Silent Cries


God help me. God help me. God help me.

I truly meant it, I was pleading. I was praying. I was begging. Nobody could hear me though. I needed some sort of light in my life. Things were getting so dark. I knew I needed help. I was trying to get help. I was crying out for help. Most of the cries were silent though. Unless it was with him, then I was open and honest about no longer wanting to live. He never thought I meant it though. He never thought I’d actually act on it. I knew it would happen though, eventually. I hadn’t been planning anything, but I also wasn’t looking forward to living either. I was slowly spiraling. I was slowly giving up. I was questioning my life. I knew it was going downhill. I didn’t realize how bad it was getting. Back then, it seemed like it all happened so fast. Now, I see it started small and kept progressing until it became unbearable. Until the pain was so intense that I did the one thing, that I always said I would never do.

I made an attempt. 4 months after that cry for help, I made an attempt. It started as just doing the usual, but then I got the courage and I did it. It’s shocking, I know. Not many people can understand feeling pain so intensely that you hurt yourself so that you can feel something else. I don’t want to elaborate more than that. I don’t want anyone to feel any type of way. So I won’t go into specifics. It was a crazy night though, that’s for sure.

It started off as a fun, normal night. I was finally hanging out with a friend, another former Miss Mexico & Reina de Reinas. I loved this girl! She was so fun to be with! I laughed a lot that night. Nobody would ever have guessed that it would end up with me in a hospital for making an attempt just hours later.

That was the worst morning of my life. The worst 3 days of my life. 3 whole days that I had to stay in the hospital. Well, not even a hospital. It was like hell.

I was so mad and disappointed with myself that I didn’t do it right because now I was in hell. I was taken to the hospital in an ambulance first. They treated me, and then kept me in a room until they could get a hot smelly ass van to take me to the worst possible place I could’ve been at. It was almost literal hell.

This place, was one of the scariest places I’ve ever had to be in. Not only was it in a not so nice part of Tampa, but it was where they would send people who could be a danger to themselves or others. A lot of the people in there though, seemed like they were mostly a danger to others. I was in there 3 days and I was terrified every minute that I was there. I heard the worst stories from the girls I had to share a room with. Molestation and possible rapes happening at that facility amongst the patients. I was like, wow, are they trying to make me want to do it again? Successfully though? Because I didn’t want to be in there at all. Not for one more second. I kept telling myself, “I’m not like these people, I’m not like these people.”

The first day I was there, the nurses could tell I was terrified so they allowed me to be on “bed rest.” Which was so nice of them, but it didn’t stop the fear. I couldn’t sleep. The food was disgusting and stale. It was worse than jail. Seriously. One nurse asked me if I had made a scene when they brought me in? I said no, not at all, why? She then told me because the side I was on was the side that they put the hostile people on. She said the other side was where the calm people were. I said, I guess they just didn’t have any beds.

The doctors in there were useless though. I literally just had to tell them that I didn’t have insurance so if they kept me past the 72 hours I wasn’t going to pay them anyway. So they let me out. The mental health system in America is almost a joke sometimes. I made another attempt just 2.5 weeks later. I was far from ok. I wasn’t going to get any better in there so I lied to get out. I needed help though. I really needed help. They couldn’t provide me the right help. So the second time, I made sure to tell them, DO NOT TAKE ME TO GRACEPOINT.

They didn’t take me there. Thankfully, a bed opened up at the hospital I was taken to this time. So I was wheeled there. It wasn’t necessarily, a nice place to go, but it was much more pleasant than the last. The food was actually good. They actually had us do activities throughout the day. I wasn’t standing by the nurses desk terrified at this place. It was much more pleasant. I was still sad though. I was sad because, of course, I couldn’t stop calling him while I was in there. Calling him over and over again only for him to hang up on me then stop answering or turn the phone off on me. Here I was, contemplating life, trying to find a reason to want to stay, to get better. I kept failing, so something told me it wasn’t quite my time yet. Instead of being grateful, instead of having a new outlook on life, I still couldn’t stop obsessing. I couldn’t stop being scared that I lost you so I kept calling you over & over. All it was doing was hurting me even more.

What I don’t understand, is why when we did an activity in there about what we were going to do different when we got out, I said I wasn’t going to be involved with you anymore. I said that, loud and clear. They wrote it on the board & everything. So why was I sitting there calling your phone every chance I could?

It’s insane how long it took for me to finally find the right help and the right doctors. It’s insane that it has taken so long to find the right help and get me stable.

I had a rough month. January was super rough, like it usually is. This time was different though. This time, I didn’t hurt myself. I realized that in January I reached 3 whole years free of self harm. No mutilation, no hitting, no punching, no hair pulling, nothing. I’ve been coping differently. I’ve been coping in more healthy ways. I barely even drink anymore. I don’t turn to alcohol when I’m dis regulated. I try as best as I can to use the skills I learned in DBT treatment. They work sometimes, they help a lot. I still get intrusive thoughts. I still often have those, scary, passive, thoughts too. I don’t act on them though. I don’t want to, I don’t plan to. I hope I never end up in a hospital for an attempt ever again.

I’ve learned that this is my brain, this is my life, it’s like a cycle. I’m stuck in a cycle and I’ll probably be stuck in it forever, because that’s bipolar disorder.

It’s how we react when we are in different phases of that cycle that actual show the person we are. I don’t hurt myself anymore, I actually reach out for help. I speak up. I take action. I’m so proud of how far I’ve come. I’ve made a lot of progress in 3 short years. I’m so excited to see what more I can do with my life, now that I actually care about it. Now that I actual can envision a future, one where I’m happy to be alive. 💚

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