My bathroom floor. The frigid tiles have seen me at my worst. The glossy pastel colors have caught my tears that no one hears. I lie on the floor, my cheek pressed to the cool tile. The cold feels refreshing like the crisp fall air. I stare blankly at the ceiling like a dead corpse. My body is numb to all emotions. I make a list in my head of all the good things. My family. My best friend. Mock trial. Country music. My future. Vacations. It was a common occurrence. Was is the key word. I haven’t gone back to that cold, lonely place since I finally got help. 

Sitting on the bathroom floor. The cool tile under my toes makes then curl. Cold like cement, like rock bottom. I hug my knees as I rock back and forth, like a boulder teetering on the edge of a cliff. That’s where I was; the edge, feeling like I was being pushed closer and closer to falling. I felt sick, so so sick. My anxiety was at an all time high. I felt like I was going to throw up. I needed to throw up. I couldn’t, there was nothing in me to throw up. Tears race down my cheeks, like rain drops on a window. More tears each time I lunge over the toilette and throw up nothing. I felt my world come crashing down. I couldn’t keep lying to myself. I needed help. My heart beat like a bass drum in my chest. One. Two. Three. Four. I’m okay. One. Two. Three. Four. It’ll be okay. 

I peel myself off the unsympathetic ground. I walk out of the room that’s held me when I felt alone. I sit down on the couch with my mom. She takes one look at me and embraces me in a hug. Her warm hug causes my walls to come crashing down. The floodgates have opened as my emotions flow like a raging river. I barely get out the words, “I need help.” She understands. She’s my mom, my guardian angel. My greatest accomplishment is having the strength to get up. I did it. I got help. No more lying to myself about how I’m doing. The bathroom floor can no longer hold me down.