Our nation’s spirits crumbled on September 11, 2001; my world crumbled on March 22, 2007. I was in a dark hole, and I could not see the light. My body bled from vertical and horizontal wounds. I can’t swallow, and my gums and teeth were pounding with pain from the last bathroom visit. What and why I was on this planet soon became my new mantra. This was the last night of hell I could handle. The next day I wanted to solve this with a permanent solution.
“We’re going for a drive,” my mother said, as I passed through the house with my eyes looking at the carpet. Next thing I know, we pulled up to what looked like an old haunted building. There was a big banner saying, “Welcome to Rogers Memorial Hospital, Celebrating 100 Years.” Tears poured down my face; but, they were tears of joy. Help was finally here.


I would be there as an in-patient. Before I could leave, I had to learn how to cope in a positive way. There I shared things with people I just met that my best friends didn’t know. I found that I wasn’t alone; people knew how I felt.
Once I was released I jumped in my own bed; I felt so good. At the same time, I was scared to be home. Now the challenges were back, and I had to face them head on. The weekend was okay, but now I had to face the biggest fear of all: school.
“Where were you?” everyone asked once they saw me.
“Sick,” I said.
“With what?” followed out of the lips of my peers.

What should I say? For being a cutter? For having an eating disorder? For not wanting to live to see tomorrow or should I just say I had mono. Sometimes, I just became silent when they asked.
Through this, I have found my true friends. I still have to find myself. Recovery is a process I’m still going through. I know I can be strong, hard working, and use my new tools throughout my life. I know I am not alone and can relate to my peers about the struggles of life because I went through it myself. I fell, but now I can rebuild just like the Nation did. I will remember my 9/11 for a lifetime.