Eating Disorders And The Holidays.

With the holidays quickly approaching the subject of eating disorders has been weighing heavily on my heart.  The table is generally a place for happiness and laughter, but for some it is a battleground – a place of stress and anxiety.  If you know someone who is struggling with an eating disorder, be cautious with them this holiday season.  And if you yourself are struggling with an eating disorder, reach out.

Keep in mind that eating disorders have close to nothing to do with food itself.  It’s more than starving yourself, throwing up, and/or over eating.  It’s a serious mental illness that fixates on fear, power, and control.  Eating disorders are dark and twisted and crippling. They go hand in hand with anxiety and depression, and can make each day feel like hell.  Eating disorders are often misunderstood and can leave the person suffering feeling lonely and worthless, I know this first hand.

With that being said, please please please remember that eating disorders are not always visible.  You don’t have to be extremely skinny or overweight to have an eating disorder. You do not have to look like you have an eating disorder to have one.  This is probably one of the most common misconceptions about eating disorders.  And this is so dangerous because there are many eating disorder sufferers in need of help, but not seeking treatment because they don’t think they look like someone with an eating disorder.  They don’t think they’re sick enough.  As someone who struggled with an eating disorder but remained at a “normal” body weight, I know how scary it can be to reach out because you feel like you won’t be taken seriously.  But if you think your ideas and behaviors around eating are disordered, please reach out to someone.  Eating disorders thrive in the dark.  They love secrecy, it makes them stronger.

So this holiday season, please be so gentle with those around you. Don’t comment on your family members’ weight loss/gain.  Don’t mention how much or how little food they have on their plate.  I personally know how hard the holidays are when you feel like you are trapped inside your own mind.  Your loved one more than likely feels guilty for not being able to enjoy the holidays like everyone else, sending them spiraling into a depressive state.  Their anxiety is skyrocketing.   Their eating disorder becomes all-consuming.  Their world feels out of control because of what is supposed to be the happiest time of the year.  Support them, love them, and let them know you’re there for them.

And to my friends struggling remember this: You are worth more than this. You deserve freedom from your disorder. You deserve a fighting chance. You’re allowed to feel the things you are feeling.  You are loved.  You are allowed to get help, not matter what.  You don’t have to suffer in silence.

Dear Younger Me.

“Dear younger me, where do I start?  If I could tell you everything I have learned so far, then you could be one step ahead of all the painful memories still running through my head.  I wonder how much different things would be, dear younger me.” – Dear Younger Me, Mercy Me.

Dear younger me,

If only you knew then what I know now.  If only you knew the trials you would face. If only you knew the hurt you would endure.  If only you knew the joy you would feel.  If only you knew the laughs you would have.  If only you knew how strong you would be. But honestly, would it make a difference if you did know?  I’m a firm believer that every experience, both good and bad, shape you into exactly who you are meant to be.  And who you are right now, at age 21, is on the right path to who that woman is.  You’re not there yet, but it’s all about progress not perfection.

Let’s start with this: Sweetheart, I wouldn’t change you for the world. The woman you grow up to be is incredibly brave, empathetic, strong, and full of heart. She is also a bit broken, a bit defeated, and is having a really hard time. But don’t worry, as always she’ll keep fighting.

I know you feel like you don’t fit in, like you’re undervalued, like you’re replaceable, and like you’re never heard.  You’re probably going to feel that way for a long time.  I know that being shy and full of anxiety gets in the way of so much life, I’d be lying to you if I said that goes away fully.  I know you feel like this dark cloud will never disappear, but hold on, your sunshine is coming.  But good news, things do get better.  You will learn how to feel heard.  You won’t be shy for forever.  You’ll learn to cope with your anxiety.  And that dark cloud will eventually subside.

You’re a listener and an observer, and know that’s okay.  You’re loyal to a fault, but don’t forget to be loyal to yourself first.  You’re a deep thinker and an even deeper feeler, don’t let those things overwhelm you.  Your heart is big and you’re going to want to heal everybody, know that you can’t and that it’s okay.  You’re a giver, just remember you can’t pour from an empty cup.  You’re a fighter, just know that you should never have to fight on your own.  You’re a lover, but don’t ever be afraid to love yourself first.  Self love isn’t selfish, it’s necessary.  You’re kind, but don’t forget to be gentle with yourself (this is something you talk a lot about in therapy, learn to love it.)

