My Story.

September 26, 2013

Imagine going home every day feeling terrible about yourself because a boy thought it’d be

funny to start an inappropriate rumor about you. How would you feel if every day you hid up in your

room crying because the girls at school whispered that you were fat, ugly, and worthless? What if you

were so anxious about the outfit you were wearing that took two hours to pick out that you plead sick

and stay home because you don’t want to be laughed at today like you were the day before? Eventually,

you find yourself left with seemingly only one option, it didn’t matter you were Christian, it didn’t

matter you would devastate entire families, you just needed relief. Lastly, see yourself sitting on your

bed, looking at two bottles of pills sitting on your night stand. You reach out and open one bottle. You

take ten pills, twenty, the thought of maybe you should stop and tell your parents flashes in your mind,

but you proceed to take more, thirty, forty. Before you know it, you walk quietly up the stairs to your

parent’s room and listen. You can’t bring yourself to open the door to your sleeping parents so you go to

your sister in tears and tell her to get Mom. You walk shakily to your parent’s room sobbing and your

mom runs to you in panic. She ask you what happened, what did you do, are you okay. All you can choke

out is, “Take me to the hospital.”

One September 26, 2013, 10:30pm this was me. The drive to the hospital consisted of many

tears. My mom asked me what had happened, I told her I overdosed and she did everything but cry. She

stayed strong when I couldn’t. She asked me why would I ever do such an awful thing, and I answered

with more crying because I didn’t have an acceptable answer. How do you ever explain something you’d

hid your entire life to someone in fifteen minutes? You can’t. I mumbled nonsense that my mom tried

making sense of but she soon let me cry and left me to my thoughts. I thought at this time, why did I

stop? I should be dead right now, why didn’t I just let it happen? These questions stayed with me for a

long time until I asked my mom if they were going to pump my stomach, she replied with, “I don’t know,

but I will make them do whatever it takes to keep you alive.”

Soon after, we half walked, half ran to the ER of Marietta Memorial Hospital, and I sobbed as

my mom told the receptionist that her daughter was an overdose. I couldn’t possibly be another statistic

when it came to teenage overdoses. She handed the woman the bottles of pills I took. The woman looks

shaken as she calls someone and says there’s another overdose and it’s an emergency. The quickly took

my blood pressure and took blood test from me before injecting an IV into the crease of my arm while

my mom held my hand to keep me from running away from the needle. I lay in the bed feeling nauseous

while my mom sat in a hard chair with her head in her hands, presumably trying not to cry. At that point

in time it was all I could do not to rip out the IV and tell my mom that I’m better, we can go home now.

But I couldn’t. I wasn’t better. My mom didn’t know what was wrong or how to fix it. It was completely

spontaneous to my mom, not something I had spent days planning.

A doctor came to talk to my mom, I had already been set up on six hours of a counter reaction

to the medicine I took, the doctor said when the medicine had finished, I’d be put on two hours more

and sent to Columbus, Ohio’s Children’s Hospital. My case was severe enough Marietta Memorial

couldn’t handle it. That was terrifying. In those few hours, I was forced to grow up and be accountable

for my actions. Within thirty minutes I was on a stretcher, in an ambulance on my way to Columbus. In

the ambulance there were two paramedics, both with names I don’t remember. One paramedic drove;

the other sat in the back of the ambulance with me and kept me stabilized. He talked to me the entire

drive to Columbus but of all the things he told me, he told me about his brother who had committed

suicide and he told me the anger he had to fight down for a long time towards his brother. I had never

thought much about how my decision affected everyone else because I didn’t want to. It was a selfish

decision, but it was another that I had made. He told me that suicide was the worst form of death not

only because it’s taken, but there are so many questions. He didn’t know why his brother had done

what he’d done and he’d never find out and that made him almost resent his brother. Also, he didn’t

understand why his brother would do something like that to his entire family. It angered him. The

paramedic gave me a new perspective that I hadn’t had before. I didn’t think about how my family may

grow to feel towards me if I did die. At that point in time, I was determined to live.

