Running Screaming

Torment

The torment of having something you felt so ready to lobe and care for, even when you weren't ripped right from your waiting arms is torturous. It makes you wonder what the hell you did to deserve the hate. To deserve to be treated like shit. And in the beginning, I had what I felt was a support system. But my depression spiraled out of control quickly, and my days were filled with only the black and the white. I found no joy unless it was on the days I got to see her. My Lia. My purpose. I needed her.

I needed her to know how much I loved her. I constantly cried myself to sleep. I needed my baby. I woke in the night multiple times, shaking and crying as I imagined the pain of her being ripped from my grasp over and over again. The torture and the torment leaving me a living zombie. The bags under my eyes spoke for themselves, retelling the sad tale that I never slept anymore, even if some thought that would be a decent escape. My dreams weren't safe. I wasn't safe. I relived them taking her from me every night.

I became so heavily depressed, not allowed to have my baby overnight. I wanted to find the nearest ditch and die. I wanted to feel the bitter bite of a blade cutting into me over and over again. Cutting used to be my not so healthy escape. I came from a place I wasn't happy... I wanted love and purpose. But I was ripped from what small amount I had so cruelly and cast deep into the dark. No end seemed to be in sight. My eyes were dull and empty. I didn't want to go on like this. There was no hope.

I jumped through hoops desperately, trying to find some middle ground to benefit the social workers but only recieved the run around every time. I tried to make them happy even at the cost of my own happiness. I didn't even know what that word meant anymore. It was a foreign concept. My eyes were constantly bloodshot from the tears and the amount of times I rubbed my eyes over and over again, hoping that I would wake up and this would all just be some sick nightmare that the sleeping medicine concocted to check my reality.

But reality is a cruel, bitter and unforgiving mistress. She gives us what she wants and fucks our opinions. What did I want for my life anyways? I used to want to be an author... Or maybe an artist? Or a poet. But I didn't care about anything anymore. I hated myself. I was weak. I dragged myself through this nightmare, flinching at the shadows. At voices... At even the concept of being around others. I couldn't handle what they might think of me. I couldn't breathe. The air in my lungs always seemed to suffocate me, always in tears.

The crying never seemed to end. Every time the social worker took Lia away, every time I had to say goodbye I began to hate myself even more for being so useless. For being so helpless. Months were passing and I was missing her smiles.. Her laughter, her growth and everything in-between. I only got to see her twice a week. Joined visits with Andy. But as time dragged on, even the visits were not a safe place. He began to shut me out. He began to become a stranger. But I thought maybe we could do this together.

Even that didn't last. He began to pick fights with me in front of the social worker. And in turn, that social worker reported it to DCF. The DCF used that against us in court, as well as the fact that we were not very well off. Even though now, I was working 12 to 14 hours a day in a factory, ending late at night or the wee hours of the morning to make ends meet. I worked an average of 56 hours a week at just over minimum wage, dragging my body through hell every single day.

And it still wasn't enough. I guess I just wasn't worth much. Before I knew it, a year had passed, and they wouldn't let me see my daughter on any holiday. Not even on her birth day. I became even more depressed. I wanted to disappear. Did anyone feel that raw, gaping hole in my heart? The agony no one could even understand? At this point, I was pushed away by Andy's family over something I supposedly messaged his grandfather. Something I have no memory of and they don't have anything to prove I did even though they say they do.