Grief for the loss of yourself

Trigger Warning- This post is a writing piece by myself discussing what my experience has been with trauma from a very young age, and surviving a suicide attempt. This will be upsetting for some readers. Please read with caution and always protect your own mental health.

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Sometimes I stay awake at night thinking about her. That little girl in the Princess dress. Her smile missing teeth, her giggle so infectious, and her skin unmarked. I think about how she had no idea about all of what would happen to her. I often wonder what she was afraid of, if anything. I wish I could have saved her. Taken her away before everyone she loved hurt her in any way they could. I would run away with her to a world safer than this one.

That little girl didn't stand a chance. She was gone before she knew how to spell her own name. I wonder what could have been for that little girl. Who would she have become? What would she like? What food would be her favourite? And who would her friends be? Would she like who I am? Would she be proud?

I talk to her sometimes. When I'm scared. When I'm sad. When I'm excited. When I'm alone. When I'm sick. When I do something cool. When I see something I think she would have liked.

I even see her sometimes. In my smile lines. In my pretty dresses. In my pink bed. In my messy hair. In the dark. In my tears. And even in my mirror. She can't see me though. She isn't here. I'm here.

Bad things happened that made me step in. We had to grow up. Be quiet. Stay still. Don't cry. Sit up. Go to school. Eat something. Shut up. Go away. Run. Don't feel. Don't think. Don't speak. Don't look. Go to sleep. Disappear. Escape. Stop. Die.

I made a promise with her. I'd make this all stop. I'd make everything go away. I'd keep her safe. We won't get hurt anymore. I promise. She wouldn't have to do this much longer. I have a plan.

My plan didn't work. We are still here. But now we feel it all. Everything. It's too much. I can't get out my head. Is this some kind of cruel punishment for surviving? Where we suppose to die? Did I do something wrong? Why am I still here? I promised her. I said I'd make it stop.

I don't understand how. But it's been a few years. Well more than a few. And I am still here. Thinking about her. I wish she could see me. I hope she isn't mad at me. I'm sorry I didn't end this for us. I'm sorry every single day. But we have people who care now. I hope she'd like them. I hope she'd like me. I need to know that she'd like me. I did this all for her. Every single breathe is for her. Does she know that? Please tell me she knows that.

We are about to be 25 this year. 25? 25... Would she want to be 25? Did she even know what that meant? Probably not. She was so little. 25 would have felt so big. It still does.

I miss her. And I love her.

Before I tried to die for her. Now I will start to live for her. I'll laugh extra loud, and dance all the time. I'll make new friends, and cherish those who stay. I'll leave my nightlight on, and lay in my pink bed. I'll memorise all the songs, and work really hard. For her. Always for her.

So tonight I'll cry for her. Grieving for her. Missing her. But I'll also wake up for her. Everyday.

-Jen xx