The cat did it

I was 17 when I was admitted to the hospital for the first time. I had been cutting myself for about a year and had to get stitches, it was so bad. I was diagnosed with anorexia and depression. Hurting myself took my mind off being depressed. Watching the blood drip was calming.

I cut myself more when I was drinking. I drank all the time. At my aunt’s wedding, I snuck alcohol all night and got drunk. Of course I couldn’t hide it from my parents. My dad had to drive me home, and I got really sick. My parents didn’t know what to do. They sat down and talked to me about not drinking, but I didn’t care. I told them a bunch of lies about how it was the first time I drank, and I would never do it again. I lied so much to them. I was constantly making up excuses about the cuts on my arms and legs. My reason was always the same: the cat did it.

"She got fat!"

When I was 12, I spent the summer in South Carolina with my grandparents. It was so much fun. Gammy’s home-cooked meals are amazing, and I ate well all summer.
On my way back home at the end of the summer, my grandparents and I stopped at my great-grandma’s house. As soon as she opened the door and saw me, she gasped and said to my grandma, “She got fat!” I didn’t understand what it meant at the time, but I did know it was probably a bad thing because of the way she said it.

Like every 12-year-old, I wanted to fit in, so I figured if I was fat, I should do something about it. I started skipping breakfast. Once I got to high school, I started skipping both breakfast and lunch. I was obsessed with being thin. It was so easy to hide in the beginning.

Why I started drinking

Alcohol started out as a curiosity for me. Everyone in school was drinking on the weekends so eventually I started drinking too. I liked alcohol because I was shy, and being drunk gave me confidence. I discovered that people did like me and thought I was fun. The problem was: I had friends when I drank but the next day they weren’t there.

Hi, my name is Melessa...

Anyone who is a recovering alcoholic knows admitting you have a problem is the first step to getting help. It’s much easier than it sounds. I was able to first admit it five months ago, and as a result, my life is finally starting to get better.

Hi, my name is Melessa, and I’m an alcoholic. I’m 27 years old and on the bumpy road to recovery for alcoholism, anorexia and depression. It’s been quite a ride, but the future finally looks bright. I hope you enjoy reading about my journey to my darkest days and how I’m slowly piecing my life back together. I will be posting regularly, so be sure to bookmark this page and check back often.

My road to recovery is just beginning and sometimes it seems overwhelming, so how do I do it?

One day at a time.