July 18 marked my 24th year on this earth. I woke up to my boyfriend snuggling up next to me, was greeted by a decorated office, presents from my mom and best friends (who remembered how much I love apple juice and brought me some!), and serenaded by my other best friend as she ran into my cube. The night ended with dinner at Burger Moe's where I got to see almost all of my favorite people. Between the hug attacks, the laughter, and constant chatter, I had never felt so loved. For once I was happy it was my birthday.
At this time last year I was getting ready to go out for my 23rd birthday, blasting Blink-182’s “What’s My Age Again?” repeatedly screaming the line “no one likes you when you're 23.” Looking back the person who disliked me the most when I was 23 was myself, but of course, there are no songs about that.
As I prepared for what I had initially thought was going to be an amazing night, self-hatred slowly began to consume me. The slippery slope that was my slowly worsening mental state began that night. I was upset because a lot of my friends were stuck at work for the night, I was judged my worth by how many people wished me a happy birthday on Facebook and was convinced a sack of potatoes would look better in my dress than I would.
I tried to take my mind off things by drinking a lot (because this always worked for me…), ended up getting kicked out of one bar and into a fight with a girl at another. I had hit rock bottom. I was not as “far gone” as I would have liked to have been by bar close, so I decided on top of everything I would get high off of my Xanax. After everyone went to bed I sat on my floor, stuffing Xanax into cheese balls, hating my life.
To say I don’t remember much of the next day is an understatement. All I know is it involved me nearly burning our deck down, trying to eat chicken wings (almost all of them missed my mouth and ended up on my face) and giving my friends/family a good scare. I blamed it on the alcohol telling not only others but myself as well, that it was just something I drank that made me act that way. I told my parents I would go back to seeing my therapist in order to solve the problem and thought nothing more of it. I didn't remember stuffing Xanax into cheese balls until my friend reminded me I was not allowed to have cheese balls on my birthday this year.
7 months went by and were spent constantly partying, not taking my medication as I was supposed to, skipping therapy sessions and doctors appointments, doing anything I could to not focus on the fact that I was crossing that dangerous line of getting out of control. Many times my downward spiral has ended in popping too many pills, cutting or shutting myself out from the world. This time, it was taken to a whole new level.
What had started off as just a bad day turned into a nightmare. I was invited out for a girls night with friends at a local bar. At first, I was just ready to blow off some steam, then as the day went on I became determined to get hammered to make all of the bad feelings go away. As I drank more, I became more disconnected from my surroundings. I felt scared, numb, empty. I needed to punish myself. I needed to feel pain to know that I was still alive. I needed something to take everything away. So I decided to burn myself repeatedly with a cigarette until I could feel the burn prickle my skin. When the sting of the cigarette wasn’t enough I held a light to my arm and sat there until the pain became unbearable. When it became unbearable I knew I was able to feel something, even if it was just pain. Pain brought me back to life.
(This is what my scar looks like now. I tell everyone it's where my Dark Mark used to be)
I woke up the next morning quickly trying to think of excuses for the burn on my arm. My boyfriend knew what happened, so I could not hide it from him but everyone else was told the story of how “drunk Sam tried to cook and burnt her arm on the oven.” Unfortunately, that story did not work longer than a week, as the burn got worse and I had to be sent to the burn ward at the local hospital. When they told me I would need surgery in order for the burn to heal, tears and words spilled out as I told the doctor what happened. After the appointment, I came clean to my parents and friends and decided I needed to get my life back on track.
I went back to my therapist and psychiatrist, got my medication adjusted, and worked on coming up with coping skills I could use outside of my therapist's office. I quit drinking hard liquor, limited my alcohol intake and took the time to find myself. During this time I also learned who my friends were and that it was ok to let go of toxic relationships. I became an entirely new person.
I have learned to embrace the bad days, allow myself to feel my feelings. I no longer hold back tears, I let them stream down my face in therapeutic release. I no longer suffer in silence; I talk to my friends, family, and boyfriend. When I have urges to hurt myself, I talk through why I want to do so. I use my experiences to help others. I know some days will be more of a struggle than others, but I can get through those days. I love everything around me, bad days included because they have made me who I am. I laugh wholeheartedly to the point that the only noise I can make is an old man wheeze. I laugh at situations where it is the only thing I can do to keep myself from crying. Most of all, though, I enjoy life. I enjoy the ups and downs it brings, I enjoy constantly being surrounded by people who truly love me for who I am.
Does this mean I still don’t cry myself to sleep at night? No. In fact, I spent the evening of my birthday crying myself to sleep after what can only be described as the greatest birthday ever. The difference is I listened to my body and knew I was crying out of exhaustion, that it wasn’t a bad thing to be crying, and allowed myself to feel all of the emotions running through my body after a long day.
I do not know what the future holds for me, but if I keep loving, laughing and enjoying life I know it will all turn out ok in the end.
Here are all of the wonderful people and I (far right, black dress) celebrating 24 years of the crazy little thing we call life.
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