Makena Roach

I always felt like my time on this earth was limited. When I was a little girl, I lived in my head because the reality that I would make in my head was so much safer. As the sun went down and the sky grew darker and darker I would lie in bed with my eyes closed trying to drift to sleep trying to come up with a new reality in my head but all that I could think about was how scared I was. When I did fall asleep, I’d wake up and just cry. I have done that for as long as I can remember. My dad has been an alcoholic since before I was born and my mother was a workaholic. My mom was miserable with my dad. I think I was only nine years old when she stopped sleeping in her own bed. My mom was my best friend and she would stick up for me when my dad would yell at me until one night my dad lashed out at her and then she stopped. It only took me until last year to realize that my mom may have been my best friend when I was younger but the inner critic I have now is my mom’s words 80% of the time. She was so unhappy with herself, her body, and her life that she projected all of her misery onto me. I needed to lose weight, none of my clothes were flattering on me, I didn’t try hard enough, I wasn’t going to graduate, and so on. I to this day, hate my body. My dad was never really a dad to me but took my brother (who has Down syndrome) to every sports game ever. I used to beg my mom to leave my dad. The only time my dad and I spoke was when he was talking yelling at me. The first time I ever spoke about suicide was to my mom one night after weeks of being yelled at, and crying myself to sleep every night by my narcissistic father during my freshman year. I looked at my mom and said, “ I feel like the world would be a better place if I wasn’t in it.” At this point, I’ve been self-harming for two years. I found out my mom was having an affair when I was 15 and at 16, I moved with my mom and little brother. A few months later I was raped by my boyfriend I was dating at the time. He was a heavy drinker for being just 15 years old and he liked to point at girls with smaller bodies and tell me, “ If you just lost weight, you’d be prettier than them.” After he had raped me, I knew in my gut that what he did was wrong but I didn’t consider it as what it was because why would my own boyfriend rape me? In 2015, I began dating someone I thought was the love of my life. He fooled me because he was actually a psychopath. This psychopath introduced me to meth. I had been dabbling with drugs since High School and a very committed pot smoker since 7th grade but meth quickly consumed every ounce of my body, my mind, and my spirit. I was living with a psychopath, enduring abuse every day and then smoking meth to numb every emotion I had. He stripped me away from my family, friends, and worst of all myself as a human. On August 28, 2017, he attacked me pulled a loaded gun out, and told me he was going to take my life and then his. He choked me, spit on me, and took my keys away so I couldn’t leave. That was the last time I used meth for the next 5 1/2 years. I watched him get sentenced and handcuffed on January 17, 2018. I began drinking, using cocaine, and popping benzodiazepines every night and when I didn’t have to work that day then it was all day. On February 27, 2018, 10 days after my 23rd birthday I attempted to take my own life. I was sent to a psych ward where I spent three days and then my dad picked me up and took me to rehab. I stayed a month and moved in with my dad, stepmom, and brother. I had my new diagnosis of bipolar, I was on medication, I started going to meetings and aftercare and I was doing good until I started drinking again. I was drinking 1 sometimes 2 bottles of wine a night and stopped taking my medication. On October 17, 2018, I was date raped. I woke up the next morning, naked, and drove home while still intoxicated. When I parked and started walking towards the house, my dad came out and we started fighting that night I took roughly 40 or more different medications. I woke up in the ER throwing up and all I remember feeling was pissed. I was sent to another psychiatric ward and spent 5 days. I moved in 2019 to my moms and step dads and I significantly reduced my drinking and got a really good job. I moved back to my hometown two years later to live with my grandpa and my grandma who has stage 7 Alzheimer’s. It wasn’t too long until my old lifestyle slowly crept in. I was living at the bars, doing cocaine, and then in the summer of 2022, I relapsed on meth. The biggest lie I have ever told myself was that I had control over my addiction. I became the biggest liar to everyone around me, including myself. I was getting myself into awful, scary situations, I stopped taking my medications and it didn’t matter. My body also started doing some scary stuff. I started experiencing vasoconstriction. In August of 2023, I was raped and two months later, I finally admitted to myself that I needed help. I detoxed by myself in my room and after three weeks, I used again. In December, I went to the ER and they asked if I wanted help and I declined then two weeks later they called me again and I accepted help but I never followed through. January 8th, I was at my supplier’s house, and around 4:00 AM I looked at him and said I was done and I meant it…. After being clean for a couple of weeks, I couldn’t stop feeling really really depressed. That feeling that I’ve had since I was a little girl was still so strong. I just wanted to die. I wrote a suicide note which is something I didn’t do the last two attempts but this time, I thought I wouldn’t wake back up to have to deal with the consequences of trying to kill myself for the third time. February 13, 2024, I had my outpatient group meeting and when it got to my turn to talk about how I was doing, I didn’t say much, all I could think about was my note. After group, I had my therapy appointment over video and I started telling her that I was “tired” and that “ I wanted to go out fast.” She told me that I either drive myself to the ER now or she has to call the police. I drove myself to the ER and started to tear up. I walked in and saw my best friend of 7 years who works at the ER. The same best friend that sat with me while I was on my first 50-1-50 hold before being transferred out. I was in the ER for 1 1/2 days and then transferred to the psych ward. I spent 7 days and was put on new medications and I left to ward feeling like a new person and for the first time in my life, I didn’t have suicidal thoughts. In March, I slipped after having 76 days clean. That slip-up brought me back to a place that I never wanted to be. I don’t know what is next for me, everyday I am learning how to heal and recover. I do know that I want to help others who have been through similar situations and let them know that they are not alone. I want to share my story.