Here's to You, 2017

New year, new me, right? That’s the most cliché statement in the world, but I can tell you, this year has taught me so much about love, life, heartbreak, and strength. Ironically, January 1 is the start of a new year, and also marks five months since the worst day of my life. Those five months were also the most significant months of my entire life. I’ve learned that if I made it out of August alive, I could basically make it out of anything. My story doesn’t end at me being shot, losing the love of my life and having to move home. My recovery wasn’t an easy one. I couldn’t drive, I was in immense pain every day, and even taking a shower or getting dressed was traumatic because of how hard it was. It just ended up being a constant reminder that my life turned completely awful faster than a speeding bullet. Literally. I cried just about all day, everyday for weeks. I would text him at least a couple times a day when everything in my mind was too much for me to deal with. I needed to know how he could just stop caring after loving me so much. I needed to know how he was okay, because I wanted so bad to be. After a couple weeks of this I told him that I was bringing our dog down and coming to see him, knowing I wouldn’t, but desperately hoping for a response. He texted my mom to let her know I had said that, in hopes she wouldn’t allow it to happen. About three hours later I texted him again, as I lied in bed with all the medicine I had left the hospital with. I asked him to please take care of our dog when I was gone, because he was the greatest blessing in the world, and he deserved to grow up with one of his parents. This time he didn’t text my mom a warning. I took about 25 opioid pain killers, 800 mg of seroquil, and an entire bottle of Prozac. About 20 minutes later it turned scary. My vision was blurred; the world was spinning. My heart started beating so fast, and so hard that all I could hear was my heart pounding in my ears. I remember trying to sit up and holding my heart, terrified that I was going to die from it exploding, and wondering if that would be a painful way to go. After a few minutes I lied down and closed my eyes, hoping to just fall asleep. I vaguely remember hearing my brother screaming. I remember hearing the EMTs. I remember randomly hearing nurses ask me questions that I thought I was responding to, but it was like my whole body was paralyzed besides my ears. I remember that I was forced to drink liquid charcoal, and then I remember waking up in the ICU. When I woke up, it was 14 hours and three rounds of narcan later. When I found out how close I was to succeeding I wasn’t relieved I hadn’t, but cried because I wished so much that it would have worked. After a few days in the hospital that changed. I was grateful for the people I met, and grateful I was living. I’d be lying if I said that there hasn’t been many times since that I’ve lied in bed wishing I had been successful, or thinking about suicide. But I realize how far I’ve come, and it’s only going to get better from here. I learned how little my life meant to the man I loved, but how much it meant to all those around me, even people I barely knew. I learned that I can feel happiness again, even if it’s not the same way I felt it before. And even more importantly, I learned it’s okay to not be okay, and that so many other people are capable of understanding how you feel, even if it’s not those closest to you. So, 2017, thank you. Thank you for kicking my ass, making me hit rock bottom, and slowly starting to build me back up. You’ve given me wisdom, strength and most importantly, determination. This year is about me, and being better than I ever was before, and building a life for myself, not someone else.