You’re going to have a lot of pain in your life, try your best to find the good in it. Your parents are going to get divorced, but it will actually be the best thing to ever happen to you.  You will gain a new step dad and step mom who you love, as well as new siblings and two whole new families.  You will struggle with an eating disorder, it’s going to go unnoticed for a long time, don’t be afraid to ask for help.  Eventually you will overcome that challenge to the best of your ability.  You will attempt suicide not once, but twice. And you will live.  Keep living, it’s worth it.  You will have two permanent, prominent scars on your arm that at first you will hate. But eventually you will grow to love them because they are part of your story, and they will help others. You will hate high school, but you will graduate and go to college.  Your best friend will die at 20 years old, and I don’t really have anything good to say about that other than that you will grow from it. You will lose two of your grandparents in the course of six months, cherish your time with them always.  You will become addicted to drugs, and you will come out victorious but not without one hell of a fight.  Don’t give up. The friends you have in your twenties will be twenty+ years older than you, which is fine. They were placed in your life at the right time, with the right wealth of knowledge, and are making a huge impact on you. You will fall in love with a man and you will think he’s the one.  He’s not, and that’s okay. You have to learn how to love yourself before you can fully love someone else.  You will willingly go to therapy, don’t ever stop.  She’s changing your life, work with her not against her. You will have a blog, and you will change lives through it.  Never be afraid to share your heart.

Despite all the pain your young heart will feel, you will also feel immense amounts of joy. You have siblings who are your best friends, they’re growing up fast, don’t let that precious time slip by.  Your mom and step dad will take you on numerous cruises and vacations, you are blessed and don’t you ever forget it. You will attend Western Washington University and it will be the best nine months of your life. You will finally feel like you fit in, hold tight to that feeling.  You will finish top of your class from Interior Design School, but don’t forget to finish those two math classes and actually get your degree.  You are smart enough.  You will study abroad in Paris. Yep, that’s right.  YOU, with all the anxiety, will go so far outside of your comfort zone and absolutely love it.  You will be 21 with 12 tattoos, all with such deep meaning.  You will go to therapy twice a week, and you will grow in every way you never thought you could.  I mention this one twice because it is just so important.  You will learn to love yourself, even when it’s hard.  You will learn to fight for yourself, don’t ever ever ever stop.

And younger me, it’s not your fault.

All my love,


Relapse. Am I A Failure?

To tell you my recovery journey has been a piece of cake would be the biggest lie in the world.  I made it 154 days off of cocaine and heroin before I relapsed. 154 days.  A long time.

One of the most important things I’ve heard during my recovery is the saying, “Progress, not perfection.”  I’ve heard time and time again that relapse during recovery is okay, common, and almost inevitable.  But I was stuck here convinced that I would not be that person.  And then suddenly I was. Suddenly I was thrown back into the world of drugs. Suddenly I found myself sticking a needle in my arm. Suddenly I was the old me I thought I would never see again.  And to tell you that I was okay with that would be a lie.  I spent countless hours in my therapist’s office fighting off the same demon I had battled just months before. I disposed of everything I had.  I researched different rehab possibilities.  I made myself as busy as possible to distract myself from wanting to use.  I did everything right, except one thing.  I didn’t reach out.  I reached out to my therapist, yes.  But I didn’t reach out to my friends, I didn’t reach out to my family, and I most certainly did not reach out to my parents. Instead, I chose to go head first into the battle, again, by myself.

I did not realize how hard this fight would be the second time around.  I did not realize how quickly I would slip back into old patterns, how quickly my happiness would disappear, or how quickly I would feel the physical effects of addiction.  I didn’t realize that I would push all my friends away,  I didn’t know that depression would creep back into my life, and I certainly didn’t think that I would fall in love with drugs all over again. Before I knew it I was wearing long sleeves, spending hundreds of dollars, and isolating myself.  I was giving up a life I loved for a life I hated.

I also didn’t realize how hard it would be to tell someone that I had used.  When my family first found out about my addiction in May of 2018 it was because they found me on the living room floor. This time they didn’t find out I was using when I was in active addiction, but once I was clean again.  I had been using again for a couple months but hiding it so well. I had been sitting in my therapists office for weeks and weeks promising time and time again to go home and tell someone, to purposefully flip my world upside down to get help. But why did I wait so long? I kept thinking, “why tell someone when it’s not a “problem” anymore”?  Because even though I’m no longer using now it still consumes me.  I wake up every morning and using is the first thing to cross my mind.  I get bored and it’s all I want to do.  I get angry, want to use.  I get happy, want to use.  See why it’s important to tell someone even though I’m not in active addiction anymore?  I need to be held accountable.  I need support.

