I have a friend, who's lived a year longer than me and yet stands several inches shorter, that has endured more storms than any thirteen year old should ever have to (in my opinion.) Back in early August, around the 10th of, she very quietly asked over the phone if she could tell me something important. The mix of fear, shame, desperation, and other emotions were all too familiar for comfort. With tense muscles, I told her she could trust me, no matter what. I heard a sigh coming from the other side, the words following coming slowly and to-the-point. Long conversation short, she admitted to abusing cough pills and syrups, along with cutting deeply around her wrists, eyes, and lips.
I was devastated, and struggled to stay calm. Though my voice was sturdy in response, inside I was screaming and thrashing about. Now, understand, this was only days after I had begun to "overcome" my own demons with self-injury, pills, alcohol, and the cravings to move on to harder things. Two hours later, when we hung up the phone, I took the time to sit and sort my feelings. My Mom was sleeping, the phone unplugged, and my bedroom door closed shut. I knew that, if anything, I would at least have to prove to her rescue, recovery is possible. Though her mental, and physical, decline has been obvious to me, I've kept hope at heart for her to get better. I've had to talk her out of things at times, and I was stressing myself out over it. That all ended this afternoon, with the sun setting in the distance.
It sometimes amazes me how things work out. On my side of things, the day had been hard and upsetting. There was no reason, it was just rush of emotion after another; confusion, depression, numbness, and more depression. My mood varied period to period, minute to minute. The only thing I was sure would be the same (and I was right) was the cravings to be drunk again, to grab harder things than pills to get high; my mind tampering with my thinking convincing me it would be alright to reach for beer and drugs. That I would be OK if I did those things.
"You're only 12 going on 13, you can't possibly have a problem with drinking" (I don't understand where this comes from, it makes me feel like more of an idiot than I was for picking up a bottle in the first place: I KNOW I did - every assessment on the internet pointed to it, my senses did, the fact I could never seem to gain full control set off alarms, and not to mention the withdrawal - ugh, withdrawal); "One drink won't hurt, just one and no more"; "You won't become addicted to drugs like those other teenagers, you'll be alright." ; "They won't hurt you, forget what facts say." Those are basically how my mind was spinning all day, I feel stupid looking back on them.
When I got home, I listened to music, watched Life on The Murder Scene (Non My Chemical Romance fans: read this), tried everything to quiet down the cravings in my mind. Just as I was about to sprint outside and get my hands on whatever alcoholic drink I could, my phone rang. My friend sounded happy, up-beat....hopeful, even. The first words she spoke into the phone were all that was needed: "I came out to a close adult friend, I'm going to stop, i want to quit." The energy she possessed was amazing, and as I listened to her say the urges were beatable...my own went away.
Point of this long, horribly written post? To show hope is possible, for anybody, anyone, with any self-destructive anything. Rescue is real, hope is possible, community is essential. Life can improve, sometimes, you just have to fight a bit to win that change in your life.
