Wednesday, January 1, 2014

A Story Of Survival: Celina Korzec


"I have been battling an eating disorder for years. I am currently more on the "recovery" side with some relapses as opposed to where I was.. which was completely consumed by the monster in my head. I had to enter a treatment program as a partial patient (meaning I went home at night and on weekends) to try and get physically and mentally healthier back in August. At that point my intake was fatally low and my life was nothing but isolation, intoxication to forget myself, and torment. I was a patient for a week before I left the program. By the end of September I was just "tired". Tired of fighting an anorexic mindset, tired of keeping up the facade of "I’m recovered and okay because you all expect me to be since I was in a program", tired of feeling stuck in life in every way and like nothing would ever get better. I remember quite clearly waking up on a Wednesday morning and getting in the shower to get ready for work as usual, but this time after I got out I put pj’s back on and thought "I am just too TIRED. I just can’t do this anymore." So I wrote my note, grabbed a couple bottles of my prescription muscle relaxers, and found a razor blade and within half an hour was unconscious in my bed. 

Me, forever being the reliable and responsible person, received a phone call when I wasn’t at work (right before I blacked out) and all I could think was “oh no the residents need someone there.” My coworker that called could tell something was wrong and the 3rd shift employee was soon over my apartment finding me in a dreadful state and dragging me out as I screamed, sobbed, and fought him the whole time. 

I only remember some of the audio from this time. And some bits and pieces of the hospitals as I was mostly unconscious for 24 hours with a heartbroken, devastated and distraught family following me from one hospital to another (I had to be transferred to a bigger hospital due to my very low heart rate and the odds not looking in my favor). 

I woke up the next day full of wires and with an IV and a catheter and not sure what was even going on. When I came to my heart monitor said “39”. By 8am it was up in the 50’s. And steadily in the 70’s-80’s by mid afternoon. 

After 2 days on the medical unit I spent 6 days on the psych unit. My whole life had changed. Still has. I was given a second chance. Doctors told me that, medically, I was a miracle. I saw my father look at me and cry like I have never seen before in my life. It completely changed my mind on my thoughts of suicide for I’m sure the rest of time. I cannot fathom putting them through that pain again. And people think overdosing is a slow drift into a deep sleep you do not wake up from. It is far from that. There is no glamour in any way you try. (I was on the floor with 2 other survivors who had said the same thing. Both physically different stories but the same sentence of “I felt tired”.)

Now here I am a little over 3 months later and I start school for my bachelors degree next week and have watched my niece grow so much already since my attempt. There is always hope in dark places. 
I apologize for how long my story is. But there is no short and easy way to say it all. I just hope if anyone reads this they can see that you can make it through and that there is life beyond the dark and cloudy days in your mind. 

The photo attached is a picture taken of me on the psych unit a few days or so after being admitted to that floor.”



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