You’ve probably noticed by now that I refer to addiction as a demon, because that is exactly what it is.  Addiction is the worst kind of monster.  It is meant to rob you of everything you have, both things and people.  It’s supposed to strip you of your happiness, your joy, your dignity, and your peace.  It’s job is to, eventually, kill you.  It is selfish, inconsiderate, and rude.  It is a demon.  And I’m sitting here today, writing this, while battling that demon. Not because I’m actively addicted again, but because I’m not. You see, recovery is a never-ending fight.  I’ll be 80 years old and still fighting because that’s how strong the demon is.  He never gives up, he never stops persisting, and he never slows down.  But he also won’t win, not with me anyways.  I won’t let him.  I’ve come too far in this life to let him.  So yeah, I may have messed up, I may have gone back down that road for a minute.  But I’m still victorious because I didn’t let him drag me down no matter how fiercly he tried.

Today I am CELEBRATING 100 days clean. I put strong emphasis on the word “celebrating” because that’s exactly what I deserve to do. I have won a war that I didn’t think I could. You can, too.

If you are in recovery and have relapsed know this: you are NOT a failure. You’re simply not.  You’re a fighter.  You’re a warrior.  You’re a badass.  You’re trying. You’re working hard.  And as long as you realize all those things, and accept them, you will come out of this battle victorious.  But here’s the thing, you have to want to.  You have to want help, you have to seek help, and you have to accept help.  You can’t fight this on your own. Reach out, go to meetings, go to rehab, do whatever it takes. This world needs you desperately, defeat this demon once and for all.

Fight For Yourself. Always.  

Loving An Addict.

Before I began my own journey with addiction I loved an addict.  If you read my post, My Best Friend Died, you know exactly what I’m talking about.  If you haven’t read it, go read it and then come back.

First of all, if you are loving an addict know this: you are not alone.

I loved an addict and I get a lot of questions in regards to how I did it. Here’s how: I removed the label and I loved the person.  I loved her by reminding her that she was strong.  I loved her for her heart, a piece of her that drugs couldn’t take away.  I loved her because she was worth fighting for.  I loved her because she was kind, caring, and hilarious.  I loved her because she was my best friend.  I loved her because she was my favorite person.  I loved her because she was Cali.  When I looked at her I never saw just an addict, I always saw her for the person she was within.  After everything I chose to continue to support her.  I chose to let her move into my house, to call her my sister, to have her become part of my family.  I CHOSE TO.  And then addiction really set in and I still chose to love her.  I chose to answer every 3am strung out phone call.  I chose to put myself in danger to rescue her from scary situation after situation and to call the police time after time.  I chose to sit with her during come downs and hold her down while she was lashing out.  I chose to get screamed at, cursed at, and told that I was hated over and over again.  I chose to put myself last and put her first.  I chose to try to save her.  And then I realized that me trying to save her was in fact doing the opposite.  Not only was I not saving her, I was destroying myself.  I was choosing to let my soul become so heavy.  I was choosing to help her, then go home and cry because my help wasn’t actually helping.  So then I had to make the hardest choice of my life – do I continue to hold the rope close or do I create some distance?  I’m sure if you’ve loved an addict you’ve asked yourself that same question.  You don’t want it to seem like you’re giving up on the person you love, because you aren’t, but you also can’t continue to go through what you’re going through forever.  So, I began learning how to love Cali from afar. I let her know I would always be there but that I couldn’t keep saving her, she had to learn how to save herself.

If you’re loving an addict in active addiction I’m sure you’ve been through everything I have.  You understand the pain.  You get it.  Here are some things I’ve learned/found helpful while loving an addict:

  • Remember that addiction is not a choice, it’s a disease.
  • Know that the addict you are loving is not themselves, the things they say/do are their addiction taking over. Be forgiving, but also stand your ground.
  • Don’t give in to manipulation.  Addicts are master manipulators who will do anything to feed their addiction.
  • Accept that you can’t change them.  You can do everything you can, but you can’t do everything.  They have to want to change themselves, they have to want to recover.
  • Be supportive, but do not take the blame for problems created by addiction.
  • Learn what healthy boundaries look like.  Don’t provide financial support, don’t make up excuses for them, don’t bail them out.  As hard as it may be, they have to learn to fight for themselves.
  • Be optimistic.  There is hope for the person you love, even if it’s hard to see.

