![]() ![]() Turning down opportunities turned into necessity, and survival became the top priority. While my physical health continued to decline, my mental health rapidly spiraled with it, perched on a cliff like I had Bonnie and Clyde sitting on each shoulder, double-dog daring me to turn the car off the edge. Officially, I had a stomach ulcer, but after five more months of medications and follow-up visits, I still said “hello” to the toilet bowl before I could greet the sun in the morning. I struggled through the spring, keeping my head down and hoping my professors would be forgiving with the ever-looming doctor’s note above my head. My weight was dropping as rapidly as my grades because I couldn’t attend classes, and I had to quit everything I loved. Over the course of six months, I lost everything. I had no idea what was happening to me, and the doctor’s best guess was as good as mine. A darkness had set over my life, and I fought to find the light to grow. ![]() I was too weak to shower, too weak to eat, too weak to even use the bathroom by myself. Months later, I laid in my bed silently letting the tears stream down my face. Soon after, I found myself aching from vomiting multiple times a day, and my doctors chalked it up to a thyroid medication I was taking. I was embarrassed, so I didn’t tell anyone about the intense sickness I felt in my stomach. ![]()
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