Dying on the Inside and Suffocating on the Outside

Chapter1 Suffocating: DYING ON THE INSIDE AND SUFFOCATING ON THE OUTSIDE

My life is rough. It tried chewing me up but instead, it has sucked me up whole because my skin is too tough and most definitely too thick. Yet, life has spit me out whole as I've started from ground zero over and over again. I must say, life has tackled me down because I had a lot of ups and downs. Well... I still have a lot of ups and downs, but it's not as bad as it was years ago.

Seventeen years ago, I was a little girl who was born to a woman who didn't want me—ever since then my life has been fucked up. Well... I am now trying to work on what I can change and accept the things I cannot change. It hasn't been easy, but I am taking it one day at a time.

Most days are unbearable, however, slowly but surely, they are getting better. In order to make the best of each day, I look in the mirror, point to myself, look at myself straight in the eyes, give myself a pep talk and say, "Skylar, this is another day and you are still here, therefore you must be doing something right. You are alive and most importantly, you have taken the initiative to seek help."

Three weeks ago, I was admitted to an Inpatient Treatment Center because I struggled with my appearance. To be honest, there's more to it. Not only did I struggle with my appearance, but I also struggled mentally as well. I considered myself to be damaged goods. I classified myself as someone who people felt like they had to put up with—or love me because I just happen to be here. I didn't ask to be here—none of us did.

I am here by default.

I was a huge mistake.

...and because of that, I always had low self-esteem. Ever since I can remember, I always had an eating disorder of some kind. I covered it up very well for nearly seven years, or maybe longer. I stopped keeping count, because I had to focus on keeping my weight down, as I worked overtime to act normal so that people wouldn't figure out that I had so many serious issues.

I put up a good front for many years. My time finally ran out, when I was sitting at the dinner table munching on some carrots. It happened so quickly!

I was talking to my pops about my day. My coach had pissed me off because she wanted to act like a Ms. Know-It-All as she changed the rules out of the blue. My coach knows I love lacrosse and that I live for the sport. I've been playing lacrosse for nearly a decade—she knows how passionate I am about the game. To be honest, I know the game better than she does. She kept asking me to be a fair player and to give everyone a chance. I was so upset as I asked her, what did she mean—give everyone a chance? I've worked my butt off every single day! I am the first and the last person at practice. When I am not practicing with my team, I am practicing at home or on another field. I worked hard for my position on the team. Nobody gave me a chance. I had to earn it!

I told my coach that the others needed to work as hard and put in the work just as I did. I threw down my stick and fast-paced off the field. I looked back at her and said, "If you want to give everyone a fair chance—you got it! I am going to get out of the way, sit on the sideline, practice my skills at home, and then we are going to see what giving everyone a chance looks like. Good luck with winning!"

My coach called my name, but I kept on walking because I was going to give her what she wanted. I'd made up my mind that she wasn't going to use me to win games. She needed to give "everybody a chance" at proving themselves. I was expressing my facts to my pops about how I felt—and the next thing I knew, I was choking. He hurried over, called 911, and gave me CPR.

After help arrived, I didn't remember anything. Hours later, after I opened my eyes, I was in the hospital with a lot of people surrounding me wearing white coats, holding tablets, folders, and talking about my condition. I could barely hear what they were saying because I was drowsy and the room was spinning. I heard beeping noises, but couldn't quite figure out what they could be. I looked over and noticed that I was hooked up to a heart monitor. I looked under my white and baby blue hospital gown and noticed leads on my chest. My arm was aching, I looked at my arm and noticed I had an IV in my arm—I hate needles. I was in unbearable pain.