yesterday, the universe shook me and knocked my body to the ground.
over this past week, i am ashamed to say that i had been numbing myself to the subtle truths i authentically held dear in my heart, and had chosen to persevere farther and farther into the unending darkness of anorexia and the desolation of old sickness, until i could not deny the raw reality of my existence any longer.
and this is when my stumble into familiar darkness halted.
let me start from the beginning.
yesterday, at 10:09am, i wrote with shaking hands:
i wrote that i believed myself to be just as lost as i ever was, only presently more capable of feeling it in excruciating fullness.
i wrote that my life was void of anything worth fighting for, that i had run out of hope.
i wrote that i wished to never feed my body again, until i ended up in the hospital with a feeding tube forced down my throat, as i used to time and time again when my life became too unbearable.
i wrote that i missed being on the brink of death, weak in a hospital bed, my anorexia so near that the final end was always imminent if i was desperate enough for a way out of this mess of a life.
and i wrote over and over again: i wish that i had died. i wish that i had died when i was actually sick. i wish that i had died, died, died. seized and died. passed out and never woke up. died. i wish so much that i had died.
12:02pm, less than two hours later. standing in my backyard. the winter air is cold, cold, cold:
i do not remember falling. fainting. i am unconscious for over ten seconds, until i fade barely into consciousness as my mum holds my body in the dirt, screaming for her partner to carry me inside. as i am lifted up, i fade out once again. my head has missed the cement by inches, the dirt is so so rough beneath me. i fade in fleetingly, as i am carried up the stairs and into the house. once more, i am gone. i remember nothing. i lay on the living room floor now, weak and shaking. i do not know how long it has been, but six emergency medical technicians have joined my terrified mother in our house. my eyes flutter. i tell them all that i am okay, i ask where i am going. the emergency room, they tell me. my heart sinks. the emergency room. i am transferred onto a gurney, strapped into place. the doors of the ambulance open like a metallic mouth, ushering me in. a nasal cannula is secured to flow oxygen into my shaking, pale body, my arm is constricted with a rubber band to insert the iv. my chest is plastered with stickers, lines of all colors connecting from my skin surrounding my heart into the monitor. i watch my heartbeat skip and race, as if it is running the loneliest race there is.
upon arrival to the hospital, i am relocated into a room. the bag of iv fluids hangs above me, as the monitors’ alarms echo to no end. my oxygen level refuses to rise above eighty. i am so tired, i try to sleep.
four hours in, as i near stabilization, the doctor assigned to my case makes her entrance with a subtle and unacknowledged understanding. our interaction was brief, but she said all that she needed to say. it was the universe, i am hesitantly close to sure, that manifested the rest.
“i can let you go home today,” she spoke, purposefully. “but you know the path you are following, and you know where you are headed. this road will lead you right back here, and i sense you know this too.”
and i did know this path. i knew it well.
i also knew that never before had i entered the emergency room and been given the gift of going home that same day, with no feeding tubes or unit transfers or inpatient admissions.
i knew that i was being given a new chance, a chance to change the direction of my life, a chance to do what i had never done before. to listen to the communications of the universe, and climb out of my darkness on my own.
i knew, as the night air washed over me as i stepped out of the sliding glass doors separating me from the hospital, that the sickening familiarity of this quick journey into darkness reaffirmed my knowing that a life and death of sterile walls and starvation was not all that i wanted to ever know.
i knew that i had to stay committed to this fight, to this life, no matter the pain nor ache, and no matter the obscurity and inconceivability of a future of freedom.
and that is what i have chosen to do, commit to this life.
5:14pm, as i dust myself off, for i am still covered in dirt from where i had fallen, before taking a seat in our car:
i chose to, in that moment, leave this path of self-deprecation and invisibilization behind. i did not know where my life would take me, but i could not deny that i knew the next right step.
we drove in the rain to the vietnamese pho restaurant that has always been the favorite of mine and my mums, and we order steaming bowls of noodle soup. tofu, vegetables, vermicelli, and hot broth. i breathe in this soup, this life, and exhale my fear.
i was shown, by something larger than myself, in the moment i so so much needed it, that i am capable and deserving of a life of luminosity.
i was shown, by stepping back into the shadows of who i used to be, just how much i no longer wholeheartedly want this life to end.