Early one morning in August, I walked into my doctor’s office knowing what was to happen that day. I felt horrible, for I was just coming of off an overdose which had debilitated me for days. It wasn’t a suicide attempt; it was just effort to numb and distract myself from the pain inside. The doctor’s office was a place I knew far too well. See, I have been battling demons a long time, and for the last 7 years this doctor, at the eating disorder clinic I came to twice weekly, had held my hand and pulled me back from the brink over and over again. She knows me far too well. From the moment she saw me in the waiting room, she knew it had happened again. As I walked into the exam room with her, she simply asked, "What did you take Amy?" I couldn’t lie to her, but I did. I broke out in nervous laughter and blurted out, "I didn’t take anything. Believe me." Over the next half hour she tried to coax a confession out of me, but I was a lost cause by that point. She knew I had been being self-destructive and that in the days to come, things would only escalate to an even more deadly level. Without a confession or proof, she couldn’t force me to stop, to be sent to a "safe place," and stop the abuse. So she wrote an order for me to drive across the street for a simple blood test, a test we both new would rat me out. We both also knew that it wasn’t that easy. It would be too simple for her to just right out a lab slip, have me go get the test, come back to see the positive results only for her to admit me into treatment for 72hrs. We both knew that things would have to get worse before they got better. That’s how it is with me… things always got worse. The real question was always, "just how much worse would things get?"

She was so scared to let me walk out of her office and back into a world where I am my own worst enemy; but she had no choice. As I walked out, I was drowning in emotions, horrible emotions- guilt, shame, disgust, anger, confusion… In my mind, there was only one thing to do with emotional pain, and that was to numb it with physical pain.

Compared to the emotional pain, physical discomfort wasn’t that at all. I was a state of near bliss. I walked over to my car, but before I reached for my keys, my hand wondered into my bag and pulled out a razor blade, an object which just the sight of it was able to provide me with a sense of relief. All I wanted was to be numb, to stop feeling. Ideas of suicide or death were not in my thought patterns, but ironically I was about to take myself to such a dangerous place. I began by running the blade along the inside of my left arm. I watched the blood pool up and then drip down. However, I was hurting too much at that moment for this action to ease the pain. Out of impulse, I clutched the blade in my left hand, closed my eyes and made one quick, forceful slash in the crease of my inner right arm. I felt no pain, but blood instantly splashed up in my face. Within seconds, everything around me was covered in blood. I knew I was in trouble. This isn’t what I wanted; I wasn’t ready for this. While a part of me felt that if I lay down between the cars in that parking lot my problems would all float away in minutes, my instincts took over. I quickly fished around for my cell phone and dialed for the only people that I knew could save me, my doctors, only feet away inside the building. Moments after I hung up the phone, I fell to the ground. The blood was still spewing out of my arm in a manner that represented nothing short of a geyser. My memory of the next few hours was vague, however some details I remember so vividly. My doctors all came out to the parking lot and soon after an ambulance arrived. My therapist was there holding my hand and trying to ease my mind until the paramedics closed the door. I lost so much blood so quickly. When I got to the hospital, I received a blood transplant and was rushed into surgery to mend the artery which had nearly been completely severed.

Of course, once I was stable, I was transported to the psychiatry floor, where I now recognize I should have been all along. I would spend a grueling week there. Over my stay, I did a lot of thinking. I know things could have gone so much differently that day. If I would have been anywhere else when it all happened, I know the chances are slim to none that I would be here today. And while I still am not happy, I can confidently say that on this day I am glad I am not dead.