Here to Stay

4 months.

121 days.

2,922 hours.

17,533 minutes.

There’s your math lesson for the week.

It’s also how long I’ve been in hiding.


How I ever managed to crawl out of the darkest place of my life will always be a mystery to me, but when fate is determined to turn your life around, he works in mysterious ways.

We can delve into this a bit deeper once I get my thoughts together, but for now, here is a summary of what happened (and why I’ve been missing in action):

I was on a numerous amount of drugs. I was over-prescribed and happy that I was. Every day, I would pump my body full of Xanax, Klonopin, Adderall, Cymbalta, Neurotin, Seroquel, and Ambiem. Every. Single. Day.

I lost myself. I thought I was fine; I thought I was doing better. It’s crazy how self-awareness can fade so fast when you’tr under the influence of heavy medication, and I blindly transformed into everything my sober self would have hated.

I guess that, deep down in my soul, I knew.

I grew to hate myself, my family, and my friends–everything I had once loved deeply became nothing but a distant memory that left a bitter taste in my mouth.

So, I saved up a month’s worth of medication in a safe that I had (and once you turn to keeping your meds in a safe, there is no doubt that you have a problem).

I bought myself a hotel room at the Super 8, crushed up all of my pills, and downed them with a six pack. I barricaded the door with a mini fridge and dead bolted the door. I said my goodbyes in writing and in a mass email that was scheduled to be sent out eight hours after I thought that I would be dead.

I wanted to leave on my own terms. I was too much of a coward to deal with the fact that I would eventually become someone else while watching my mom do the same. I didn’t give this disease permission to take me, but I gave myself permission to take my own life. I now realize that the latter is far worse.


I don’t remember much from then on. I was carried by a fireman down the stairs and into the ambulance. I’m still not sure how they got into the room.

My family came, but that’s it…and honestly, it was enough. I was there for two weeks, and my grandmother never left my side.

The oxygen that was cut off from my brain still affects me now, but memories continue to flood back at random moments. It’s kind of nice, being able to remember things twice…like my nephew being born, or singing for the first time. It’s still coming back to me.

After that, I was sent to the psych ward for eight days. I have never been more afraid in my life. I was confined within a cage that allowed no room for freedom, but with that lack of power came submission to the blessings that I had taken for granted for so, so long.

Like I mentioned, I’ll go into further detail as healing progresses, but for now, I want my audience to be sure of one thing:

I’m here to stay now.

You can choose to concentrate on the negative, easily. If I’m not able to grow from the experiences that I endured during that black time within my life, then the only other option is despair. No matter how many times I fall into that pit, hope always manages to pull me back out.

My friends, if you are dealing with the same, then let it.

I had more to give. No, I have more to give, and you do too.

Please be here to stay.

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