could barely breath. No doctor had seen me for three days while I was called a liar, faker, and just wanting attention by the nursing staff.

When I turned 17, I was deemed stable enough to leave the psychiatric hospital. Child services had tracked down my biological father and he came to pick me up. I still had to stand in court to testify against my stepfather. But, two things intervened. During the first trial, he cornered me in a back room, spit on me, and told me he had gun and would kill my little brother and mother if I testified. As scared as I was of this man, I lied to the judge and told her I had made everything up. Biggest regret of my life #1. Secondly, with enough evidence to convict anyway, he fled. He kidnapped my little brother and baby sister, fled the state, and went into hiding.

I found myself living with my biological father in a different state. He had only came to get me after being told I had an SSI check for being a ward of the state that he would receive every month. I never saw that money again. I cleaned his house and cooked his food while he abused his wife and punched holes in the walls on a regular basis. He forced me to pay rent on top of pocketing my SSI checks and when I couldn’t, he quickly kicked me out. I was a homeless youth. I bought a car for $500 and lived in it. I worked two jobs and went to high school. I showered at the local camping sites. I ate leftover pizza in the back of Pizza Hut.

I grew up being told that the things that were happening to my mother and to myself were my fault. All my fault. I was the bad person for existing – and truth be told, most of my adult life has played out in a similar fashion. My existence wasn’t meant to be and because it is, I have caused many problems in other people’s lives and I am the one who feels the consequences. Simply put, I am cursed.

After a party with my best friend, a guy named Jos-, we were heading back to his place with other friends. He drove his motorcycle and the rain was coming down hard on the windy backroads. Around a corner, he lost traction and wrecked. We stopped. He was fine. He lifted his bike up and within….a flash of time, he was scattered across the roadway. An old man in an Econoline van had been speeding and didn’t see Jos-. He hit him dead on. It took a while to register in my brain that he was gone. So fast. I loved him so much. I couldn’t even make it to the funeral, I refused to go because it hurt too much.

The fourth time I tried to kill myself was right after Jos- died. I looked at my life at 20 years old. Nothing. Living in my car, a wreck of a person who couldn’t connect with people. Suicidal from all of the trauma. In a daze, I set out into the woods to kill myself. Before I walked too far in, I prayed to God, whom I had believed in at the time. Growing up, God was my pretend dad. He was a dad that loved me and would never hurt me. He was the best friend that I talked to at night when I couldn’t sleep. He was my imaginary friend that I had sleepovers with. I let him know that I was done. I was ready. I remember asking him to give me a something worth living for or else, this would be my last day. I didn’t get a response, so I walked out into the woods to hang myself with a rope. That’s when I found a tiny puppy. White and fluffy but covered in feces and fleas. One blue eye and one brown. To him, I was the world in that moment. I knew I couldn’t die until I saved him. I’d never want to be responsible for the death of another living thing. In time, he became my reason for living.

We lived in my car together. I got through my diploma and a couple rocky years through college. I held some pretty incredible jobs in this time and eventually joined the Army. I moved to Germany and met a man that I ended up being with for 2 years. During that time, I learned what a Sociopath is. I mean, why not? I had already experienced a pedophile and child abuse, why not add domestic abuse and attempted murder to that experience? It started out with one hit. One hit and “I’m sorry!” One hit turned into two hits and “I’m Sorry!”. I knew the signs. I knew where this was going and still I stayed, because I want to see the best in people and not their worsts. But then came the objects. Beating my face and fracturing my bones with a crescent wrench. Cutting my face open with a set of keys. One day, I made his protein shake wrong. He started screaming at me and I slammed the cup on the counter with force. He picked it up and slammed it into my head. I ran into the bedroom and locked the door. He broke the door to get in. I sat cowered in the corner, trying to protect myself with my hands. He kicked me repeatedly, telling me to fight him. I tried to crawl past him and he crawled on top of me and started choking me. I couldn’t breath. I dug my nails into his hands and that is the last thing I remember. I woke up days later in a german hospital. My trachea was crushed. My ribs were fractured. It hurt to breath. I was covered in bruises. A polizei came into my room to tell me that I had been found at the bottom of a stairwell, unconscious. When they found my ex, he was playing video games and laughing. He was court marshaled, prosecuted under UCMJ, and spent a lengthy amount of time in a military prison. Right before this, a random girl showed up at our door to announce that she was pregnant with his child. I had never known he was cheating on me the entire time.

I have had 2 more suicidal attempts since then, but I am burnt out recollecting these fractions of my trauma. Maybe another day. I want to turn to a couple of other things on my mind, before I close this letter to no one.

