Disclaimer:

Before reading this, I want you to know that I am truly sorry if anything that is written offends you, hurts you, disappoints you, angers you, or pushes you away. But I beg that you love me regardless, you treat me the same, do not pity me or judge me; Love me, and encourage me to continue strengthen my body and mind in this journey.

The Beginning was Easy

Wednesday, November 23rd, 2016, marks 2 years from the day that I overdosed and was dead for a few hours before coming back to my physical body and regaining consciousness.

When I turned 18 years old I had so many plans for my life and goals that I knew would be within my reach, as long as I kept my head on straight and worked hard. I knew that I had to stay focused and learn to manage my depression, anxiety and life. However, everything was immediately crushed when I chose to start using drugs. It began small with marijuana and quickly turned to a cocaine addiction and finally an overdose. It was so easy to lose myself in the drugs, turn my back on God and run from my job, schooling, friends and family. It was so easy to get addicted and lose it all.

Then it Got Harder

I began to need drugs in order to function, spent hours in bed if I couldn't find some substance to numb out with, and lose connection with everyone who tried to help me.

The overdose happened November 26, 2014. The day before Thanksgiving. The day before I was supposed to be with my family and enjoy what God had given me.

Everything was a blur; Drunk and high, I scrambled to the bathroom, anxious and excited. My boyfriend, at the time (now an ex!!), had mentioned he got me a gift and it was in the bathroom. I stumbled into the bathroom and found 3 perfect rows of what I assumed was MDMA, which actually ended up being Meth laced with PCP; Sadly, we were too stupid and didn't use a test kit. What was supposed to be a fun trip, turned into the worst 48 hours of my life.

Then it Ended.

I remember snorting the drugs, and immediately falling to the ground in what felt like a slow motion, strobe-light effect, death crawl. I screamed the most blood-curdling scream I've ever heard as I hit the floor, "Call 911, I'm dying!". My ex-boyfriend and all our friends ran into the bathroom. The lights started to fade, I was cold, but I was burning up. My body began going through the physical symptoms, while my mind began to come alive with the fact that this was it, I was going to die. I watched my boyfriend hold my head in his hands, and beg me not to leave, trying to wake me, get me to stand up; He didn't realize it was too late. I blacked out. For the rest of the night, around 8 hours, I was blacked out. I couldn't see, talk, or move. Later, I found that my ex carried me to the car, drove us home, brought me inside, and put me in bed. In my mind, I was dead. I had no idea what was happening, and all I knew was that I was in some form of purgatory. I was in pain, but everything was in my head. I woke the next morning and was seemingly fine, only with a slight fever, some pain in my muscles and head and extreme weakness.

Happy Thanksgiving Mom

I went to Thanksgiving at my ex's house with his family, and started to fall into a drug-induced psychosis. My body was releasing the rest of the drug that was sitting inside, waiting to attack. I started seeing things, hearing things, blacking out. He was panicked. He did what he thought was right, and dumped me on my parent's doorstep, who had no idea what had happened the night before. They immediately tried to take me in, but I refused. I didn't want to get in trouble, I didn't know they would have excused me because of the fact that I was dying. I blacked out in my mother's arms, cold, numb, and unaware of anything. I felt like I was floating, like God was going to save me, like this was what I had to be grateful for, I was going home to Heaven. Hours passed, they wouldn't let me fall asleep. All I wanted to do was fall asleep and go to Heaven, even Hell at this point; I just wanted it to stop.

I finally came out of it. The next 6 months I lived in fear, fear that I was going to die. I became agoraphobic, paranoid, and had sever PTSD symptoms from my NDE. I eventually quit using, February 23, 2015 after God told me I would lose my life if I didn't stop, and I began actively seeking recovery.

The 23rd of November. A few days from now, marks 2 years since I lost my life. I still struggle everyday when I get anxious or sick; It feels like I'm dying and I fall into a panic. I still cry myself to sleep, begging God to help me understand why I had lived when so many others have died. I still cringe when I hear about people using drugs and thinking nothing could ever happen to them; I thought that to, and if it were not for God, I would be dead.

2 years. 24 months. 731 days (leap year!). So many hours. Of life. Of living with God, of loving my family, of recovery, both active and forced.

I have no doubt that I am alive today, because God knew someone needed me, knew that I had potential, knew that I could change. God gave me a second chance. And as the 23rd approaches quickly, I am still filled with fear, but I am also filled with hope, and gratefulness. I am thankful to God. I am thankful to be alive.