Coming Home

“Do you like it?”

My stomach sank. I gulped, willing bile to creep up my throat, but nothing came. I snuck a glance at him and immediately wished I hadn’t. His eyes sank at my silence, waiting for an answer. I turned the other way, pressing myself against the window.

“Olivia? Do you like it?”

OF COURSE I DON’T LIKE IT, I screamed in my head. But I couldn’t say that. His feelings would be hurt. I couldn’t do that to daddy. I shrugged my shoulders, then slumped against the window again.

“Are you embarrassed to say that you like it?” he pressed.

I sighed. I was miserable but knew I couldn’t be honest. I had to protect my family. And protect him. I jerked my chin up and down before I knew what I was doing without looking at him. I heard the smile in his voice.

“Me too.”

My stomach was in knots. I’m disgusting, I thought. My self-hatred was only growing, but at least I hadn’t hurt him. I sighed. Oh well.

...

At that moment, I wanted to disappear, and in the coming years, that’s precisely what I did. I shut myself down, living on autopilot. My behaviors were riddled with poor choices that reflected the survival tactics I picked up during my trauma.

I ultimately gave away my power to these coping mechanisms, and on October 5th, 2016, I jumped off of a 4 story building. This wasn’t my first suicide attempt, the most recent being only 6 months prior, but it was the most serious. My lumbar spine was shattered, my neck and ankle were broken, and I underwent multiple emergency surgeries. My neurosurgeon told my family I would probably never walk again. Miraculously, I woke up with faint movement in my legs and gradually learned how to walk and care for myself. My unbroken leg suffered from foot drop due to nerve damage, meaning it is partially paralyzed. I lived in a TLSO brace, a neck cast, a giant boot, and a stabilizing boot for what felt like an eternity.

I was put on court-ordered mental health treatment for one year and designated as SMI (Seriously Mentally Ill) for my depression and PTSD. This forced me to be consistent with mental health treatment for the first time in my life. I went through the motions but was miserable, believing it to be a waste of time.

Then suddenly, everything changed. It was like I could breathe again. I realized how long I had been living as a ghost. My life nearly ended before I discovered how much the world had to offer and how much I had to offer the world.

Often we hold ourselves brutally accountable for the pain we have caused ourselves. But I want to honor my past self. I don’t look back at the person I was in shame because I did the best I could with the resources I was given.

The worst version of myself is a person that I am proud of. In a place of hopelessness and complete despair, she rebuilt her life. She survived and deserves credit for that. In my darkest moments, she protected me in the best way she knew how. She fought so hard to survive, so how could I not honor her actions?

As Maya Angelou once said, “Do the best you can until you know better. Then when you know better, do better.”

I forgive myself for not knowing better.

If my 2016 suicide attempt hadn’t been as serious as it was, there would have been another, and another, until I succeeded. The severity of my injuries was necessary for me to take my life back. My suicide attempt saved my life.

When I tell my loved ones that I don’t regret what happened or feel any guilt about the lifelong physical ramifications I live with, they are shocked. I understand their confusion, but I also see how monumental of a decision my past self was faced with. There were two choices: give up, continue down the road I was on, and end up dead. Or step into my grief, relive my most painful experiences, and commit to healing. The person who chose the second option does not deserve to be remembered as the worst version of myself. The emotional labour she put forth allowed me to grow into the person I am today.

I wouldn’t want anyone to go through what I did, but I don’t hate my experiences or who I used to be. My struggle allowed me to come home to myself. I am becoming more clear every day.