An Orchid Who Survived The Storm

          All my life, I have felt like an orchid misplaced in a field of daisies. As a child, I was very particular when it came to getting what I wanted. If I didn’t receive exactly what I wanted, I would burst into anger and reveal a side of me that was controlling and strong-willed. To my family, I was a little brat. I constantly felt as though my parents would invalidate my feelings of frustration. I was an orchid in a field of daisies, more fragile and in need of extra attention and care. The daisies were tougher, more capable of holding their own when a windstorm rolled through. As I became older it became more clear that my intense anger wasn’t the only abnormal behavior--my priorities switched as well. Instead of doing chores around the house that didn’t include my belongings, I would clean my own space first; it was my top priority and therefore I always asked to clean my room first before doing the household chores. I had a breakdown every time my parents said I couldn’t clean my room first because my routine wouldn’t go as planned and my priorities would no longer be in order. The outbursts of anger and aggression persisted. Mood swings. One second I felt like the happiest girl in the world and the next, the most miserable person ever. On the other hand, if I was extremely sad and someone told me that they would buy me a burrito from Q’doba, I would instantly jump up and run out to the car with a big smile on my face. I was also a perfectionist. In school I was an overachiever, scoring highest in the class, offering a hand to my teachers and helping my peers understand difficult concepts. Extra credit was mandatory for me, even when I didn’t need it. My perfectionist outlook made me determined to reach my goals, but led to cognitive distortions when I fell short. I felt so disappointed and angry with my performance when I wasn’t perfect, that it caused me to isolate, avoid, and procrastinate. Eventually I had lowered self-esteem and would dissociate from my friends, which then reinforced my distorted beliefs. My relationships became unhealthy because I was codependent. My biggest fear was losing someone I loved or being abandoned by someone who was really important to me. That fear caused me to stick extra close to people and do everything I could to please them. My petals began to wilt.

Entering my junior year of high school, there was a force that hit me, a strong harsh wind that pulled out my roots and blew me further from my potential and isolating me from the daisies of the field. I felt lost and alone. My depression and anxiety became more severe. I started counseling and taking meds to regulate my emotions, but this barely seemed to make a difference. For once in my life I thought about how much better off the world would be without me. I felt like such a burden with my mental illness. When senior year arrived, I felt even worse. Every day was a never-ending battle. I fought so hard to just keep myself alive one more day. More meds and counseling became a waste of time and money at that point. Hyperventilating and numbness controlled me, until I finally passed out. For a split second I felt nothing. No sadness, no pain, no anxiety, nothing. It was better than feeling something. Every single night I had an episode followed with a panic attack. My friends noticed something was off. I was no longer the cheery face who had so many things to be happy about. A gray cloud slowly moved over me. All they saw was an empty soul, heartbroken and on the verge of crying in every class. My pale face and gloomy posture showed it all. I didn’t have enough energy to do my work or come to all of my classes anymore. I was a “useless waste of space” as I sat in my chair moping and staring off into the nothingness. I was so angry with the way I was feeling, that I started punishing myself. Self harm became a routine. Cutting my arm every night, pulling on my hair as hard as I could, strangling and holding my breath, and banging my head in hopes of breaking my skull… this had become my life. A life where I felt so unworthy of love and as though I was such an inconvenience to my family and friends, that I deserved consistent punishment for something that I could not control. This punishment led to something devastating. My beautiful petals began to fall and sink into the dirt beneath me. The only thing still keeping me standing was my core, the stem that was underneath all of it.

Emptiness. Watching the raging falls rip up the soil beneath me. Staring at huge masses of sharp rocks right under me, I thought to myself, “I deserve that kind of punishment.” As I sat on the edge of that bridge contemplating, I asked God one last time, “If you are really there God, this is your last chance to save me.” I began singing the song “You Say” by Lauren Daigle in hopes of changing my mind about jumping to my death.

In that split second, an angel showed up. Bright lights suddenly hit my back as a man dressed up in uniform showed up by the bridge. He asked me what was going on, but I had no words for him, only tears. When he asked me to get off the railing I moved closer to the edge, swinging my legs back and forth more aggressively over the water. He told me that this was not the end, that there was more to my story. At the time, I didn’t believe him one bit. As I was weeping in pain, the wind was knocked out of me when a police officer from behind pulled me off from the ledge and down to the ground. It was my first time in handcuffs.

