My life was slipping into a slow suicide. Because my brain was literally being starved, I could no longer function in school. My thoughts scattered and depression ruled my being. Things began to happen that I viewed as tragedy but later realized they were the life preservers I had to have tossed to me for survival.
I remember snapshots, like a slideshow of events. I see myself working out to the point of pure exhaustion, blacking out at the gym after my 3 hours run on the treadmill. There was the manic shopping trips, buy package after package of utility knife razors gradually increasing in the size and sharpness of each blade. I fainted downtown when I was with all of my friends and played it off that I had the flu. The incidents and sloppiness of my secrecy lead to poor explanations of my self-destruction. I neglected to conceal things like drops of blood on my shirt sleeve, vomit splatters on the toilet seat and forgetting to toss out the napkin that I quickly spit my food into when no one was looking at the dinner table.
I could not keep up with my lies. My memory was compromised, forgetting what I said when to explain away my secret life. Then one day, out of love and worry, my mom broke the silence. What I did not see through my denial was that my sickness became transparent. She saw the dark side that I coveted of a dual life and intervened with what at first I viewed as interrogation Later I see she did it to save my life.
The day I caved into my secrets and let the world into my truth was a turning point in my struggle with the self-harm in its entirety. I slowly left my comfort zone and began to talk about the plague that had been ailing me. Gradually conversations of hope and healing took place. I bravely began taking baby steps into recovery. It was then that life had possibilities once more.