Part 3: Suicidal Tendencies; January 5, 2016; 6:34 pm

I decided to make this a trilogy. I don’t know how others cope with sexual assault, but I think it’s important for me to share my story in order to heal.

I was in the deepest depths of despair when I wrote this. A place I don’t ever want to be again. Writing pulled me out of the darkness when I was alone. Writing saved my life.

Jan. 5, 2016 6:34 pm

2016 is going terribly so far.

I wanted to kill myself today. Take a few handfuls of pills and fall asleep and never wake up. It would be so easy. Nobody cares if I’m here or not. I’d make all their lives easier if I was gone. 

Everyone always says suicide is selfish, but maybe it’s not selfish? Maybe it’s selfless instead? Take myself out of this world and make it easier on everyone I love. They deserve better than me. I’m just a burden on them all. 

I’m useless. I’m a useless human.

A fucking succubus. 

All I do is take and I give nothing. Even when I try to give, I end up taking more. They don’t need that. They don’t need me. Should’ve just let me die when I was a kid. At least then I could’ve went out as an innocent.

I should just swallow a handful of pills and be done with it.

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Outside Mental Illness: April 26, 2004

This post is not about me, not really. I am twenty three years old and my best friend at the time started behaving very oddly, it seemed, overnight. One day she was her normal, fun, weird self, and the next she was this babbling, incoherent, paranoid stranger. It hit my group of friends pretty hard. No one knew what to do for her, we were helpless and afraid, and I feel a lot of guilt and shame to admit that we abandoned her, not immediately, but we did. 

4-26-04

What a week this has been! Armenta has completely lost it. And by lost it, I mean, her mind. I don’t know what the fuck has happened to her, but she’s freakin’ everyone out pretty badly. She thinks the cops are out to get her and me, and  everyone else is either helping them or is being watched by them. I don’t know what to do. No one does. Rachel and I are hoping that her parents will do the right thing and get her to a doctor to be checked out, but for some reason it seems highly unlikely. 

She said a solar eclipse made her this way and she had some weirdo vision that she won’t/ can’t explain to anyone. All I know is that it had something to do with eternal love, Julia and Jason’s wedding, and starting up some business at Elizabeth Park. That’s about all we could get out of her. 

Everything she says is in bits and pieces, not in any kind of logical order. Very scattered and vague. She hasn’t been eating or sleeping, and I guess she told Rachel that every time she has a “clear” thought, she gets a severe headache. That’s how she knows she’s right about all these things. 

I really hope she gets help. I don’t know what to do for her. I feel bad because I don’t want to be around her, but she scares the hell out of me. And everyone else. I feel helpless. She doesn’t have a clue. All logic and reason are completely gone. She’s so paranoid. I wonder how long all this has been happening? I know it’s been longer than this past week, had to. She’s totally snapped.

Chronic Illness: September 25, 2003

I’m watching Mortified Nation on Netflix. If you’re not familiar, it’s a fun doc where people share stories from their adolescent diaries and journals. It is highly entertaining and really, I don’t know, gives me some kind of validation for sharing my own journal entries. We’re human. We can relate to each other through shared experiences. I gladly share my experiences with you.

I never really know what I’m going to share until I start flipping through my many journals. I originally planned on sharing something more lighthearted in this post, but stumbled on this instead. This entry comes four months after finding out my transplant had failed. I was twenty two years old, and a party girl.


9/25/03

It’s amazing how quickly your life can change. In an instant things can take a three hundred sixty degree turn. I was doing well before. New friends, no boyfriend, parties, and then BAM, the next thing I know, I need a new kidney, for the second time around. The worst part is that I could, quite possibly, have to go through all of this again.

Sometimes I feel so alone. Actually, more than sometimes. Yet, I feel like I have to put on a happy face and pretend that everything is just peachy keen.

“How are you doing, Rachel?” They always ask. 

It’s like it’s programmed into me, “oh fine,” or “I’m good.” 

Well, I’m not good, goddammit! 

I’m not fine. I’m on dialysis. I have a tube hanging out if my stomach. I don’t have any kind of a social life because I’m chained to my bed every night around 9:00. I have to take pills for the rest of my life. I give myself a shot in the leg once a week. I have to follow a strict diet. I have two uterus’. The closest thing to sex in six months was a vaginal ultrasound. I have no money and no friends. But other than that, I’m just super, thanks for asking.

