Piece by Piece

I recently did a display at work to highlight Suicide Prevention Awareness Month and have received a lot of great feedback. Someone near and dear to my heart said, 'Wish I saw more of this as a young adult - would have made me feel less alone'. And I couldn't agree more. I speak candidly about my mental health struggles, including my anxiety and history of an eating disorder, but I rarely share my depression, self-harm, and suicidal ideation. I remember the first time I cut myself. I couldn't tell you how old I was; I just remember breaking a snow globe and using the shattered glass. Self-harm wasn't talked about when I was growing up, you just knew people who did it because people would gossip, but that was it. Mental illness and mental health were not a thing people talked about openly. I cut for many years, mainly because it made me feel. I struggled to cover up some of the marks; until recently, I could see the scars. If I look hard enough, I can see them, but I

Life is a wild ride. Like a roller coaster, life is thrilling, terrifying; it can feel like you'll never get to the good part. You scream, laugh, possibly cry, you may shit your pants, and then it's over. I have too often gotten caught up in the comparison game, the what if's, the should haves, etc. I have been hard on myself, so hard that there were times I thought I couldn't go any further, and I just wanted to get off of the line. It's rare that I sit back, on a regular basis, and reflect on all of the good things that I have, who I have become, and where I can go. Today, as I was scrolling through pictures to try and find one in particular, I came across three pictures I took of my scalp last summer. Just as a little refresher, after feeling so disgusted and fed up with myself and my trichtotillomania, I decided to buzz cut all my hair off. In that moment I felt like I had no other choice but to start with a nearly blank canvas.  There have been many days since

Six years ago I was on a plane to a little place called Wickenburg, AZ. I had no idea what to expect when I arrived, nor did I realize how lost I had become. Lost, not in a directional way, but lost in a 'who am I/what am I doing here?' kind of way. Even when I arrived, thousands of miles away from Stefan, I didn't really feel anything besides a splitting headache. Naturally, I hadn't eaten most of the day, hence the terrible headache...but they would 'fix' that, wouldn't they? I remember having my belongings searched; no earrings allowed, no floss, no razor, no shirts with logos, no shampoo/conditioner if it contained alcohol. Well shit, this is the real deal. I went downstairs to get some vitals and testing done, and that's when I discovered that the results of my EKG weren't great...I was really doing damage to my body that could ultimately have killed me. While I knew what I was doing, I never believed I would die.  There were so many other peopl

It's been quite a while since I have written anything and I can tell, being that my emotions have been all over the place. So much has happened in the past few months, I don't even know where to begin, so this may be a little scattered....bear with me and get out your violins 😑. My coworker and friend passed away just over a month ago, but was in ICU for about a month until she passed away. I visited her most everyday and watched her improve, only to decline again. Moments shared with her were heartbreaking and we never got answers as to what actually happened. Did me making a call cause all of this? Would it have been better if I didn't interfere? Why am I always trying to be a hero? Having been there from the beginning of the end, I felt a lot of pain when myself, along with other colleagues, were jerked around by those making the arrangements for her celebration of life. Only to arrive the night of, what I thought was a half hour early, to walk into the memorial having