In my almost month and a half long absence, I go to thinking… None of you really know anything about me, apart from the fact that I suffer from severe anxiety and depression. I figured now is a good time to tell you guys about me. Now… Where to begin.
I suppose I should start off with who I am. My name is Jesse, but I go by Valken. I chose the name Valken about 6 years ago. The funny thing is, there is no significant meaning behind the name. I just thought it was a pretty badass name to use in my writing and as a gamer tag. I later added “The Centenar” after it because I thought it went well together. “The Centenar” is also my twitter name. Now, Valken The Centenar is what I go by with everything.
I’ve lived in Kansas for most of my life, starting with a little town called Parsons. I liked small towns when I was younger. Nothing was ever too far to walk, or drive to. Parsons is where it all started.
Like me, most people have things that they wish they would have done differently. For me, it’s that I wish I hadn’t gone outside the summer before I started Kindergarten. I should have just stayed inside the entire summer.
I won’t go into too much detail about it. What I will tell you is that the girl that lived next door to me is one of the reasons why I am the way that I am today. The things she did to me and a few other boys in the neighborhood were unspeakable and unforgivable. It was that summer that I started having trouble sleeping at night.
The really fucked up part is that it didn’t stop there. Fast forward about two years later. We moved from that neighborhood into a new house. My parents then decided that they wanted to adopt another kid. She was a girl named Carolyn. I was so excited because I FINALLY would have someone closer to my age that I could talk to and play with.
It started off great. We would stay up late talking and listening to music. It was starting to feel good to have a slightly older sister to sort of balance things out. We got close enough to where I felt comfortable telling her more personal things. I told her about what happened to me that summer. Now, keep in mind, I hadn’t even told my parents about this yet. I honestly didn’t really understand what was happening at the time because I was so young. She told me that she wouldn’t tell anyone. She even gave me words of comfort. Telling me that it wasn’t my fault and that everything would be ok. They were LIES. ALL OF THEM.
She began to become manipulative. She would make me steal things for her like snacks and drinks from the kitchen at late hours of the night. If I didn’t do what she wanted, she would threaten to tell everyone what I told her. She said she would tell everyone that I wanted it. She wouldn’t let me sleep. If I fell asleep, she would hit me until I woke up.
It got to a point where I had finally had enough. I told her that I wouldn’t do those things for her anymore. She threatened to tell again, but I told her that I didn’t care anymore. I thought that I had finally gotten the better of her, but I was wrong. That night, she snuck into my room and took something from me that I can never get back. She held me down and forced herself upon me. I was 8 years old. I lost my virginity when I was 8. She had taken what little innocence I had left from what the other girl did to me. I still don’t sleep well since that day.
My parents must have suspected something was wrong. I figured this because a few days later, they told us that they were going to the store, but they actually waited in their room to listen to what we were talking about. They heard Carolyn talk about everything she did. She sounded so proud of herself. Shortly after, they called me downstairs and I told them everything that she had done. Carolyn was sent away. It didn’t matter much though… She already took everything from me.
To say that it fucked me up would be the understatement of the year. What they did to me, caused me to do things equally as bad, or even worse than they did. So bad in fact, that I was sent to live with my grandmother in Washington when I was 14 years old. My mom DID take me to a psychologist after what happened with Carolyn. It didn’t help much then because I honestly had NO IDEA what he was talking about. He was just naming all kinds of body parts trying to figure out where she touched me. I really just agreed with everything he said, so I could leave and go back home. I didn’t want to talk to him. I didn’t want to talk to anyone.
My grandmother sent me to a psychologist as well when I was sent to live with her. Again, I didn’t talk. I actually denied everything. I didn’t want to be there. I was just so angry. Angry at them. Angry and ashamed with myself for the things I had done as a result of it. I wanted to die. I thought that was what I deserved.
That Christmas, my mom got me a journal. She thought that if I write things down, it would help. I picked up a pen and began writing. Once I started, I didn’t stop until my hands began to cramp. I filled up 3/4 of that journal in a matter of few hours. It felt nice to write everything out on paper. It didn’t help completely, but it did help a bit.
I wouldn’t end up seeking help on my own until I was 19 years old. I told the Psychiatrist everything that I did and everything that was done to me as a child. That was the day that I was officially diagnosed with depression and anxiety. He prescribed me some drug called Abilify. I hated it. It didn’t really help my depression. It actually made it worse. I would just shut down when I took it. I stopped taking it. I have been put on several others, but none of them seem to help balance things out at all. I kept going to sessions though because at least the sessions helped me to forgive myself, but only a little bit. Apart of me still blames myself. It’s really hard not to.
Now… I am still depressed and anxious. I don’t think that it will ever go away. I still don’t feel like I’ve slept a wink since I was 5. I have the same nightmare every night. Their faces are the only ones I see when I close my eyes. I have moments where everything comes back. I just sit there and stare off into space. Writing helps with that though. Writing things down sort of helps keep the demons at bay.
I often think that my insomnia is more of a punishment for the things I have done. I am still not done paying for all of my sins. Maybe I never will be. For now, I have my paper, pens, and the few friends I have to keep me a little ok I guess.
-Valken
I AM CHAOS!!! 