First, it is true that I love Bi-. It is true that I will probably never fully get over him. But today, I said goodbye. I sent an email to the void that simply asked him to live a good life. It was my attempt at providing myself with some type of closure. So, at the end of it all, that’s all I want for him – to live a good life. That’s all I want for all of the people that I love. His 31st birthday is on the 30th and I “send” him emails almost weekly and never miss a special date. The 30th will be the first. I have been struggling the last six months regarding him. My loss was profound. He felt like a soulmate to me. But through my friendship with someone who is similar to Bi-, I’ve learned a lot. Just to quote a message from my friend, “What you are feeling isn’t love. It may have been at one point, but love isn’t about sacrificing yourself. Sacrifice can be part of it, but it has to be equal. Love is hard, love requires work, but when it’s so one-sided, it isn’t love, it’s self-destruction. I don’t think Billy ever felt love towards you. With his maturity level, I don’t think he understood, since his level of intimacy with people is so limited. I believe he threw around those words without really understanding what it meant, not just towards you, but to himself as well. You shouldn’t want this, and it’s not giving up (I told him I felt like I was giving up on Bi-). You should want better.

These words are profoundly wise and I appreciate them. It doesn’t “fix” the grief inside, but I know these words have truth in them. I took a step today. No more emails to the void. When I close my eyes, and I see Bi-, I just still see the same man that I fell in love with. It’s impossible for me to see anything different. Six months later and I would give…almost anything to hear his voice. See him. Touch him. Hug him. I don’t want to let go. Of all the things, this part of my letter is what is making my cry right now. But….my friend Monkey is right. Bi- never looked back after he effectively killed himself and I’ve been left dealing with the same grief that comes from an actual death.

A last thing I want to get off my chest, that I need to approach, is my ‘best friend’. Who is no longer anyone. I accept it. I guess.

We had a falling out a couple of weeks ago. He texted me saying he felt as though he was about to go into an anxiety attack and then told me that he got back together with his ex, which he has been lying to me about, and then told me that I couldn’t stay at his place when I flew into town to visit him and another best friend who is getting married. Because his ex, now gf, doesn’t want me around. I had checked in with him a month prior to get the ‘ok’ to stay with him. I was planning to fly in a couple of week early to spend quality time with him, be able to attend my girlfriend’s bachelorette party and also the wedding. I had notified the party that I would be there, provisions were made, and I had to pay out for my share of the costs. Only for him to back out AFTER. What friend does that? What best friend lies to you and hides things from you? I certainly don’t hide things from him. In fact, he’s the only person I trusted and told all of my secrets to. All of them, even the ones that were risque enough to potentially fracture our friendship. Regrets, mistakes, happy moments, all of it. I have never been so vulnerable with anyone in my life. This wasn’t the first time I caught him lying. The incident that happened over Christmas wasn’t the first time he used one of my fears/secrets against me.

So, I feel validation in my anger towards him. I am angry. He broke my trust. I forgive many many things easily….but betraying me is not one of those things. Instead of blowing up, I told him that I needed him to stop talking to me and give me space to cool off. I honestly think that is the first time in….seven years that I asked him to just leave me alone until I was ready to reach out. After a week, I was still angry, but calm enough to extend an olive branch. I sent an email. Then a day or so later, another email. A day or so later, another email. Nothing. No reply. So, I became angry on an entirely different level. When you are in a relationship with someone (any type), there is a constant power dynamic that switches back and forth. By stating that I needed space, I became the person with the power. I was in control of the next step. I processed my feelings and I attempted to reach out. After all, best friends do not stay mad at each other and they always forgive. But him choosing to ignore my emails and not reply shifted our power dynamic. I made myself vulnerable and put my trust out there that he would respectfully reciprocate and play by the best friend rules. He didn’t. He effectively took the power away from me and bestowed it upon himself. What gives him the right!? Now I feel ashamed, abused, abandoned, and manipulated. I am just angry all over again. This entire debacle just makes me realize that you can NEVER trust anyone. Ever. Never believe anything anyone says. Never put down your walls. Never let someone in. Never love someone. Never…nothing…push everyone and everything away. For good. Shut yourself off. You’ll never get hurt this way. You’ll never make my mistakes.

I am not sure what my future holds at this point. I will have to put school on hold until I find a job. I have been placing applications in all over. I’ll never sink, life events just takes a lot longer to conquer. I am my own hero, I always have been. And from the trauma I’ve experienced these last 6 months, I will never let anyone in again. I have no best friend. I have no lover. I have no one except my dog and me.