December 3rd, 1981 – “I’d had enough. I was truly sick and tired of feeling sick and tired.”
So, after careful planning and excellent execution, I was waiting to die. I knew I had about 7 hours before anyone would return home and that would be plenty of time for the bottle of anti-depressants to take effect and end the pain that had been mounting from years of being fat, depressed, bullied, self-loathing and overwhelmed. I was 16 years old.
That morning, I feigned the flu and was very nonchalant, even light hearted, as I bid my family a good day, knowing, or at least thinking, that I would never see them again. Lucky for me, I had an urgent need for the coffee cake my mom had made that morning. My binge eating was so uncontrollable that even in the face of death, “knowing” that I was on my way to hell for killing myself, I could not resist and ate the whole cake. That’s probably what saved my life.