Grateful

Right now I am crying. No not because the rangers just lost the World Series, the reason I’d normally be crying for but because I’m thinking back on where I used to be and how thankful I am.

 Three years ago today I was admitted to Laureate at my lowest weight, out of my mind on ephedra, and wanting more than anything for God to end my pain and let my body give out from this disease I no longer had the strength to fight.

When I first got there I was confined to a wheel chair at all times, my heart had such a bad arrhythmia they were worried that even standing up to walk to the bathroom would cause me to go into cardiac arrest and die.

I didn’t realize how close to death I really was. How could I be? Three days ago I was performing a cheer routine and two days ago I was walking 2 miles in a parade, I was fine.

It wasn’t until now, years later, that I look back and am so grateful to be alive, for the people who chose to fight for me when I had let them down so many times before, and the Drs who didn’t give up when I kept telling them that I was a lost cause.

It is realizing all of this, how lucky I really am that I’m deciding to change the way I’m living. I’m not longer getting caught up in petty drama that doesn’t matter, I’m no longer staying in relationships that aren’t true friendships, I’m no longer letting people use me because I’m convinced I have nothing else to offer. I’ve wasted too many years of my life that I can’t get back and I’m done doing things I regret later.

So from now on this is a new Kelly. Done with the bullshit, done with the drama, so if that’s all you bring you are officially out of my life.

I’m ready to truly start living, because I deserve it.

Supposed To

I thought no longer being in hospitals or treatment centers, no longer being consumed by racing thoughts of food and disgust with my body everyday, and no longer feeling too weak to even get out of bed was supposed to make things better. Supposed to make me happier. Supposed to make me enjoy life again.

I wish I could say it has, but recently I’ve felt more defeated than ever. No I am not back to engaging in eating disordered behaviors or wanting to die, but I am wanting to curl up in my bed and shut the world out for a while.

The past 3 weeks have been hell, literally anything that could go wrong in my life has. I feel frustrated, overwhelmed, and sad. I want to stay in my house and cry for days until all the tears I’ve stored up have run out.

Things aren’t supposed to be like this. Bad things aren’t supposed to be happening to my friends anymore. I’m not supposed to be sad all the time.

This phrase “supposed to” has become a big part of my life that I can’t let go of. I tell myself there are so many things I’m supposed to be making up for, so many people to help, and so many experiences to have that I end up criticizing myself for wanting to sit in my house and be sad instead of doing these things. I’m not supposed to be sad though right?

Throughout my five years in treatment my doctors always told me that they reason bad things kept happening to my friends was because I surrounded myself with unhealthy people who were always in crisis or on the brink of dying. I cut every one of those people out of my life and filled my life with healthy “normal” people as much as I could. But right now I feel like things aren’t changing, bad things keep happening and I want to run away from it all. I’m starting to think there’s no such thing as a healthy person and people wanting to kill themselves or making unhealthy decisions will forever surround me.

I’m starting to think this is a lie the doctors and therapists told me, just like when my parents used to tell me that if I would just get better all of our family problems would disappear.

I don’t know how much longer I can do this, keep living in this world pretending to be happy and like everything’s alright. Pretending this world is so much better than living inside the confined walls of a treatment center. Because right now the two don’t feel much different, and I’m running out of hope.

How To Save a Life

If you’re a reader of my blog you know that my weakness is trying to save people. I’ve spent my life in treatment centers meeting people in crisis and having them come to me when they want nothing more than to end their life and cease living in pain.

I used to tell myself God made me go through this for a reason. That I was the girl who would need to sacrifice herself in order to save others because their life was worth living but not my own. I would stay up for days, calling my long list of sick friends to make sure they were okay and if they weren’t it was my job to convince them that their life was worth living. A lot of them didn’t make it.

After learning of their death I’d always blame myself. I didn’t do enough, I didn’t say the right things, and they’re dead because of me. I’d always get on my knees begging God to take me instead of them, because I deserved it and they didn’t.

Here’s where I got it wrong. God did make me go through this for a reason but it wasn’t to sacrifice myself in order to save someone else. A friend once told me “you can’t save someone else if you’re drowning.”

I didn’t realize what this really meant until I got in recovery. I truly saw that I couldn’t play God and it wasn’t my job to save anyone, especially when I was barely keeping my own head above water.

I stopped taking calls from friends wanting to kill themselves and started living my own life. It still pained me to see people I cared about in pain but I realized the greatest thing I could do for them was live my own life and be an example that people can change and living a happy healthy life was possible after years of struggles.

The other night I was put in a familiar situation. A friend came to me and told me she wanted to die, she had been making plans of how to do it and everything would be better if she was gone. I didn’t know what to do and my mind began racing with fears of losing another friend and it being my fault because I couldn’t do enough. Then a light bulb went off, I couldn’t do anything, I couldn’t save anyone and there were never the right words to say to make someone want to live. I have been in that position before and had people tell me it gets better but when that switch flips in your head you don’t believe anyone and just want to escape the pain that is radiating through your body.

At this point I did something I’ve never done before. I admitted I couldn’t help her, that nothing I could say would make it better, and I took her to the hospital. I took her to the only place that could keep her safe, with people who can truly help her.

This was the hardest thing I’ve ever done but for the first time in my life I felt like I really did help. I admitted I was powerless and got her help. I’ve always told myself when my friends die that it’s been my fault but I now realize it’s not. I am powerless and I am human, but by admitting that this time I might have actually saved a life.