[ In the margin I have written: I’ve had things done to me that no person should ever have to go through. ]

If I actually told people the truth, they wouldn’t know what to do. They’d just stand there staring with their mouths hanging open, not knowing how to respond. Wanting desperately to run away. 

They can do that, run away, I can’t. I am constantly, forever, until I die, reminded that I’m sick. Even when the dialysis is gone and the tube is gone, I will forever have scars on my stomach, and pills to take, and doctors monitoring me very closely. Labs to be drawn and appointments to be made.

People just don’t get it, so they will continue to ask me how I’m doing and how I’m feeling, and I will continue to answer them in the same old way. Knowing in my heart that there are sunnier days ahead of me. All this is just temporary. 🙂


10/9/03

I tried to end it on a good note but it’s bullshit. Why do I lie to myself? This sucks.


10/7/03

I’m losing my hair. There’s nothing I can do about it.


Part 2: Self Destruction; December 30, 2015; 1:33 am

After my previous post, I continued looking through that particular journal and found this entry, which I think is equally as important, and gives some clarity to the Despair post.

December 30, 2015 1:33 am

I’m on a path to self destruction. I’ve been on this path since high school, I think. Maybe longer? 

So many emotions have been surfacing over the past, I don’t know, six months or so? Even more so the past couple weeks… since the assault. I haven’t written about it yet. I’m afraid to. I’m afraid of a lot of things. I only pretend to be brave to save face. It’s a conditioned response, I think?

I don’t think I’ve written about any of my tragedies really. Ignoring them, or glossing over all the painful, horrible,destructive shit storm of events that has plagued my life over the past few years, does not deserve to be glossed over. It deserves attention. I haven’t been dealing with my problems, I’ve been ignoring them. For years. Years, I have been ignoring all the mental pain and anguish that comes along with physical pain and destruction. It’s made me crazy. It’s made me a complete lunatic. I’m out of my goddamn mind.

Now that I’ve decided to deal with these things, I’m bubbling over. The sexual assault hasn’t made things any easier.

Every time I feel like I’m finally getting it, I’m standing on my own two feet again, I get hit with something even worse. Am I creating these disasters for myself? 

I’m bringing all this destructive negativity on myself?

I’m doing something wrong. I have to be. It’s too many bad things happening in such a short period of time. I have to be doing it myself. Why? Why am I trying to destroy my life? Why do I make myself feel so bad? I don’t want to feel bad. I don’t want to be negative. I don’t want to be this version of myself. It sucks. It’s not fun. It’s exhausting. I don’t want to be fucking tragic.

Where do I go from here? I would run away from myself.

I don’t want to be that. What do I want to be?

I want to be fun. 

I want to be nice.

I want to be loved.

I want to be secure.

Secure with myself, secure financially…

I’ve been destructive for way too long. It’s time to stop now. I have to for my own good.

2:59 am

I told N. That I feel like I’m dismantling. I felt like such an idiot saying that out loud. I do feel that way though. I feel like I’m going through some weird change, mentally. I’m crumbling. I’m the biggest mess I’ve ever been in my life.

When I first moved to Ypsi, I decided to allow myself to cry. Anytime I feel like crying, I let myself cry. The more I stop trying to suppress it, the easier it has become to cry. But how can I stop? I’m crying constantly. Years and years of holding back my sadness is now gushing out of my face at record speed. 

I need to just cry it out. 

I can’t sleep. I haven’t been sleeping. I’m just up all night. Sometimes I feel like I’m going crazy, like maybe there’s something wrong with me.

It was really hard to write that. Putting that down on paper makes me feel weird. I tried explaining it to N, but I don’t think he understood.

3:53 am

I feel like I’m a baby, just been hatched. RAW. Completely exposed and vulnerable. I feel like I’ve been pushed up out of my shell and now I don’t know what to do with myself? Everything just seems so much smaller and insignificant- by evertything I mean work, pretty much. It just doesn’t seem as important anymore. After everything that happened, both jobs seem very insignificant. I’m ready to move from Detroit. I need to make the final split and cut the cord.

Part 1: Despair; January 8, 2016; 4:04 am

This was hard for me to read. It made me cry which makes me think I should share it. I’m still not over it. I’m fooling myself in order to move on. Is it healthy? Does it promote healing, or am I just repressing? The grief is still here, hiding, buried, festering.

This entry comes three weeks after being drugged and sexually assaulted by two of my coworkers at our work holiday party. This is one of the 3 photos of me that night, then I disappeared. 