If you’re loving an addict in recovery, here are some things that I have found extremely helpful as an addict in recovery:

  • Actively listen.  Your loved one just wants to be heard. Listen intently to their needs, concerns, and thoughts.
  • Encourage a healthy lifestyle.  Exercising, healthy eating, and keeping busy will be so beneficial in their recovery.
  • Suggest a support group.  Whether it’s AA, NA, or a therapy group it is so important for your loved one to be surrounded by people who have been through what they’ve been through, and are now in the same stage as them.
  • Find a therapist.  Don’t force them into therapy, that most likely won’t help.  But definitely encourage it.
  • Set expectations.  Don’t be afraid to hold them accountable to rules/expectations you have set, especially if they are living with you.
  • Relapse.  It does happen.  The way you react to your loved one’s relapse can be a huge piece in how they rebound from it.  Recovery is about progress, not perfection.
  • Be patient.  Recovery is a lifelong journey and is so extremely hard on all people involved.

And if you’re loving an addict, don’t forget to take care of yourself.

  • Find a support group for YOU.  There are so many support groups for families/friends of addicts.  People there will understand you and everything you’re going through.  You’ll be amazed by the community you can create for yourself.
  • Go to therapy.  Loving an addict is one of the most exhausting, difficult things you can ever do.  Get some help for yourself, go talk about it.
  • Treat yourself.  Buy that coffee, go get your nails done, have a spa day.  You are fighting, too, and you deserve it.
  • Rest.  Your days are probably consumed by so many different emotions.  Resting is so important.

Here’s my point: I understand how hard loving an addict is.  I know that it is one of the loneliest things you can do.  I get that it’s exhausting, defeating, and unfair.  I get it, I really, truly do.  There is a very fine line you have to walk when loving an addict: are you just loving or are you loving and enabling? Here is the best advice I was ever told when it comes to loving an addict: “If the addict is happy with you, you’re probably enabling them.  If an addict is mad at you, you’re probably trying to save their life.”  Hard words to accept, right? I thought so, too.  But they are the truest words I have ever heard, and something I learned very quickly when loving Cali.  So if the person you are loving is furious with you, accept it and know that means you are doing something right. Figure out how to help them and love them, but don’t forget about yourself.  Don’t forget that you are worth fighting for, too.  And if you need to reach out, I’m here.  If you need to talk about it, message me.  You are strong.  You are worth loving.  You are worth peace.  Thank you for being brave enough to not give up.

Screen Shot 2018-11-27 at 7.43.32 PM.png
Cali Noel – 12/19/1996 – 9/6/2017

Fight For Yourself.  Always. 

Girl, You Are a Badass.

This ones for my ladies: GIRL, YOU ARE A BADASS.

To my girls who struggle to get out of bed every morning.  The ones who are battling eating disorders, anxiety, depression, and/or addiction.  The ones who put on a brave face everyday just to come home and cry.  The ones who are exhausted from having to try 24/7 to just be happy.  YOU ARE A BADASS.

To my girls who are genuinely happy. The ones who light up every room they walk in. The ones who always have the right words to say.  The ones who can take any situation and make it good.  The ones who have the most contagious laughter.  YOU ARE A BADASS.

To my girls who are single.  The ones who struggle in every relationship.  The ones who have been abused.  The ones who think they are worthless because they don’t have a partner.  The ones who choose to be single because they know their worth.  YOU ARE A BADASS.

To my girls in a relationship.  The ones who have found the right person.  The ones who know what true love feels like. The ones who fight everyday to make it work.  The ones who have found their equal.  YOU ARE A BADASS.

To my girls who have been raped/sexually assaulted.  The ones who never spoke up, the ones who did.  The ones who are open, and the ones who will never share their experience.  The ones who support other women.  Me, too. YOU ARE A BADASS.

To my girls who are moms.  The ones who wake up an hour early to have an hour to themselves.  The ones who love their children more than anything.  The ones who are constantly running late. The ones who struggle with depression. The ones who have never been so content.  The ones who are up all night with a crying baby.  The ones who cry themselves to sleep.  YOU ARE A BADASS.

