I'm standing at my bathroom sink. Yesterday. I just got out of the shower. As I brush my tangled wet hair, I stare. I stare at myself in the mirror hanging in front of me. Only, I'm not looking at me. I mean, yeah physically I am. But my eyes are somewhere else. I hear a song. It's playing in the background on my Alexa. My heart starts beating really fast. And I need to sit down. I'm not sad though. But I'm not happy either. It's a strange feeling and it starts to take over as the song continues to linger in the background. It's a song I've listened too many times —a song I haven't really heard since 2011. It's a song that seemed to always play every time I was with them. Jay and Matt. My two best friends at the time. We're strangers now. Maybe that's why it's so weird. Because I'm standing here —in the bathroom I stand in nearly every single day. But at this moment, it's like I'm transported back. And now, I'm reliving memories of a different me. Only it's not. Because I'm physically the same person. And that's the weirdest part. Because it seems like a lifetime ago and yesterday —all at the same time. Because what I see, is this carefree girl riding around with her two good friends. And it's killing me. Because it will never go back to the way it was. And even though I know that's a good thing, at this moment, it doesn't feel good. Why did it have to happen like that? Why did I let that shit consume me? Because no matter how hard I tried to pretend I was OK, I simply wasn't. And that's when I realized I wanted to die. Because that was the night (back then that is), I tried to end my own life. I think it was more so a cry for help than anything else but I did, in fact, slit my left fucking wrist. I remember grabbing this cold sharp blade I kept for protection. And as I'm sitting on my bed, isolated like always, I start diagonally digging the razor into my lower arm. Because red dye starts to drip from the open wound onto my floral bedsheets. Tears tangled in between. It was a bloody mess. A few minutes after that, I think I threw everything off the bed and decide to lay down. I wasn't going to sleep. Because that's the last thing I could do. But I recall just laying there absolutely numb. Because my eyes were crying. And my soul was crushed but I felt nothing. Maybe that's why I wanted to feel some fucking pain. Because the only thing I felt was misery. About an hour later, I eventually pass out. And when I wake up the following morning, I realize it didn't fucking work. What else is new? What now, Macey? Seriously —what now? Unfortunately, at that moment, I didn't know. I was out of my mind and simply out of options. This is what you need to know.
I bet you know more people than you might think who have at least thought about committing suicide. I bet you wouldn't expect that I contemplated it myself. I actually tried to end my own life. So when I heard the awful news about Anthony Bourdain and Kate Spade, it hit home because I've been there and from the looks of it, I'm not alone.
College graduation is upon me along with my sensible attempts to get the good girl back. Except this chick was severely addicted to opioids. I was literally doing about 31 pills a day. But I thought if I could simply leave, then I could get better. I was living my life through the saying, out of sight, out of mind. So I pack my bags, give my apartment key back to my landlord, and try to start over, again. Destination —sunny Florida. Things started off great but I was about to learn; wherever you go, there you are. And eventually, I find myself addicted all over again. So I'll ask you one more time, who's ready to battle for some sanity? I hope you say yes.
In my last blog post, I discussed how I’m trying to swim through life with multiple mental illnesses but I can’t even float. It feels like I’m sinking with nothing to stop me but me. And so, I pretend everything is okay. And if you're like me, you want to feel normal but maybe you just don't know how. Well, here are three mental health treatment options that can bring you back to the person you were always meant to be.
I don’t remember when, but at some point, I realized what I was feeling and going through was not normal nor healthy. It was hard to admit that I was drowning. But, if I was going to get help, if I was going to feel happy again and be able to stay afloat, I needed to admit that something was wrong. I was not okay.
This disease is not solely based on the pursuit to “look beautiful" —for those who have some type of eating disorder, it's so much more than that. Honestly, it’s as if you're in an abusive relationship. One minute it’s spewing hateful thoughts about you and the next it’s apologetically, promising that if you listen to what it says you will achieve happiness. One thing I always wish people knew about living with this type of mental illness is that it casts a shadow on everything in your life, no matter how small it may seem from the outside world. So, this is what it's really like to live with an eating disorder —at least from my perception.
Maybe you have no reason to feel anxious. Or, maybe, it's all just too much to handle. The thing is, it's okay to feel your feelings —just don't move in. There are ways to ease the pain of anxiety, and eventually eliminate it. But before you can actually work toward fixing it, you must identify why you do the things you do. This is what you need to know.
You have to kill it before it kills you. Your worst enemy. Your best friend. You hate it. You love it. You can’t live with it. You can’t live without it. You want to be happy. You should be happy, but you can’t take your finger off the trigger. Why? Because want and need are two different things.
She sits there quietly, laying still; but her head is spinning. Her legs are crossed; pretending— that her life isn't ending, one li(n)e at a time. High off pills and potions; Oxy has this white girl lacking emotions. Externally, she's calm and serene. Reality —she's anything but clean; when playing her favorite role as trap queen.
Psychopath. Pyromaniac. Fake laugh. Body cast. Nicotine patch. Can I make it last? You mean no. You say yes. First place? Second best. High fashion? Worst dressed. Never right. Always wrong. Trying to find my voice. But I got no song. What's up, Donkey Kong? And when I still can't get it right, I try to remember —Brad Pitt. The club. Fight. I might, just win. Fuck this life of sin.
I was walking a tightrope between my old familiar behavior, and the life I thought I wanted. Little did I know, it was leading me to death. The new unknown path promised hope, but I didn't want hope. I wanted to get high. It was a dangerous time. In spite of my wishful attempts to better myself, one part of me —obviously the more influential part, always succeeded in undermining my good intentions.
Sadness sweeps through your buzzing brain, as you count what pills are left in your stash. 19. You’d have enough for today and tomorrow, but in all reality, you needed more. Tonight though, you had other plans.