Jan. 8, 2016 4:04 am

Tonight I was mean to Buddy. ☹️ My poor, innocent, sweet, sweet little puppy. I hit myself a couple of days ago. Punched myself in the head. Now I’m hitting my dog.

This is not good.

I called this place called Safe House in Ypsi. Some non profit, battered and abused women’s shelter and counseling.

There’s a three week waiting list.

I don’t know if I’m gonna go? What can they tell me that I don’t already know to be true?

I’m conflicted.

What to do?

I put in a few job applications today. That’s how I’m dealing. Goodbye Detroit.

Goodbye Detroit. I need to move on. It’s no good for me. I’ve outgrown it and being sexually assaulted by my friend and a coworker is the perfect ‘Fuck You!’ send off.

I told Patrick about the assault today. I need an ally at [work], even though I plan on leaving there after I get back from Nicaragua.

The woman at the crisis center told me to see a doctor and get antidepressants. I don’t want to do that. Anti anxiety pills would be nice. I have a few.

I got distracted by police lights and lost my train of thought…….

Time for sleep anyway.


Motivation: March 22, 2004

Been a few days since I’ve posted anything; not sure if I have it in me to post every single day? It’s a nice thought, but I am just an overall lazy person, or maybe it’s apathy? I don’t know, but it’s been a life long struggle.

In this entry I am twenty three years old, and it has been a few weeks since my second kidney transplant, I was writing a lot of poetry.

3/22/04

How do I motivate myself? What do I need to do to wake up? Wake up! Come on now, SNAP out of it!

There’s nothing to do around here! I’m not the only one who feels this way.

We are the generation of the Hopelessly Numb!

We have nothing to look forward to; nothing but death!

Yet there’s all of this pressure. Pressure. Pressure. Get married. Get a job and make lots of money. Hurry up! You’re wasting you’re life away!

There’s no time. Run! Run! Run!

Around and around the hamster wheel we go.

Always running, but never really getting anywhere.

It’s a vicious cycle. Life. What is Life anyway? And is it really all that viscous?

Some people think. Some don’t.

Think

Think

Think

Think lovely thoughts. Take lots of pills. We’re all in a medicated state, whether we know it or not.

Think. Think. Think. 

But not too much. Who really needs to think anyway? 

Forget thinking.

Let’s watch TV.

The Devil’s advocate. The Devil or the Government?

Is there a difference? Are you making a difference? If you are, will it truly count in the END?

Will anyone even remember? Does anyone even care? Not as far as I can tell.

Numb. Dumb. Bored.

A generation of lost souls. Nothing to look forward to. Nothing to get excited about. 

The passion is gone. 

What little there was to begin with.

Brain Power

Man Power

Nintendo Power

That’s about all that’s left.

Intellectual conversations are few and far between. Why?

Aggravation

Irritation

Stimulation

Who wants to deal with that? We might get offended. Good! Get mad. 

Think 

Think

Think about where you stand, who you are, what you know?

Start making conscious decisions. Take responsibility for your actions, 

words, 

life!

It’s no one’s fault but your own.

If you don’t like it,

Change it.

It sounds so simple, maybe it is as simple as it sounds? We are a generation of lazy.

I blame technology. A hinderance and a help. A double edged sword.

How do we have our cake and eat it to? Is there even a way? 

We are a generation of  robots and scholars.

When will we get out of this funk? When will we learn how to enjoy ourselves? When will we dance?

Dancing is the path to freedom.


The Meaning of Life: December 31, 2001; 4:20 am

In this entry, I am twenty years old, I’m in my second year at Wayne State University and I’m super into photography.



December 31, 2001 4:20 am

I was watching Pink Floyd’s The Wall today with Jon. It made me think about stuff. (naturally) Take the meaning of life, for example. 

My interpretation- the meaning of life is DEATH. We (as humans) are animals. Just like everything else on the Earth, we are all ONE with the planet. In this I mean “From dust unto dust you shall return”. After we die and our souls leave our bodies, our physical self begins to decompose. Eventually, our bodies will turn back into soil, and the nutrients (or whatever) moves throughout the soil and turns into something else. A plant, a rock, a flower, a bird, food for other animals, I think you get the picture. Everything that is living will die and then decompose and then be reincarnated. It is a cycle. We are all part of the Earth. Even our souls are part of the cycle. 

