It Wasn’t The Fight

Heavy DownpourA month ago today a tried to kill myself. It’s scary writing that because other than a small handful of people nobody really knows that it happened and even those who do know , don’t know. For those of you who actually read this blog, (yes all 10 5 of you) you know that around the end of July I was not in a good place. I was so broken and it seemed like every step I took lead me to an even more shattered place (no, literally, I went on a run one day in the end of August, fell, and then cracked my iPhone screen). So I ran away, with the help of a very great opportunity and some unbelievable timing, I was abel to flee my problems, and I thought everything was going to be ok, but it wasn’t. I took 10 – 13 sleeping pills in the span of an hour and then got into a cold shower with all my clothes on so that I wouldn’t lose consciousness right away. Everything after that was a blur. I remember crying as my boss held my hand and shivering because I was so cold. I remember the EMT’s taking my pulse and my body shaking and feeling so tired and weak that I was actually scared. I remember how the EMT’s told me, “everything’s ok Chelsea, just keep you eyes open… keep your eyes open sweetie…”. I remember the oxygen and the IV and the ER doctors and the 4 night stay at the hospital and being alone. I remember telling my boss that he couldn’t tell my mother because she had explicit told me that I was “to take care of myself” and how I failed… I just failed. I remember thinking how much I wanted to be back at work, how I didn’t want to stop working because when I stopped, everything wrong with my life came flooding back to me and I felt horrible, like I had been hungover for days and all I did was sleep and eat crackers.

Every nurse that came to check my vitals would ask me why I did it, as if I could sum up everything wrong with my life in 2 minutes and then they could fix it. One nurse even said to me ,”but you’re a pretty, young girl, you should be having fun!” as if I hadn’t even tried that. Fun. HA. I was working 12- 15 hour workdays in a city I could hardly navigate. I had no money, no friends close by, no apartment back home, and I was sleeping on an air mattress. My boyfriend was one phone call from a nervous breakdown himself and we had our own problems. After spending a week with my own mother I spent more time apologizing and listening than talking and feeling better. After a two hour sit down with my whole immediate family the pressure for me not to fuck up was an 11 out of 10. My best friend was constantly telling me to “stop it”, and realize that “it just wasn’t that serious” in an effort to make me see the lighter side of things but that just felt dismissive. Oh,and did I mention I lived with 3 of my co-workers, and my boss was an old friend;when not actively ignoring me was busy making me feel terrible at my job. SO yeah, I had a bit of a psychotic break and no I was not having “fun”.

I felt like no one listened to me. No one. Everything that happened was my fault for not being… better… Everyone wanted me to forgive them their mistakes but I was immune to the same respect. All I kept hearing over and over for weeks was “You made me feel…” and that’s a huge responsibility, the responsibility of someone else’s feelings?! I mean wow. But no one cared… no one saw me drowning in every else’s issues, weighed down by my own.

It’s hard for me to write about. Even now I can feel my heart tighten and my eyes well up with tears because it was just so painful. The scariest thing wasn’t even feeling like I was dying, the scariest thing was realizing I already was. I lost myself, I lost what I was doing, who I was becoming, what I even wanted. After I got out of the hospital things got even worse. I was treated with kid gloves by the only people who knew, and yet at the same time no one had time to care. 2 weeks later I got into a car accident that totaled my car and , had it not been for the air bags I probably would have hurt myself pretty badly. I get the moral of the story. Be blessed, live life, blah blah blah, and I’ve done all that. My apathy for everyone else melodrama has dwindled considerably since I literally almost died. Sometimes I wake up now and feel an overwhelming sense of being truly blessed that everything happened the way it did. I have lived the last 4 weeks (31 days to be exact) using all my energy to do things that make me feel happy, and I feel more accomplished in these few weeks than I have in my entire life. It hasn’t been easy to pick myself up, or apologize to the people who felt responsible, to resume my life in a way that feels somewhat normal but I’ve done all those things. I’ve said it many times before but this blog, while the cause of almost all my aguish (and countless anguish of many others) is the only way I know how to share my story in the hopes that someone feels connected to my story and it inspires them. Sometimes all is lost but then it get’s better (and yes, that was the fucking corniest way I knew how to end that paragraph, you’re welcome).

This post, and the title of this post is actually dedicated to someone really, really special (though I doubt he’s reading it because I’m pretty sure he’s hiding from most of existence right now in a cave like in that movie Into the Wild.) Without letting you nameless, faceless, blog readers in on a very private situation I will say that there was one person who felt like everything that happened to me was his fault and in reality that couldn’t be further from the truth. There isn’t a bone in my body that blames anyone, thing,  or one person for my being overwhelmed by my own life. He took the blame and shame and guilt that didn’t belong to him, and even though we’ve had a very long conversation about it all and cleared the air I want to say again very publicly that no, MC, it wasn’t the fight , you have and always will be someone who inspires me to keep going when the worst has happened and it feels like your heart is breaking. I owe you more than you know for helping me realize that and for so much more. To everyone else in my life… I’m still here.


5 thoughts on “It Wasn’t The Fight

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