You Can't Drown Your Sorrows

Have you ever tried to run away from your own problems or tried to drown your sorrows? I have. Let me tell you, it’s not easy. It was actually the worst experience of my life.

I came from decent sized family, containing myself, my parents, and my two brothers. I was the middle child, so in my mind I was always seen as the least favorite. On birthdays, my siblings always go presents and parties. I went four years with only getting a Shop-Rite cake. I wasn’t close at all with my mother, but I was very close to my Dad. He was the one that helped me with homework, practiced soccer with me, and taught me how to swim, ride a bike, and rollerblade.

When I was in eighth grade, my parents got a divorce. I was left with my mother, while my two brothers got to go live with my Dad. Three days later, my first dog died. It broke my heart knowing I wasn’t home when it happened. She was my best friend and then in an instant she was gone. I stopped eating for a few weeks, and even went mute for a while. Eight Grade was the worst year of my life, but honestly High School wasn’t any better.

I never was jealous of anything in my life, but I have to admit, I was envious of my siblings. While I was stuck with the devil herself, they got to be with my Dad. To this day, I’m still convinced that my mom only kept her curly hair to hide her horns. My freshman year, she started dating again, and soon her boyfriend was more important than I was. They forgot that I also lived in that house and they acted like they were a young couple in love. They stopped feeding me, checking if I was alive and home, and stopped caring about me in general.

I really didn’t understand why I suddenly disserved this type of treatment from my own mother. I couldn’t figure out when she decided I wasn’t good enough for her anymore. I was the only child she had left, speaking my other two siblings refused to acknowledge her anymore. I was still here though, so why was I the one being punished?

I missed my dog. She was always there when I needed someone to talk to or hug, even if she couldn’t respond, and I really needed her now. My Dad kept dragging my Mom to court, trying to gain custody of me, but she wouldn’t let him. The court even had DYFS come and talk to me in school about my mother, but even then I still had to stay with her. All I know is that she was making my life a living hell, and court orders did nothing to help me.

So what did I do? I tried to take all my pain and sorrows and drain them out of me. Every night I’d lie on the roof with a little wooden box next to me. I’d stare into the sky and think about everything in my life that was wrong. Then, I’d sit up and pull a small, metal razor out of the box. Pressing it against my skin, I’d slide it sideways slowly, letting the red liquid pour out of the wound, bringing all my pain and sorrows with it. I thought drowning them in blood would make me happier. Boy was I wrong.

My older brother saw all the scars on my arm, and immediately told my Dad. He was disappointed in me, but he knew that it was my Mom’s fault. It was then brought up in their next court hearing, and even then my Dad couldn’t gain custody of me. Instead, my Mom was forced to take me to a therapist.

My therapist was a nice lady, about forty years old. For the first month, our weekly, hour-long appointments were spent in silence. She’d examine me and take notes, while I’d listen to the ticking of the cat-clock on the wall. To this day, those clocks still freak me out. At our fifth meeting, she surprised me. Instead of our normal silence she started telling me about her friends, family, and life in general. I listened carefully, taking in all her hand gestures as she spoke. When she was done, something compelled me to open up to her. I told her everything, including why I wanted to drain and drown my sorrows. It was that day she gave me the best advice of my life.

I continued to see her weekly for a year until my Mom stopped paying for me to go. I was upset, but that wasn’t going to affect me. I knew I had to take my pain and sorrows head on and take control of my own life. My Dad knew what I was planning to do, and he couldn’t have been happier. After this, my life would get a whole lot better.

On my eighteenth birthday, I broke out. My Dad was waiting for me outside with a truck and everything I owned was packed away in garbage bags. My Mom and her boyfriend wouldn't let me go up to my room when they found out what I was planning on doing. They told me I wasn’t allowed to leave, but that decision wasn’t up to them anymore, nor was it the court’s decision. I was an adult now, and I was able to make my own choices. I had to call the cops so I could get my stuff. They told my Mom that I was legally allowed to take my stuff and leave and she couldn’t stop me. She reluctantly let me, but she wasn’t happy about it. My Dad moved me into my Grandparents house about 10 minutes away so I could continue to go to the same High School. That night I had the best night’s sleep ever. I felt like I could be happy again, and like I could live my life to the fullest.

My therapist was the light that guided me out of my dark days. She was the reason I’m still alive today, and I will never forget what she told me. “You can’t drown your sorrows. They know how to swim.”