“People have a tendency to avoid feelings that are uncomfortable. The truth is, feeling uncomfortable can be good; it can evoke change…”-Unknown. Although I have always known this to be true my summer began with the question “What made you decide to try and kill yourself?” only followed by my response “Because I was a bad friend to Deena, I have to go to heaven to apologize.” The feeling of guilt which would soon be followed by a deep depression then denial and last, but not least the emotion I was sure got me into this mess in the first place, anger had been so uncomfortable I attempted to take my life. It wasn’t until my second attempt and a 4th hospitalization that I realized I was not meant to take the path of least resistance, but to create an entirely different one.
In early April a great friend of mine came home from treatment for what could have easily been the 8th time in her life and that is merely just a number I pulled out of my ass! She has been to treatment a lot! Despite her history of quick relapses and failed attempts at living a healthy life I had great faith in her, which I would soon find out was yet again unfounded. Everything in me wanted to believe this time was different, that she was ready to make the change despite how discomforting it may be. Perhaps the fact that it took many letters, a YouTube video, doctors request, calls to insurance, appeal after appeal, labs drawn and finally a go-fund-me page that made me think there was no chance in hell she wouldn’t fight for her life. But like I said, it took not even a week before old habits kicked in, depression took over and a self- doubt that not even my positive spirit could touch. Deena didn’t want much to do with food, but a part of her wished she did because she accepted each attempt I made to support her. Whether it was coming to my house and eating a burnt grilled cheese sandwich I made from scratch (I swear it was an accident) or sucking down an ensure while my greedy cat tried to get a lick of, Deena didn’t want others to give up on her even though she already had on herself. Anxiety though tormented her the same way it had for years and much like anyone her and I know, she was willing to do anything to make it stop, even if it meant stealing my pills or using cocaine.
Yes, Deena stole my pills. She was convinced that Ritalin would ease her anxiety and although she may have been right I was not prepared to deal with an addict or a thief, especially after spending so many days trying to help her see that she was worth so much more than her eating disorder or any other addiction that would only temporarily slow down her thinking. Like any human being I got very angry with Deena and in attempt to set healthy boundaries and protect myself I told Deena that I loved her very much, but we could no longer be friends. As far as the reasons why I decided to call the police I am unsure as it’s a partly cloudy with a chance of revenge. But I am pretty sure the main point was to make it clear that there were consequences for her actions and I could not be like most of her friends and let her get away with it. That’s just not how the world here works.
This journal is not meant to be all about Deena though, but it did start with her and it’s a greater part of my journey as I learn to live with pain, deal with grief and ask for forgiveness when I feel that I am guilty. Three weeks after this incident Deena passed away from an accidental drug overdose, something I have yet to come to terms with. My first reaction, shock, my first emotion, guilt and my first instinct was to grab hold of the closest razor which lay only 4 feet away from me in my desk drawer. It was true, Deena was gone and the last thing I had said to her was we could no longer be friends. One of her last days was spent being questioned by an officer I had called because I was angry. Why did I have to be angry? And now how could I live with the guilt? I just couldn’t, I wouldn’t and at that moment I pressed the cold metal razor into my skin and sliced downward as I sobbed, salty tears and snot running down my nose, I shuddered as I could barely catch my breath and between each rise of my chest which beat fast from hyperventilating I said “Deena I am so sorry, I am so so sorry”!
Here I am now on August 21, 2016 heading into what very well may be my last day in treatment at the same place Deena graduated from only 4 months ago. Matter of fact I am living in the same apartment she was in and perhaps sitting in the same bed. If I am though I don’t want to know. Deena spent her whole life running from emotions, hiding from pain under drugs and an eating disorder and I have spent the last 3 months doing the same damn thing. The difference between her and I though is not that I got more chances, but that I have come to the conclusion sooner than she, that although the path of least resistance can serve us well for a while the chances of learning from our mistakes and growing our future is less likely. Learning to accept the discomfort, walk in the darkness and explore the unknown can lead to what may just as well be the best days of my life! I have talked about some hard shit the last few weeks including sexual trauma and my last few days with Deena all while eating an excruciating number of calories and on the other side of it I have found a more authentic smile. While there are also more authentic tears, the joy is like nothing else, it’s uncomfortable, it’s new and well I think I like it. I’m not enjoying every moment of it, but I am learning to dance in the rain and who knows maybe I will one day look back at my Pinterest board and with assurance say “After a while I looked in the mirror and realized…Wow after all those hurts, scars, bruises, After all those trials I really made it through. I did it. I survived that which was supposed to kill me. So I straightened my crown…And walked away like a boss!” -Unknown