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| "What Brought About a Change in Me" |
By:
Kimberly Scott |
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“What Brought About A Change In Me”
As a teen, I was a wild child. I was spiraling completely out of control. I withdrew from high school after my fifth year with Bipolar Disorder got the best of me. I Enrolled in GED classes, but soon stopped attending and simply hung out with my friends or did nothing. I could not keep a job, and my behavior was causing conflicts at home. I slammed doors, even the front door I banged on many nights after staying out late. I dated guys twice my age. I felt my life was hopeless. With frequent fights between my mother and sister, staying at home became unbearable, so I ran away. When I returned home a day or so later, I decided I needed a change, so I moved to North Carolina to live with my sister. Life seemed to get better there. I baby-sat my nephew in the daytime, took GED classes in the evening, but at night the wild child continued to flourish. I partied hard. Once I got a job, on one occasion, I drank so much that I had a hangover the next day when I had to go to work. The agitation of feeling sick and not wanting to be there, combined with my mania of Bipolar, took a mental toll on me and forced me to quit. The next week I noticed an open casting call at On Track Modeling. I went and was signing a modeling contract the following day. Life truly was getting better, but my lust for the night life was bound to get the best of me...and it did.
After a modeling call, I went out with my new beau. I realized I did not know him as well as I thought. The next day, I found myself walking the highway in the middle of East-South Charlotte in a mini-dress, stilettos, and a wig. A car pulled up beside me, and the driver asked, “Do you need a ride?”
I did, so I got in the car never minding that I should not get in the car with a stranger. Soon, I realized this was not the type of ride I wanted, and he was not taking me where I wanted to go...home. Home...I reflected on the word. I had never longed for that place as much as I did within that moment. Would I ever see home again? This and millions of other questions bombarded my brain. If my family found out what had become of me, what will they think of me? Why was this strange man driving into the woods? What will he do to me? What have I gotten myself into? My heart was in my stomach. I had to make a move. Afraid of what was to come, I pleaded for something to drink, claiming that I was dying of thirst. The driver pulled over to a gas station. He had security locks on the door. If I were to open the door, the car alarm would go off. By the time my bravery surfaced, he had brought back a Sprite. Fearing for my life, I did the only thing I could think to do. I looked in my purse and began to swallow my entire bottle of ulcer medication. I thought to myself, “If I could just scare him then maybe...”
It worked. The stranger had a conscience. He took me to my sister’s place. It was then I realized the atrocity I had committed. I had taken an overdose, and I was afraid. Reaching my sister’s apartment, I was speechless. Of course, I had forgotten I had gone MIA for two days putting some male over my obligations to her. She was too upset to talk to me. She had just given birth a few days ago and my three year old nephew had gone ballistic. She was not to blame. I had betrayed her. I was Judas Ischariot and felt utterly alone. So, I did what a troubled, hopeless impulsive Bipolar Judas would do. I overdosed on my five remaining bottles of medication. Realizing the permanent effects of the medication (death), and in a faint moment that I had forgotten to call my mom and tell her I love her, I called 911. They rushed me to Carolina Medical Center Trauma Unit. Around me, IV needles stuck in my veins. I heard in the distance a doctor say, “...temperature 110 and rising...120 and rising...” I could not ingest the charcoal fast enough, so they thrust tubes down my nose. I began to hemorrhage from my nose, because none of the tubes were small enough. A nurse covered my feet with blankets and asked, “Would you like to see the minister?” I heard her distinctly, but apparently she did not hear my dry lips whisper “no” or see me shaking my head, because she looked over to the grave doctor and said, “Bring the minister in.” I didn’t need a minister. What had God ever done for me? Look where I was right now. What I needed was to end it all. I needed to die. I blacked out.
Several hours later, I woke up in the ICU recovery room. After several failed attempts to reach my mother (I could not remember the number), I went back to sleep. The next day, I felt downright awful. My whole body ached. There was no feeling in my arms and legs, and my mental distress was the worse of all. I was alive. I was a failure; even at death. I had made up my mind. I was going back to my old lifestyle. There was a new nurse in my room named Agnes Davidson. She asked me if I still wanted to take my life, and I told her yes. I confided in her about the worthless life I had been living. It held no purpose, and I felt like neither did I. I began to cry. I cried for every sin that I had committed. I cried for every sleepless night and unanswered prayer. I cried. Mrs. Agnes held me and simply responded,
“Let it go. Give it to Jesus.”
I said helplessly, “But, I am so alone.”
She said, “With Jesus you’re never alone.”
Then and there I confessed Christ. I was baptized before when I was younger, but on July 7, 2002, I was reborn. With the help of Mrs. Agnes and her church, I went from near death, a wheelchair, and to a homeless shelter within a week. Refined and transformed, I came back home, re-enrolled in high school, and graduated amongst the top of my class. I knew my inner transformation and the life-changing experience was meant to be. On October 11, 2002, (exactly three months and four days from my North Carolina incident), my house caught afire at 1:00 a.m., with my mother, sister, nephew, niece, and me inside.
My mother yelled downstairs, “What’s going on?”
My sister yelled back, “The house is on fire.”
My room was engulfed in smoke. I ran downstairs. At the burglar bar door, we needed the key that was in the din, which was on fire. We screamed and banged at the top of our lungs. Again, I felt the pull of life or death. Only this time, I was in control. Suddenly, glimmering like gold was a loose screw. I was reminded of this door. We never got around to fixing it. I pulled the screw and knocked the window out. My family and I escaped to safety.
Had I not gone through the death-defying situation in North Carolina, my family (the one I put through so much) would not be alive today. My days of banging on he front door had oddly paid off. As I look at my many accomplishments since then and where I am today, I am thankful for every obstacle I have had, I endure, and those to come. They are what make me stronger. I still constantly review areas in my life that need adjustments, and I happily and readily make them. For the biggest change in my life has taught me that change is not always bad, and in fact, it can be quite rewarding. |
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