To my girls who couldn’t have children. The ones who had children who didn’t live.  The ones who heard those heartbreaking words.  The ones who see a baby and feel their heart sink.  The ones who will never fill that void in their heart.  YOU ARE A BADASS.

To every single girl out there: YOU ARE A BADASS.

Fight For Yourself. Always. 

You Aren’t Weak For Going To Therapy.

Therapy.  I have always been against it. Always.

My mom did the right thing from the start by sticking me in therapy.  From a young age she noticed my anxiety, recognized that I needed help, and did everything in her power to get it for me. However, there was one problem: I didn’t want help.  She tried for years and years to get me to go, and I put my foot down time after time.  It was to a point where she would go in and talk to my therapist while I sat in the hallway hysterically crying because I didn’t want to be there.  Talk about needing help, right?

After my first suicide attempt I tried therapy again, and still hated every minute of it.  It caused me more anxiety than not, and I think I made it through two appointments before giving up.  For me I always thought that if you needed to go to therapy it meant that something was wrong with you, that you were weak because you needed help.  I could not have been more wrong, and I wish I would have realized that sooner.

It was April of 2018 and my best friend, Omi, and grandpa had all recently passed away. I was struggling with an addiction that nobody knew anything about, and my soul was really, really heavy.  I started researching therapists on my own, realizing that maybe I did need help.  I stumbled across a therapist, Elizabeth, who I thought would maybe be a good fit for me (truthfully I chose her because I thought she was pretty and looked like someone I would be friends with.)  I researched her a little bit, and then shut down the idea completely remembering my insane reasoning for never wanting to go to therapy before.  It wasn’t until after my second suicide attempt and first real blackout moment (I’ll talk more about those later) that my mom said enough was enough.  I was in the ER at St. Joseph Hospital and my social worker gave me a list of therapists to contact when I got out, Elizabeth being one of them.  My mom called her and I had my first appointment the following week.  I went into it so nervous, and quite honestly ashamed that my life had gotten to that point.  I came out a different person.

Elizabeth has changed my life in a way I never thought possible.  When I say she’s my favorite person (non family member, of course), I’m not kidding.  I wish that she knew how much she means to me, because she holds a spot in my heart that nobody else can ever hold.  I brought her into my life at my absolute lowest point, and I like to think that she saved me.  But I think if I were to tell her that she would just smile, shake her head, and respond with, “Nope.  You saved yourself, I just helped.”  I see her twice a week now, and those two days are my favorite days of the week simply because it’s ME time. For two hours a week it’s all about me.  Sounds a little selfish, right? WRONG. It’s never selfish to take care of yourself.  It’s not selfish to put yourself, and your wellbeing, first sometimes. And it’s definitely not something to be ashamed of.

There are two major things I’ve learned since I started therapy. First is that it’s okay to not always be okay.  It’s okay to breakdown.  It’s okay to struggle.  It’s okay to cry.  It’s okay to feel down sometimes.  Just don’t stay there.  “If it matters, let it matter.  If your hearts breaking, let it ache. Catch those pieces as they shatter, know your hurt is not in vain. Don’t hide yourself from the horror.  Hurt today, heal tomorrow.” – Lyrics from my favorite song by Johnnyswim.  Elizabeth constantly loves to remind me that negative emotions are there to move you.  They aren’t stagnant. They are doing something, something big.  It’s up to you, however, to find what that something is.  And if you need help doing that, that is perfectly okay.  The second thing that I’ve learned is that it’s okay to feel good.  Sometimes I struggle with that – feeling good.  A silly thing to think, right? Life has thrown me so many curveballs.  From divorce, an unnoticed eating disorder, grief on grief on grief, heartbreak, addiction, anxiety, and depression.  Sometimes, when I feel okay I don’t want to feel okay.  Sometimes, I don’t feel like I deserve to feel happy. And that’s when she steps in. That’s when she reminds me that I am brave, beautiful, loved, and strong.  That my feelings are valid, and that I’m not crazy for feeling the things that I feel.

Finding the right therapist can be hard. It can be daunting and defeating when you feel like you just don’t click.  But let me tell you, when you finally find the right one it’s the best thing in the world.  It’s magical.  It’s empowering.  It’s life changing.  Don’t give up, your person is out there.  So today I am here to remind you that you are not weak for going to therapy.  You are brave.  You are trying. You are healing.  You are breathing. You are alive.  And today, those things are enough for me.  Let them be enough for you, too.  If you think you need help, get out there and get it.  Don’t be ashamed. If you just need someone to talk to, do it. You don’t have to suffer in silence.  And if you’re struggling with finding the right therapist, don’t give up.  Your Elizabeth is out there.

