We all know her. Mascara stained tear tracks down her cheeks, too many shots in, trying desperately to go home with somebody. She’s a mess every weekend, and every time you see her at a party, it’s something new. Maybe it’s tears, maybe she’ll slap you, maybe it’s dancing on tables. She’s fun for about ten minutes, but even more fun to make fun of the next morning. If you don’t know her, you probably were her.
I know I was.
This time last year, something altered my life forever. I soon started spiraling. It started out pretty small; from skipping class and important meetings, to calling in sick every weekend at work, to going out every Wednesday and Thursday night. Pretty soon, I was drinking almost every night. Blacking out soon became a game. How drunk could I get tonight? How quickly could I get drunk? And my personal favorite — where will I wake up in the morning?
My grades started slipping. I burned bridges for fun — just to feel something. I lost a lot of really close friends, and impacted a lot of people around me. I was hurting, and I didn’t want to feel it.
I hated everyone. Even worse? I hated myself.
I hated myself because I was hungover every morning. I hated myself because I drank every night. I hated myself because I was skipping class, and hated how stupid I felt when I couldn’t figure out the homework. I hated myself because I was no longer in good standing with the University.
I hated myself because I was me.
I remember rationalizing to myself that once I got to Winter Break, and had a few weeks to decompress, I would be cured. When that didn’t happen, I talked myself into believing that things would be better around midterms. When I spent the upteenth Monday night drunk, burning yet another bridge via belligerent texts, I realized I had nowhere else to go. That life wasn’t going to get any better for me.
I remember the next day, being incredibly hungover, driving to work. I stank of liquor and cigarettes. I had probably gotten two hours of sleep, and I honestly couldn’t remember the last time I had washed my hair. But that wasn’t the worst part. The worst part were the tears the kept streaming down my face. I tried to stifle them, but they just kept coming.
In that hungover haze was a moment of clarity for me.
I had hit rock bottom. This was rock bottom.
I pulled over onto the side of the road and just let the emotions overtake me. I cried and cried, and wailed and sobbed until there was nothing left inside of me. I just sat there — completely numb. I looked up into the rearview window and took in my appearance. My tearstained cheeks and swollen eyes gazed back at me.
It was in that moment that I realized I deserved better.
I deserved better than I had given myself. I deserved to heal, and feel, and to grow. I promised myself that I would no longer be a tragedy — that I would no longer let myself be a victim of my circumstances.
Now, a year later, I am stronger than I have ever been before. I have become the young women that I didn’t realize I could become — regardless of my setbacks. I grew to realize that I had power over my situation — even when life threw its curve balls. I realized that I had the power and the ability to laugh at myself, to pick myself up and dust myself off.
I started loving myself again.
I started working out, drank more water, and tried to get to know myself better. I strived to understand how I reacted to things, how I think about the little and the big stuff, and most of all — how I feel. I started to appreciate knowing myself, and knowing the weight of a self-made promise. A promise to get better, and to be better. A promise that I was enough, and that I would be okay. A promise to myself, that I would still keep my head up on the darkest of days. A promise to dance in the rain, and find beauty in the cloudy skies. A promise to belt out my favorite song whenever and wherever it came on. A promise to be happy.
Though I still have my setbacks, I know that they will only make me stronger. That a bad day doesn’t mean it’s a bad life. Hitting rock bottom made me realize something — there’s only one way to go, and that way is up. My darkest days were surrounded by smoke and ash. But from those ashes I blossomed. I grew and I learned and I now choose to surround myself with the beauty of a life I created myself. I realized that I was a victim of my circumstances — the hardest part? Was choosing not to be.
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