Minutes later I was strapped to a bed in an ambulance, and rushed to the hospital. When we arrived, the crew pushed me into this hazy room that had four concrete walls, a stiff bed with blankets like paper towels, and a five-inch thick steel door. I felt like a prisoner, a wild animal that needed to be tamed and locked up. In that moment, I wished I had jumped so that I wouldn’t have to suffer being caged as though I was a killer hound with rabies. I stayed there for a week. The doctor diagnosed me with Borderline Personality Disorder and general anxiety. I finally felt freedom after looking up BPD tendencies and behaviors. There was a sense of empowerment and relief. I wasn’t alone. I didn’t act that way as a kid because I was a brat, but because I was sick and in need of care. Every time I was punished, everything became worse because my family didn’t know that I was an orchid. When they found out I wasn’t a daisy like the rest of them, they were disheartened because they didn’t see me from an orchid’s perspective and at the same time were enlightened knowing that my behaviors stemmed from orchid roots.

Unfortunately, I began to fall back into the same patterns because I wasn’t getting the treatment that I needed. I attempted suicide four more times and continued self-harming. The last attempt happened on my first day of college. The night before, I was overwhelmed by the amount of things I still needed to do before the first day. The stress led to a panic attack. My residential assistant helped by talking to me about what was going on and calling the crisis hotline. I didn’t feel any better after 4 hours of crying. Eventually I crashed from exhaustion. The next morning I scrambled to find my first class and make it on time. Although it was only a forty-five minute Spanish class going over the syllabus, it was too much for me. I could barely stay awake and struggled to keep my head from falling forward. After class the RA walked me to the counselor on campus. The counselor and I decided that I would catch up on sleep during my next two classes, then see how I felt after that. Being by myself while I was vulnerable was never a good idea. I planned to kill myself before I got too far into the school year so that my family wouldn’t have to pay off my college debt. I sat there with thirty-one pills in my hand. Finally after writing out my suicide note, I swallowed ten-thousand milligrams of Tylenol. There was no going back. 

Almost twelve hours later I was lying on a bed in the emergency room. The nurse yelled at me for not saying anything about the overdose and told me I should’ve known better. The results came back normal. My liver still functioned perfectly. I was so furious at first. I tried so hard to finally be done forever. The time I thought my life was about to be over, an angel decided to come along and save me? I was thinking “Dammit God, why are you so insistent on keeping me here, I don’t belong!” I cried out to my mom and dad saying that I just couldn’t do it anymore. I wanted to die. They knew it had nothing to do with my love for them or anyone else; it had to do with my illness. My mom and dad were weeping over me. My dad said that everything he has ever done has been for me and that I am the most important thing to him. He would never want to live life without me. In my heart I knew I loved them too much to try and give up again. They saw the pain I was experiencing and were willing to do anything to take that away, even if that meant for me to take the year off of school. They would pay for me to go to a thirty-thousand dollar mental health facility that specializes in Dialectical Behavioral Therapy designed for people suffering with BPD. After I got home from the hospital a week later, we looked at different options for getting help. We found a place called Skyland Trail located in Atlanta, Georgia that was a perfect fit. Although I was decaying in that hospital room, my heart began to speak and my stem stayed rooted for a little longer. I still had hope that someday I would grow new, beautiful petals.

I was sitting on an airplane headed down South a month later. My parents stuck to their word, and paid for me to go to the program. About a month into treatment, my symptoms got worse and I felt like the program wasn’t helping. After sticking through it, I learned that it gets worse before it gets better. Skyland has genuinely changed my life for the better. Today I can say that I don’t only want to survive, I want to live a life worth living. I have learned skills that help me manage my mood swings and impulsive behaviors, as well as ways to calm myself down when I’m in crisis. I feel ready and equipped to overcome every situation that hits me. My New Year’s resolution this year is to not self-harm. I thank God for Skyland and all the people that have brought me to this point. It has been a long journey and I have made it through the storm and the sun has come out. I had gotten to the point of almost dying and God revived me. He made my stem grow stronger like the daisies, and my petals grew back beautifully. He changed my foundation so that the soil that supports me would be strong enough to keep me standing when another storm hits. I am confident that I will never get to the point of almost dying. 

Currently I am sitting on an airplane on my way back home to Spokane and I feel extremely excited to see my family, friends, dogs and most importantly to explore the path God has laid out in front of me. Today, I did weep a little. While we were taking off from Georgia, I cried thinking about all the people that I will not see for a while or maybe never again. I have made some deep connections with people that I know will stay in my life forever. I look back and remember how rough these last three years have been and finally feel some sun shining on me. I am so incredibly thankful that God saved me and turned my life around. He placed many people at Skyland Trail who I was honored to cross paths with and who have impacted my life immensely. He gave me such wonderful parents who care so much about me that they made it possible for me to begin to grow again. Thank you, Lord. I know now that today is not the end—it’s the beginning. My roots are planted strongly in my home, family, and friends, and I’m ready to flourish.

Katie Smithgall

1/4/19