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My name is Roni Nixon, and this is my story

I am 20 and I survived Suicide


To say my life has been hard will probably be the biggest understament of the year. My life started out hard. I was born premature, which is hard to over come, but I did. Then around the age two or three, my brother, sister, and I were moslested by my mothers husband, who at the time was thought to be my father. We went through court and he was charged with 2 counts of sodomy in the 1st or 2nd degree. He got 30 years in state prison. Fast forward to 8 years old, I find out the person who molested me wasn’t even my father, and that the truth was that my real father didn’t even know I exsisted.
After my mother brought in a string of endless men in and out of my life, mom met the man who she married(her third one), and the man who became my father for all intents and purposes. What I didn’t know, was that he was abusing my mom. Fast forward to 5th grade, mom and “dad” got a divorce. Mom and I were living in Virginia as she was attending law school there. “Dad” wanted custody of me, because mom was in a legal battle of her own, one that ended up with her in federal prison, twice. “Dad” won custody of me and I was forced to go live with him. “Dad” was an alcoholic, though if you asked him he wasn’t. I hated living there, and all we did was argue. He told me I was a horrible child and that I would end up and whore and exactly like my mother, who was still in prison at the time. I was so lost in who I was that after 2 and 1/2 years of the abuse, which included emotional and physical abuse, I thought the only way out was to commit suicide, but I told my counselor about it and she told my grandmother and they took me to the hospital and I got admitted to a behavioral unit at a children’s hospital in Cincinnati, OH. After two weeks there, a prescription for Celexa, and a diagnosis of Manic Depressive(Bipolar) I was allowed to come home, but only to the same man who was abusing me, even though I told the hospital what was going on. A few weeks after that, because I felt like I was on my own in my life and no one would listen to me, I turned to drugs. It first started out with drinking, and then turned into the hard stuff, pills, crack, and occasionally heroin and weed. No one new what was going on. “Dad” just assumed that he had drunk more that he thought he did, I could easily hide any morals from the drugs because I was used to hiding bruises. I was around 12 and 13 years old at this time.
Finally after many fights, “Dad” called the cops on me, and so called my grandmother, after seeing the state that “Dad” was in, the cop allowed me to go with my grandmother, that week “Dad” gave POA to my grandmother for school, financial, and medical. He didn’t give up custody because he would have lost his Foodstamps and Medical card. I switched schools after 8th grade, and got clean. I started therapy and have been in therapy since.
For about 6 years I was doing good. Once I was out of school, I started drinking and smoking weed again, which led to a 30 year old boyfriend that had me smoking crack again. Once I realized what was happening I got out of that relationship and got clean, again. I had quit therapy after I graduated high school, and had gone off my meds. I knew I needed to go back to therapy and go back on my meds, so to my therapist and psychiatrist I went. I started recovery, again. I did great. I was feeling better, but still had uneven moods and was sleeping unhealthy amounts. So I talked to my psychiatrist, she started playing with my medicine to find the right mix, which is a good thing but, as I found out, it can blow every mental health issue you have way out of control. As a caregiver for someone with Alzheimer’s Disease, being unable to control yourself is not good for any one. So, at the end of July 2017, I had enough of the way I was feeling. I had enough of my life. I was done. And I truly thought everyone would be better without me. So, I wrote my goodbyes down. I took all of my medicine and a whole bottle of Tylenol PMs. I put in my headphones and put in my music(which I still use for an escape) and went to sleep. I thought that was it. I was gonna finally be happy. I was gonna finally be okay. And then, I woke up. I had lived, and I was pissed. I thought, “This was not supposed to happen. Why am I still alive?” Mom told me I started throwing up during the night and threw up everything in my system before it had the chance to kill me. I waited two days before I went to the dr, and told her the truth, that I would do it again, if I had the chance. So, I got admitted to the behavioral health unit at my local hospital, and I was diagnosed with Bipolar, Major Depressive, and Borderline Personality Disorders. I am now in recovery, I see my therapist at least twice a month, and I am on medicine that works great for my disorders. I feel better and better everyday. I am going back to college, I am looking for a job, and I am happy. There is hope, so don’t think there isn’t. It was almost too late for me to find it. Don’t let it be too late for you.

If you are feeling the way I did. Call someone, get help. I know the hopelessness and helplessness you are feeling. It will get better, trust me.


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