Guest Blogger: What Do You Want to Be? by Brook from Redhead Reverie

Every Friday we feature a guest blogger, sharing a story, perspective or opinion. If you’d like to be a guest blogger, contact us to get involved.

“Do you want to be a victim or a survivor,” my therapist asked me.

I couldn’t answer her.

This was my fourth suicide attempt. This time it was BAD. ER doctors, stomach pumping, a two-day stint in ICU, and a week stint in the psych ward kind of bad. I guess that’s what happens when you down half a bottle of your anti-depressants with a Captain Morgan chaser.

How the hell did I get here?

I met a guy and after a whirlwind romance we moved in with each other. Everything was great I thought I was in love and this was it “the one”.

Then it happened.

“You’re a fucking bitch.”

I stood there like a deer in headlights. Was he talking to me?

Then he said it again and laughed. “Oh, I’m just kidding, can’t you take a joke.”

Really…I was speechless. The warning alarm kept sounding in my head, but I ignored it.

For a while life was good. He would say how lucky he was that he found me, and we would talk about getting married. But then out of the blue I’d hear “Stop eating your cereal like that you sound like a pig.”

As the months passed I spent my time walking on eggshells wondering what in the world would set him off. One day it could be that I wore too much make-up. “You look like a whore with that shit on your face.” The next he would be sweet as sugar talking about buying rings and spending the rest of our lives together.

“Whore”

“White trash”

“Fucking Bitch”

Words I began to hear on a daily basis.

To him I was a verbal punching bag. And while no one could see the bruises, they were there on the inside.

I was in a constant state of fear and self-loathing. My formally healthy 120 pound frame dwindled to 90 pounds, I cried at the drop of a hat and became needy and co-dependent. Everything I never wanted to be, in essence I was a victim. The only way to find relief was to find a way out. “The boyfriend” had isolated me from all my friends, so I didn’t have a support system to turn to. Instead, I decided I’d just “end it”.

And that’s what led me to this moment.

I sat in that office that I knew so well. In the yellow gingham overstuffed chair, which was more comfortable than the couch and closer to the Kleenex. And with tears streaming down my face I said “Survivor.”

Brook is a spunky redhead who shares her views on life, love, kids and the world via her blog Readhead Reverie. She never sugar coats it and never acts like she’s perfect, because truthfully wouldn’t that be so FREAKING BORING.