Tasha submitted her story as part of our Overcoming Adversity Contest
It started when I was 7 years old. My parents split up, and I moved with my mother and her new boyfriend. Soon after she got pregnant with my brother, and her boyfriend kicked us out. After that, we moved. When my brother was born, my mom was more interested in drugs, alcohol, and men rather than my brother and myself. I was 8 years old, taking care of my infant brother.
Most of my childhood I do not remember. At the age of 16, my mother introduced me to meth. I loved it – a lot. I met a guy and started dating. After three months, I became pregnant with a boy. When I found out I was pregnant, I did not touch meth again until I stopped breast-feeding. That was in 2003.
On Jan. 1, 2011, I decided to quit doing dope. The guy and I were together for 12 ½ years. In that time, I found out from a few different people that when I was younger my mother used to drug me and pawn me off for meth – which explains a lot.
Shortly after my children’s dad and I split up, I got back in contact with a guy that I had known for years, and we started talking. We were together for about 15 ½ months before I ended it with him. My emotions were all over the place, and Jan. 30, 2015, I had decided I had had enough of all the hurt, anger, pain and disgust in myself. I took about 100 pills of different types and drank, trying to end my life.
My 2 boys were at their dad’s house for the weekend. I went to the bar like I do sometimes, and on my way home, I just couldn’t take it anymore. On my way in to my bedroom, I said good night and I love you to my father, went in and closed my door. I sat on my bed, cried and finished my suicide note. Then I proceeded to take all the pills I had in my room. I sat on my bed, grabbed my knife and took some pain out on my arm like I always do. Then I lay down, texted my boyfriend and said goodbye. My boyfriend lived about an hour away from me, and I guess didn’t like how I was talking. He tried calling, but I wouldn’t answer. The next thing I remember I woke up in the ICU 27 hours later.
Come to find out, he drove over to my house and called 911. At the hospital, a couple of people came to talk to me to see if I was fit to leave. They deemed me fit to go home.
I cannot say I didn’t still think about it from time to time, but with my soon-to be husband, those thoughts are a distant bad dream that I do not ever want to remember. He is helping me through everything. Even though my father, 2 boys, and I are living in a motel at the moment, life is good. In a nutshell, I kind of bounced around a little bit, but that is the life of Tasha Roza.
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