Side note: Elizabeth, if you’re reading this, THANK YOU for everything you’ve done for me.  Thank you for constantly reminding me that I am enough.  For reminding me to be gentle with myself.  For letting me be me.  And of course for all the music recommendations (Smashing Pumpkins all day every day).  You have made me a better person, thank you.

Fight For Yourself.  Always. 

My Name Is Hannah, And I’m An Addict.

Warning: this is going to be a long one.

Here’s the post most of you have probably been waiting for: my personal addiction story. This post is going to be emotional.  It’s going to be raw. It’s going to put me in the most vulnerable position I’ve ever been put in.  Parts of it are going to be really hard for some of you to read, and parts of it are going to be really hard for me to write.  For some, you will think that I’m over sharing. And maybe I am.  But for me, I know this post will help someone out there who is struggling, so I’m okay with it. Before I start I need you to know this: I am okay.

Let’s start from the beginning.  It was September of 2017 and I had just returned from studying abroad in Paris, France.  As many of you already know from my post “My Best Friend Died,” my best friend, Cali, died as a result of addiction while I was studying abroad.  I came home to a disaster zone.  I numbly sat through her funeral, and as the days passed I became angry and consumed by grief.  It was that same month that I had my first encounter with drugs.  It was then that my life changed forever.

I am very open about my journey with addiction on social media, however, one thing I have not shared is what I was addicted to.  One line of cocaine.  That’s all it took and I was immersed into the world of addiction.  It quickly turned into an everyday thing. It consumed me.  It was all I thought about 24/7. Before I knew it cocaine wasn’t enough.  I then turned to the one drug that I swore I would never do, the drug that robbed me of my best friend: heroin. Next thing I knew I was sticking a needle in my arm searching for a couple of minutes of relief from all the pain I was feeling.  Before I could stop myself I had quit my job, watched all my friends slowly disappear, and had pushed my family away.  I had spent my entire life savings, and was struggling to financially support myself.  For eight months I hid my addiction from everybody.  Not a single person knew, and I had every intention of keeping it that way.

Why heroin? Why the drug that stole my best friend’s life? Why risk it?  I wanted to experience it one time.  One time.  I wanted to feel what she felt and see why she loved this drug so much.  But when you take even just a single shot of heroin all of a sudden you have this new need.  All of a sudden you’re lacking this something, but you don’t know what it is or how to fix it.  You’re out to dinner with friends, you’re having a good time.  Still lacking.  It’s Christmas morning and you’re the happiest you’ve been in a long time.  Still lacking.  You fall asleep in the arms of the person of your dreams.  Still lacking. There’s a part of you missing.  I wanted to experience shooting heroin one time, and now I’ll be walking around for the rest of my life with a loose-end that can never, ever be tied up.  All because of one time that turned into another time, and another time, and another time.

It wasn’t until May that I finally decided to get clean.  I had been clean for two weeks and then I broke down and decided to use again.  I was home alone, with the exception of my step dad who was working from his office.  I went upstairs and shot up, then headed back downstairs to continue folding laundry as if my life was normal.  I felt the initial rush, and then all of a sudden my body started shutting down.  I was freezing, I was shaking so badly that I couldn’t call for help, my jaw locked shut so I couldn’t talk, and my head felt like it was going to explode.  I pretty much accepted that was how I was going to die, laid down in front of the fireplace, and waited for someone to find me. Bill came into the house and through tears and a locked jaw all I could mutter was, “I’m addicted to heroin.”  Words that changed my life, and my families lives, forever.  He helped me into the car and drove me straight to the hospital, pulling over so I could throw up in a church parking lot (pretty ironic, right?). We arrived after what seemed like the longest drive of probably both of our lives, and they immediately took me back. The judgement and shame that I felt was almost unbearable.  My entire life I have been the “good Christian girl” who was shy, sweet, respectful, and never got in trouble.  And suddenly I was being seen for a me that I didn’t recognize.  I was being seen as an addict, as inadequate, and as less than.

