Behind.My.Eyes

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About Behind.My.Eyes

  • Birthday 12/17/1992

Profile Information

  • Gender identity
    Female
  • Membership Type
    Survivor
  1. Entry 1

    Today was a good day among the river of stress I am feeling. I played dodge ball and it was quite amazing. We had various people come in and out of our lives today. Neighbors, friends, family, soccer team members. All playing their part in our day as we took the time to be children. We took a minute and enjoyed our lives and our laughs and each other's laughs! But life starts back up. I'm going to the doctor in the morning which is probably a close second with being beaten on my list of favorite ways to spend my time. I hate it. The experience is retched and painful. Just hoping I can treat myself like everyone keeps telling me I deserve. I just can't see it.
  2. A couple of things you should know first hand: This all started with a blatant disregard. I'm not ready to tell you about it quite yet. For this tale is being told systematically. When a life altering event occurs, it is simply a mere fact that is left remaining: before and after. So let me introduce myself properly. My name is Elizabeth Claire and I am no longer alive. Please don't be sad, I am not dead in a sad way. Just in a factual sort of way. I died on a rainy day when my brother found me. He was 16, a year younger than me. He happened to have just been coming home when the sun began to rise. I watched him as he walked tiredly through the house, he looked at things for an abnormally long time. It seemed like he found comfort in the familiarity. Our parents were not home. He looked in their room first. Then mine. I watched him closely from above. He dropped to his knees half-way to my bed, then began to crawl. Grabbing the back of my head first. The air left the room as fast as the speed of light. It was so fraught with devastation, the sound was gone too. As he cried, I could feel what he felt. The kind of cry that causes you to choke on everything you had ever felt in this world. The cry where you can hear the pulsations in your ears. He cried like that for a long time. When he finally stopped, he stumbled to the window. Opening it with his shaky hands. The room filled with the sound of rain hitting everything hard. Making various sounds. He crawled into bed. I heard the rain and I heard his muddy boots drop to the floor making two hollow thuds. One. Two. We laid there until cops arrived, which were called by dad to the scene at 11:04 a.m. I feel I should tell you now that I won't reveal how I died on that stormy afternoon at any point in this story. It isn't important. I'll tell you why. The truth is, I died long ago. When I died nobody noticed. I still walked, talked, answered questions. I even asked them too. I found out about my death when I was two years old in the mid of night. I woke up and felt everything begin to shut down. First my heart stopped pumping. Then my lungs stopped contracting. Finally shutting down all together. A murder had been committed. Don't let your mind even begin to think about who, for this story will never introduce them. It's not important. How or who. I was not scared. It was just another fact. A sequence of facts began to form. On the night I died, I pushed my hair behind my ears and quickly walked to the bathroom to wash the blood. So nobody would know. I would tell my mom, dad, and new baby brother in my own time. I spent the night practicing my breaths. My different laughs. Sneezes. Cries. All of those re-learnable things were a blessing. They gave me the time I desperately needed. School made my little aversion to the truth difficult. First in second grade when the Mrs. Havshaw asked us to draw a self portrait. I made a little hiccup when I drew myself with no face. It was an eerie depiction of what I actually saw. Nobody ever mentioned that once you die you stop seeing yourself. Mirrors are blank. Your eyes are hollow with what appears in front of you as black fog. The school counselor asked me a lot of questions which lead to the psychiatrist asking me a lot of questions. I didn't forget to draw happy picture from then on. Rule number one. What they don't know, won't hurt them.
  3. Mini-trampolines but not big ones. Unfinished basements but not finished ones..
  4. Thank you both, words arent necessary. Just knowing people care is enough.
  5. I belong here ive been waiting to post it because its embarrassing. Going into the depths of my trauma. This is a brief summary but take note that unedr these instances are many more. They went on my whole chilhood until we leave Tennessee....... Im going to briefly tell you guys my story. Trigger Warning, but here it goes. I was raped early on in life. I was also raped by two different people. My story begins with a loving working mother and an unloving drug addict father (coke and every other drug). I spent my first 6 years in a large and nice trailor park. The first mans name is R. R had a brother and a mom and step-dad. His parents were married incestuously because theyre cousins. But despite that they were good people(right?) We spent countless xmases with them, like family. J is R's brother. I dont remember much about him. Ive blocked out memories of J and I'm not sure why. Nobody but R knew what his plans were and what was going to happen. R was called gay by my dad and his step-dad for staying with the women and children when we were all together. R babysat for me. Everything aes. He lays me down for a nap and then exits the room. I fall asleep. But when I wake up im in bed with him. My shirts been pulled up, my diaper has a been taken off. And at first im confused and hes smiling on his side facing me. I smile back and slowly look down. He has his fingers inside me. I watch like its a slow moving car crash. Then I look out my window and how I wish I could see it better. But then next thing I know , I am. Im above. Im a ghost. I get to feel what peace is like, floating away from the pain and confusion. In the corner near my white window I float, watching the times R came into my bed........... Im older now and we've moved to Tennessee. I was 7 years old and on my way to living in the perfect small town of Ethridge. Here is where I meet E. We spent most of our time together escaping our family. Busy moms, alcoholic fathers, far away grandparents, grandparents that werent good people. Nobody bothered us but D. I guess because we didnt know we need to escape from him too....... He made me feel very uneasy and uncomfortable. On this day it gets worse. We are all playing together this day and finally go into the basement. Either from the narrow stair case that leads into his grandmothers home or through the wooden cellar door. I sat down in an old school desk surrounded by basement smell while E stood and D shut the door. He came infront of us thinking of games we could play next and then he suggested "Doctor". E said yeah lets play. I said I've never played before whats that? E we'll show you. D pulled the mini trampoline into place while E got undressed. He was watching her as she stripped completely naked. I was terrified. I didnt know if I wanted to play and I looked towards the stairs wondering how I was going to get out of this one. Not again. Not again. It was enough for me to handle being raped for my begginning six years of life. But this too? She laid down for him and I stood frozen and confused. He palptated he vagina like a doctor would and rubbed her and it was too hard to watch. Next thing shes getting dressed and he says its "My Turn". D says " Take your clothes off and lay back so I can make sure everthing is okay down there." So I stupidly did. He did the same thing to me. Digutally raping me and then I black out. Next, I'm standing getting dressed and then blank. I dont know how I got home. D was about 15 years old. The worst part was, I couldnt save E!!! I knew he was going to rape us but I didnt know what to do I was so numb and so young... Too young for so much pain.
  6. That's okay.

    Somedays are good and somedays are bad, that's okay. Somedays- I want to cut myself to pieces, not get out of bed, and cry if I have the strength. Everyone pushes their opinions on you. You should be working it'll fix all of your depression or It could be worse. They just happen to be wrong. No, you should not role over and give up. That would be like falling and never wanting to stand again (more complex but still). You pick yourself back up and sometimes you get to be pissed and take that break and say, I just can't right now. But all is worth it once you get to be able to smile and just breathe. It's all worth it because somedays are bad, but somedays are good. And, that's okay.