When I got to Children’s Hospital, I said my goodbyes to the paramedics and met my mom in

another room in another ER, two and half hours away from home and my family, where she spoke with

the woman who admits patients in to the hospital long-term. I’d be staying there for a long four days

before being transferred to Ohio State University Harding Psychiatric Facility. At Children’s Hospital and

OSU Harding, I was visited by many psychologist, psychiatrist, toxicologist, and the list goes on. But they

all had one thing in common; they all wanted to know what was so bad. And to describe something

you created in your head to someone who had never met you is an impossible task. Everyone looked at

me like I was truly insane when I said I had a perfect life but was unhappy. They didn’t understand the

impact the devil had had on me. He found my weaknesses and made me go against God. If it weren’t

for that tiny voice of God in my head that my mother put there, I would be dead today and instead of

hearing my testimony, you’d be hearing my eulogy. And fortunately, God gave me another chance, he

had a purpose for me in this life and it’s not to be dragged by the devil my entire life. I see this now but

at the time I was struggling with anger towards everyone, regret, and most of all unexplained sadness.

At Children’s Hospital, after I had been taken out of the ER and to a room, I tried to explain the

stress that had always been put on me to be my take on the word “Perfect.” Like I said, I am involved

band, choir, creative arts, Model United Nations, Science Olympiad, volleyball, track, and the list goes

on. I was what most people saw as a perfect child. I am a fantastic student and a polite person to

everyone. This to me was all a facade because no one could see how hurt I was with every rumor or

whisper kids had played on me. It broke me down and I felt like a fake person because of it. All my good

qualities, in my mind, were washed out by the bad and I was nothing but a liar to everyone. I realized

later that just because I made mistakes, it didn’t make me a bad person, just human. God created me

the way that I am and despite the sin that still takes place in my life, God’s glory will shine through me in

the good times and bad. All because I am Christian, I was given this gift, and it would take me months to

realize this.

At Children’s Hospital, I met some incredible people who helped me slowly put together my

own puzzle. First, there was “Crazy Kathy”. She wasn’t too crazy besides her constant bickering of how I

didn’t drink enough and threats to tell the doctor I needed some shot or another. She was kind of like a

mother to me. I wasn’t seeing how amazing my mother was at this time just the changes she was forcing

me to make and Kathy helped me see that anger was the wrong thing to be feeling and that I have to

realize that. Not her.

The next inspiring person I met was an amazing woman with the funniest name I had ever heard

and could never remember, she told me of her life and always treated me like a person, not like some

stupid teenager. She told me of her son and the love she had for him and told me how much my mom

loved me or she wouldn’t be doing what she was doing.

The third person, Samantha I think her name was, told me she once was a crazy teenager like

me and she seemed to me to have nothing wrong either. She was beautiful, she had a loving family, a

kind boyfriend, things I had strived for and yet at one time she was as dissatisfied as me. She gave me

hope that I could overcome this mountain I had built myself.

There was one last person at Children’s Hospital that left a lasting impression was a guy

named Mike. He taught me once again the love of a parent and the fear they must be feeling and no

matter how much I argued with him, he told me the same thing; I am loved by so many, no matter the

circumstances. That I will never forget.

When a bed opened up at OSU Harding, and I was healthy enough to be off an IV I was

transported in an ambulance there. At around midnight I arrived there without my mom; alone and

had to sign myself in and fill out forms asking me questions I didn’t know the answer to. If I didn’t

already see it, I missed my mom and guilt set in. I was brought to my room where a girl lie sleeping and

I immediately went to my old ways and worried fifty thousand questions, not one of them was would

I like her. At five in the morning blood was taken from me because I couldn’t sleep and I was forced to

restrain myself alone. As much as I’d like to say I was a ‘big kid’ about it, I was crying by the end of it.

When my roommate, Marley, was awake to take blood I was there and I offered her my hand to squeeze

because I could tell she was just as scared as I was. She accepted it gratefully and from that point on

Marley became my much more than a roommate. She helped me through the tears and the hurt in a

way only a friend could. No psychologist or therapist could ever do what she did in my life. I’ll never

forget her and I’ll never be able to thank her enough.

