Chapter 11:11

I was brushing my teeth tonight, getting ready for bed and thinking about this blog post. I was trying to figure out of it would be infringing on copy rights to name this series the New York Times. I decided it probably is and I should come up with some catchy phrase on my own. Then I wondered why. Why do I care if people read this? Why do I care about words and feelings and life? I don’t know. I just know I can’t do surface. I go deep or I don’t go at all. So yes, this series is about my stay in the Big Apple, but it won’t be a light travel journal with food and hotel reviews if that’s what you were hoping to read. This first one is being written at 12.00 in the morning, on the rec room couch in Southern Ontario. It’s cold and smells like chickens outside. I’m not in New York. But that’s part of the journey. The getting ready leading up to part.  It was Saturday, Dec 29 when I got an email wondering if I would consider going to New York. It was unexpected, since I wasn’t pla...

Cañon City? Cool name.  Colorado? Who doesn’t want 15 degrees and sun?  Yeah I didn’t know what to expect. Sure, we fly to the west with our group of crazies and do some clothes sorting. See some cool mountains. That’ll be fun.  Three months ago something happened that nearly ended my life. Life as I knew it anyway. I shut down. Panic attacks, eating disorders, anxiety, self harm. The light in my eyes disappeared and I stopped smiling. It wasn’t that I wanted to give up. But the mountain was too high. I was running out of oxygen and my heart was starting to slow down. I remember nights where I tossed and turned all night, cried till I had such a bad headache I would beat my head against the wall because it helped relieve pressure. Nights where I’d curl up on the bathroom floor, unable to breathe, stuffing my blanket in my mouth to keep from screaming. Three months later, I stood at the edge of that mountain. And I look down and saw where I came from. Everything l...