I believe in heaven and hell. The reason for hell is easy- Population Control. When we die, at the moment we breathe our last breath, our soul leaves our body and goes to stand in line to see God. When you finally get to see him, you chat it up for a minute, then he shows you your life from beginning to end. The whole thing and commercial free! 

Then he asks you,”Where do you deserve to go? Heaven or Hell? And you will choose your own fate. But because you’re standing before God, you will not cheat- it’s impossible. You’ll know where you deserve to go. If it is heaven, you are represented on earth by a star. That is why the Universe is always expanding. Then, eventually, your turn will come to receive a body once more (only if you please) and go back to Earth to live once more reincarnated appropriately from consequences of past actions ( good/ bad).  That is why the Universe will contract as more people are reincarnated, which brings me back to hell.

I said it was population control because if you were “bad” in your life, you don’t get to be reincarnated. And you have to spend eternity in your worst nightmare/ fear. Unless you win the monthly lottery and get a second chance to redeem yourself back on Earth. Don’t mess up.

That is my idea for the afterlife. I am confident that I will be a star! 


Harsh realities: February 10, 1996.

Since I decided to start this blog I have been going through my old journals, beginning with middle school. It’s a wonderful feeling to be able to go back in time through my own writing. I really began to get the hang of it around my freshman year of high school.

I want to share a page from my diary with you, I was fourteen years old and had just started going to a new school at this time:

2/10/96

Hello. My life sucks! Me & Carrie haven’t been friends for almost 9 months! But I don’t care, she’s a loser anyway! I mean she was my best friend for three years! I’m kinda glad we’re not friends cuz just about everyone at the high school hates her & Melissa! 

I joined the volleyball team at school thinking that maybe I’d make some new friends. Boy was I WRONG! I don’t think any of them like me, and I’m pretty sure they talk about me all the time, but I don’t know why?! I’ve never done anything to make them not like me; except maybe make the team instead of some of their friends. There’s a couple of girls who are nice to me, but most of them have never said more than five words to me. I don’t talk because basically I don’t have anything to say. They don’t invite me anywhere so how am I supposed to make conversation if I don’t know anything about them? 

We have a tournament coming on the sixteenth and yesterday we all went to my coach’s house to make signs for everyone. I’m like the only one who doesn’t have one cuz no one wants to make me a poster. I’m so nice to them even though I can’t stand most of them and they still don’t like me. I’d do anything for them (almost) just to feel accepted by them. I don’t have many friends and I wish I did. I know a lot of people but I’m not ” friends” with most of them. I think it’s mostly because I didn’t go there last year. I want to go to catholic high school like Aquinas or Cabrini or something. There I know I have friends!

Then there’s people like Des and Lindsay who think I have a ton of friends and I’ve had a million boyfriends (when actually I’ve never had a boyfriend and everyone thinks I have) I WANT ONE! But I’m not pretty enough so guys don’t like me. It seems like every time I get close to a guy where I can tell he likes me- I do something to screw it up and bye bye boyfriend.

I wish I looked different- long blonde hair, green eyes, thinner lips and nose. Kinda like a Barbie doll. Oh well. I hate my life!

P.S.  I forgot some guys do like me- not many but some and they’re cute too, Rick (I think and I hope!) and Justin. He’s cute but I’d never go out with him- he’s too much of a flirt! 

I ❤️ some people!

*On a side note, I tried to find my ninth grade volleyball team photo but I don’t have it. I’m fairly certain it has been destroyed.*

Second post

Having some issues with this app. I just lost everything I wrote because it crashed. It’s annoying.

I’m trying to figure out how to get this blog off the ground. I don’t have any particular audience in mind; women maybe? I haven’t written anything public since college. I pretty much just write for myself.

I started looking through my very first journal today. It’s pretty funny, mostly just a daily play by play. It begins June 31, 1991, a month before my tenth birthday, on the night before I got my first kidney transplant.

I wish I could tell you there are some profound words of wisdom coming from my child mind, but there aren’t. It’s pretty boring really. I had no idea what the point of a diary was, but it’s cute, and I continue journaling to this day.

One thing is for sure, I will always be a writer.

My first post

How do you figure out what to write?  According to the Internet, I should find a theme, post interesting content, and post often. Super. Thanks for the help.

I have always kept a journal. They have gone through a few incarnations, but I have kept every single one. I have somewhere around twenty five years of written material sitting in a trunk. As I get older, I have been thinking about what to do with all of this, and I wanted to write a book, an autobiography/ memoir type of deal, but I believe now it will work better as a blog.