The Russian Doll

It's trauma in trauma in another trauma that is hidden in yet another trauma. Getting the first wound or the root cause of your deplorable emotional state reminds you of excavating works, ripping off layer after layer. 

The biggest problem is that you must include all these layers and address each one. 

I know everything started with the unsuccessful abortion my non-mother tried to execute on me. I survived it just as I survived a very traumatic birth and her post-partum craziness. However, this knowledge does not let me omit the following ordeal I was subjected to. Every part must be unpacked and treated as if I were taking care of the Russian doll containing many more miniature dolls. I only need to embrace the fact that all of them are broken. 

My current existence is far from imperfect, but my broken Russian dolls make it unbearable as they keep me frozen in the past. The paradox is that the better the life, the stronger the trauma affects it. Why? Because my internal self knows this is the safe place and time to start healing.

Adoption is not an Option

I've never told about that anyone. I didn't even say this thing to myself, I didn't write it down in my diaries, thinking that if I will avoid the truth it would disappear. 

It didn't. 

The truth has this one feature that, when denied, it becomes real 'problem', it grows and tugs us stronger and stronger, until something breaks...

I regret I was born. 

Simple as that. Yet... appalling and unbelievable. 

I regret I came to this world and that I live my life. Why? At the first glimpse, because of the pain I live with. Because of the shame I feel though there is no reason to feel it. 

But when I go down deeper into my emotions, I see this unspoken thought suggesting that I shouldn't be born, because it would make some things easier... 

The question is what things? And for whom?

The demonic answer is that for me. I'm serious. I hear that 'voice' in my head. But this is ridiculous. 

I remember very well the countless situations my mother had been saying that she 'regrets' I was with her, because, if it wasn't for me, she could go out for a date with this handsome policeman... or do anything else. She was the one who was constantly pondering how her life would look like if she didn't have me. And she is not an exceptional situation, for we all heard about parents telling their children that they ruined the parents' lives only by coming to this world. 

So, by thinking I regret I was born, I still protect her. She didn't abort me and this is something good (but nothing extraordinary), however she had no ability to take care of me and she wasn't mature enough to find me someone who would ensure better protection and upbringing for me.

(Un)Aborted

As I wrote in my book "Guide for (Ultimate) Losers", people who survived an abortion or were unwanted (so the abortion was an option), very often are damaged. The natural, given by God, right to live was challenged, just as it was in my case, also after my birth when I was abused, both physically and emotionally.

For the most part of my existence, I wasn't aware of the fact that I am constantly questioning my basic rights and that, in fact, I don't feel worthy of living. My all prayers had been starting from begging Lord for death, for I couldn't stand such a situation. Maybe I was asking for His permission and confirmation that I am worthy of something, not for terminating my life? Of course, as a Catholic, I felt guilty that I don't want to prolong my existence, allegedly the biggest gift of Almighty... But I had to be honest because only honesty had been keeping me in vertical. 

God didn't take my life nor He didn't send me a solution for my problem... I shared the fate of millions of souls from all around the world suffering the excruciating pain of mental illness. And I was trying whatever I could to find the cure. I didn't find it either, but I found the answers and Awareness. I've learned about causes, symptoms and ineffective treatments that cost billions. I read dozens of books. I wrote thousands of pages of my memoirs... I know. I understand. I am aware. I've changed my life. But I am not feeling any better.

There was however something that started brightening the darkness of my 'wounded brain': the actions undertaken by pro-life groups and movements. I felt, for the first time in my life, that someone is speaking my voice, the voice I didn't have. I saw how determined these people are, how they are defending life and that their arguments are logical and real. 

The pro-lifers save not only unborn babies, but they also save everyone.