My four-hour stay in the emergency room is honestly one giant blur.  I remember my mom, who had no idea that I was using, coming into my hospital room in tears.  I remember her hovering over my bed.  I remember getting angry and kicking my parents out of my room, as if any of it was their fault.  I remember telling my ER nurse, “This isn’t me. I’m a good person,” and I remember the look on her face as she was thinking, “Yeah, right.”  I remember calling my therapist in tears hoping that she would answer the phone, hoping that she could somehow solve all my problems in that instant, hoping that she would show up at the hospital and just sit with me.  I remember thinking about how I would have to tell the rest of my family, and how embarrassed I was.  I remember being so mad at myself.  I was mad that I had used, I was mad that everyone was finding out, I was mad that my life had gotten to that point.   But, anger aside, I was relieved.  Relieved because I didn’t have to fight by myself anymore. Relieved because I was finally going to be able to get the help that I needed, the help that I deserved.

After a couple of hours in the ER they admitted me with cotton fever, an infection you get from the piece of cotton you use to filter when using IV drugs.  They kept me in the hospital for a day and a half to give me antibiotics and monitor me as I detoxed. Longest day and a half of my life.  My room had a camera in it incase I went into seizures from withdrawals, they removed all the sharp objects, and I had a nurse checking on me every 15 minutes.  I had never felt more ashamed of myself. But it was also at that time that I realized just how much support I had.  I had so many friends showing up to remind me how much they loved me.  Two nurses who had treated my step grandma a couple of weeks before even showed up in my room to tell me I had their support.  I remember feeling so valued by these people because they were choosing to view me as a person first, and an addict second.  I spent my time there walking countless laps around my floor because I refused to just sit in my room, it was making my anxiety skyrocket.  As I waited for my social worker to find a rehab  center for me to go to I remember being scared shitless.  I remember being so filled with anxiety that I was physically sick.  And then we got the call.  The call that changed me forever, “Fairfax will take you.”  Rehab. Finally.

My parents picked me up, with a suitcase of my belongings, and drove me to Kirkland where I would spend time at Fairfax Behavioral Health Hospital.  We were sitting in the waiting room waiting to be called back and I felt numb.  I wasn’t scared. I wasn’t anxious.  I wasn’t angry.  I was just numb.  Suddenly it was my turn.  The first thing that was said to me there was, “You do not look like an addict. Let’s get you help before you do.”  I said goodbye to my parents and a nurse took me back to the detox unit.  It was then that all the feelings I had been numbing myself to rushed back to me.  Tears, tears, and more tears. I was greeted by the sweetest nurse, Cassie, who changed my life for the better.  From that moment on she was my person. I was sitting in the hallway, still in my hospital gown, still crying, when a younger guy approached me and said, “It actually isn’t so bad here.”  He instantly took me under his wing, becoming not just an acquaintance but a friend.  Evan, if you’re reading this, thank you for everything you did for me.  I appreciate you more than you’ll ever know.  My days were filled with group meetings, therapy, one-on-ones, Dr. evaluations, and med checks.  When I wasn’t busy doing any of those things I was sitting in a chair in the hallway across from the nurses station, rocking back and forth.  I was a version of me that I had never met before.  I was so anxious the whole time that I refused to eat, losing a total of 14 pounds. My friend, E, came to visit me during visiting hours one day and I remember being so thankful for her.  Being her friend has been one of the biggest blessings in my life.  She made me feel like I wasn’t crazy, like I wasn’t alone, and like I was still valuable.  The day before my 21st birthday was the day I finally got cleared to leave.  Before my favorite nurse, Cassie, left she sat me down and told me that she saw so much potential in me, that she believed in me, and that she knew I would be okay.  She then said something to me that I loved so much I actually got it tattooed on my arm.  She hugged me tightly and said, “Fight for yourself. Always.”  Those words shook me to my core. Since that day I’ve been fighting for myself in every way possible.  Cassie, if this blog somehow reaches you, you saved me.  Thank you.

My parents picked me up and I remember feeling so proud of myself when I saw them. When they dropped me off I was ashamed more than anything, so much so that I couldn’t even look them in the eyes.  Rehab humbled me.  It made me stronger.  It made me a better person.  It made me more empathetic, more understanding, and more aware. It gave me a glimpse at what my future would look like if I kept using. May 28th, 2018 was the day I decided to change my life forever, to start fighting for myself.  And here I am today, still fighting hard.  I wouldn’t be able to do it if it weren’t for the love and support so many of you have shown me.  Thank you, from the bottom of my heart, for believing in me.

Stay tuned for two more posts on loving an addict and how you can help.

Fight For Yourself.  Always.