Trigger warning: this piece discusses themes of death, hospitalisation, and suicide.
I was hospitalised for a year with someone who was like a sister to me. We had that inseparable bond and everyone called us sisters. We did everything we could together, from going to meals, groups, and weekend events. Most of our time together was spent during school hours – we both were passionate about our education. We had many, many good moments. I saw so much going for her. Then, I was put in a really tough position.
Once I started working on my treatment, my hard work got me a leave date. I kept it to myself because I knew there would be mixed reactions and emotions; yet, I was worried that the hardest would come from her. A tech we were close with pulled me into her office and said, "I think you should tell her. She's leaving in two days." She was being transferred to another long-term facility. I was leaving to go home in just a week.
I decided to sit-down and have a very emotional talk with her. We talked in great detail about everything she had yet to accomplish. She wanted to be a mother, a mental health nurse, and, above all, happy. I told her she had all the power to do said things. I really tried speaking hope and motivation into her. She was transferred two days later, I left to go home five days later. I then didn't reach out to contact her because I knew she was an in-patient and didn't know if she was out. At the time, I was also wrapped up in my own life.
It's now been three years since I've last heard from her, so I reached out to another patient who was there at the same time. I was then given the news she is no longer with us. My heart broke, but I knew she would want me to be her voice because she ALWAYS wanted her story to be told.
Never in a million years would I think this would be reality. I saw the genuine motivation she had to be more than what she was labelled as; she wanted to see it through.
If there was something different I could have said to her during our last conversation, it would be something I say so often, "It's okay to be vulnerable and speak, it's not okay to feel like you’re carrying it alone." She had more to offer than what unfortunately happened to her. I want people to know she had a lot more to give and that it's okay to speak up when something is not right or bothering you. I'm going to grieve her and the person she could be in a way that she and her family want me to, and that's by sharing her story and being a part of change.
Now, I'm living this wonderful life to honour her memory. Losing someone in this matter breaks you but also gives you hope. It's hard to be vulnerable and speak up, but it's also the biggest thing you can do for yourself. No one can read your mind or know what's really going on. It's going to take some time to get to a point of knowing that speaking up is the best thing you can do for yourself. I know it might seem like it will never get better, but someday you’re going to have a moment of ‘I made it.’ I wish everyone saw their potential and knew how special they are and they deserve to be here. It will take time.
Recovery isn't linear, but something that I've been told and will forever live by is, "Something, someone or somewhere is out there waiting for you. Your story isn't over when you've found that or even before you find it. There is always still something." Be patient with yourself and give yourself grace, you’re doing amazing. Keep your head up.
-Cadence
Voices of Hope wants you to know that you do not have to do this alone. Click here to 'find help' - it's not weak to speak!