I stayed at OSU Harding for seven days and during those seven days I learned much more about

myself then in the thirteen years previous mainly because I was also constantly asked one question; why

did you go tell someone? My answer to that was simple. I was truly Christian, although my relationship

had been put to the test, I loved God and was not destined to go to hell for eternity. I recall the summer

before my suicide attempt I went to church camp and was as close to God as ever. I made the decision

to become a missionary and to speak to those who didn’t know God. My mom later told me the devil

attacks those he sees as threatening. I truly believe God has great things in mind for me or the devil

would have not tried so hard to kill me and destroy my faith.

was truly as ‘crazy’ as some of the other patients there. One memory that stands out is the memory of

when I sat with Marley in our room drawing with chalk quietly and we got rewarded for not screaming

because everyone else outside was. The reward system was, of course, ‘Buckeye Bucks’ and later you

got to go to the ‘Buckeye Store’. We had three classes a day and one period we counted as school where

you made up school work you were missing. The other three classes were recreational therapy, coping

class, and either relaxation group or a teens class. My favorite class was recreational therapy. I was

taught to use my artistic ability to cope with some of my struggles. My second favorite was the teen

class, this happened only three times a week and they taught you the dangers of many things teens tend

to do. Coping class taught you ways to recognize and cope with certain feelings. In this class

identification of different feelings and emotions was a key aspect of this class. Another favorite class

was relaxation group, this class was before bed and it taught you to see the best in every situation and

to be uplifting. All of these classes taught you different aspects of just being human and how to handle

natural stress. Matt and Sean were two workers at OSU Harding that became like brothers to me. Matt

held my string so I could make a bracelet while we listened to Pandora in a separate room, Sean told me

of his wedding plans with his fiancé in mind. They both taught me love once again, and how much

people around me loved me. Sean had once had terrible anxiety and he said that you can overcome it,

you don’t need to be apathetic, you just need to learn when enough is enough. They both had such a

love for what they did and I believe truly for each and every patient there. Matt grew up with a house

full of sisters and I always assumed that taught him right because he showed me that life has a higher

purpose above all your childhood years. Matt and Sean are two people who I will never forget because

of all the things they taught me in one of my weakest moments.

I had one last key aspect to getting better; seeing that God loved me too. I had been saved for

many years, but I had never truly had that relationship put to the test. When I finally got home, I had

opened up to some of the changes but still was going to be difficult. I have to go to therapy every week

and I was very reluctant at first for I thought it was only for ‘crazy’ people. I realized later that therapy

was what would help me realize the love that surrounded me was really for me, not a fake person, and

that the relief I desperately wanted wasn’t hard to obtain.

One Sunday, after I was home, I asked God to give me a sign of him. I asked for two leaves on

this bench in my yard. Of course that sounds silly but I had heard the story of the fleece and the dew

and I thought maybe that applied. I don’t know if I really thought it would happen even at the time but a

At OSU Harding, there were many things that frightened me. The biggest fear was that I

few days later, after I had already forgotten about my prayer I saw the funniest sight. Two trees behind

all the rest were glowing on my way down to the bus stop. And just earlier had I thought about signs of

God being everywhere. These two trees had millions of leaves on them. God had once again given me

so much more than I had asked for. What’s even more amazing is in the picture I took, you can see the

road that leads to Seaman’s, a store I went to get ice cream in my past, my grandparents’ house in my

present, and the high school in my future. It was centered on these two trees. I was changed that day

again. I realized how much I needed God in my life. After that point, I got engaged in the youth group, I

told Adam and Eric my story, and since then everything has been looking up for me. God leaves signs for

me everyday that I need to just keep going. I haven’t made my story an open one till now, because I’m

tired of hiding everything that happened. Hiding is how I used to live my life, but now I want the power

of God to speak through me as I share my testimony and show that I am not ashamed of what I did, but

proud of what I’m overcoming.

Lastly, I want to leave you with my reason for telling you this. I want each and every one of you

to know that not only do you always have someone to come to, but that bullying isn’t fun, suicide isn’t

a cool thing, and that one decision can impact your entire life. I still struggle with the after effects of

everything that happened; it didn’t just disappear after I rediscovered God in my life. But God helps me

each and every day fight it and become a stronger Christian. This will never considered my eighth grade

disaster, but my eighth grade revolution. And always remember this; Since, then, you have been raised

with Christ, set your hearts on things above where Christ is seated at the right hand of God. Set your

minds to things above, not on earthly things. For you have died, and your life is now hidden with Christ

in God. When Christ, who is your life, appears, then you also will appear with him in glory. ~Colossians

3:1-4, the scriptures that saved my life.