The mission is simple: keep my head above water until January. When the new year rolls around, I'll graduate, be done with the show that I'm co-assistant directing, and be let go from the photographer position I'm holding at the portrait studio for the holiday season. Then, and only then, would I be able to calmly retreat from my life and receive help for my most recent and dramatic rock-bottom spiral. Just three more months.
The red-flags were surrounding me like land-mines. I had dropped all my meds, I was processing all of the nutritional numbers, but none of the nutrition, I was isolating, and the anxiety attacks.. oh, the anxiety attacks. But, like we do, I ignored them all. Nothing mattered but the ultimate goal: hold onto to my (imaginary) control.
There were three factors that played into aborting my oh-so-genius plan. The first came on October 19th, the day that I would be told I was not only no longer above water, but I was already drowning. I called Brie, my unfortunate partner in crime, having an unbearable panic attack at work. Without delving back into the details, she insisted I go to the ER. I told her I had to work, but didn't last long when I got back inside. My mom took me to the hospital shortly after.
I was fine - and no one was particularly shocked - but this one wasn't getting past the two big guys (see also: drugs & therapy). I had appointments set up with each of them very shortly after. Of course, the morning of those appointments (and I mean the morningest part of morning), is when factor two actually came along. I was still full-blown on my "must please everyone else before saving my own life" path until this point, but there was really only one person that could've slapped me in the face the way that I needed to realize what I was doing to myself and everyone around me. And he did. And I was starting to realize that I didn't have it in me to finish everything I'd started anymore and I wouldn't.. until I went back.
Factor three wasn't so much a factor, because it was slightly against my will, but I saw the men. I figured, perhaps they'd let me get away with some low-level outpatient for the next couple months. However, my thought process was changing and I realized I wasn't going to make it strongly through the next three months at that point.
That afternoon, my mom and I found ourselves on the 5th floor - "upstairs" as some like to call it. And there you have it. It's my one year anniversary of the day I finally officially decided to kick the shit out of this thing and was admitted to the EDU. I can't believe how much a person can change in a year.
My head's in a lot of different places right now. This has been weirder for me to recall than I expected. I guess it was kind of an intense experience, looking back on it..