A blank stare. My brain controls everything. Itself included. I lie there believing the only light I'll see in the morning is the light to heaven. My heart beats, all my organs in check; however, I believe I'm dying. Sitting up, my mom looks over at me. I am unable to speak, unable to explain, unable to ask for help.

12:00 a.m. Concerned, my mom drives me to the Oconomowoc emergency room. I am still unable to make out more than two words, and my body feels as if it has gone into complete failure. 

2:00 a.m. I lie sound asleep in a hospital bed, cold, plugged in, and as safe as I can be.

4:00 a.m. I am now sleeping in my own bed, nothing medically wrong with me. However, my body is out of alignment. 

If nothing was wrong, why make my mother stay up all night? Why pay hundreds of dollars for an ER visit? The answer is simple and quite common actually. Anxiety.

No longer are the monsters under my bed or in my closet what I fear at night. Now it is my own body. My mind. My thoughts. So smart yet so dangerous. For so long I was resistant to get real help, tell someone what was truly going on inside my head 24/7. Now I didn't have a choice. I pushed myself to the point of help being a necessity to survive.  

Therapy. Counseling. Treatment. Whatever one calls it, I was now forced to participate. I was scared and I was worried about exposing a very fresh and chronic wound. That was until I met one little lady. 

Melonie, a 5’2’’ Puerto Rican mid-20-year-old, taught me that everything was all okay. A simple shape, the triangle, would give insight into how to deal with my constant worry and fear. I felt the bricks I'd been carrying since childhood lifting off my shoulders each week when I stepped into her office. Finally, there was someone who understood. Rarely do people find their person on the first try, but Melonie made me feel safe and one thing made that clear to me. The way that she said my name with her Hispanic accent. Hemma, it rolled off her tongue so lovely, and it made me feel close to her. 

“Honey, I got a message from the doctors, Melonie is moving and can no longer see you”

But, then there wasn’t. Melonie was gone. She was no longer a weekly visit, but her lessons a memory. Not by choice but through force. 

What I had thought to be destructive to all of my progress, only forced me to overcome it myself. Instead of hiding in my room, isolating and digging myself a deeper hole of worry, I breathe; in and out. I run back the advice I learned from Melonie. Write it all down and let it all out. 

Melonie always told me, “If you can't control your thoughts and emotions, control your actions. Then your mind will follow.” I was now equipped with a toolbox filled with tips, tricks, and techniques to help me out. 

This doesn’t mean I don’t still need help. I still wait patiently for my turn to find a Melonie once again. But, with the help of one big disaster, I found my way out of it all. I found a Melonie, and I found a new mindset