A Single Phone Call Saved My Life, Now Help Me Live It

At just 12 years old, I began battling severe depression brought on by relentless bullying, both in school and online. What started as sadness quickly spiraled into something darker. By seventh grade, I could barely get out of bed. I left school halfway through the year, repeated the cycle in eighth grade, and eventually left traditional high school altogether. I had convinced myself that I was the problem, and I became consumed by a dangerous spiral of disordered eating and self-destruction

At 16, I hit rock bottom. I sat in a park that day thinking about ending my life,

convinced that I was too loud, too emotional, too much. That night, with sleeping pills in one hand and a goodbye letter written, I made the decision to go. But by what I can only describe as divine intervention, my sister called me—and that call saved my life.

In the days that followed, I asked for help. I was admitted to Horsham Clinic, where I expected healing, but instead felt more broken than ever. Crying myself to sleep, isolated and scared, I used the 30 minutes I had each day to call home and beg my family to get me out. After four days, they managed to transfer me to Renfrew Center, a residential treatment facility for eating disorders. Though I didn’t fully understand the depth of my disorder at the time, I knew I didn’t want to go back to hiding food, overexercising, and destroying myself quietly. Renfrew gave me a choice: keep surviving in silence or finally try to heal. I chose healing.

The first week at Renfrew was brutal. I cried daily and begged to go home. On day nine, I asked my family to list all the things I’d lost because of my eating disorder, and what they said shattered me. That moment woke me up. I realized I hadn’t truly lived in years—I’d just been existing, trapped in a mind that convinced me I wasn’t enough. With my family and faith beside me, I committed to recovery. After a month and a half, I left Renfrew changed. I still have bad days, but I can finally say I’m in recovery—and I’m proud of that.

Now, three years into recovery, I’m ready to step into the next chapter of my life. I’ve been accepted into a full-time social service internship in Dublin, Ireland—an opportunity that will help me grow, serve others, and experience the world outside the bubble of pain I’ve known for so long. It feels surreal. I never thought I’d get the chance to discover who I am without the weight of my past. But the internship is unpaid, and while housing is provided, I’m responsible for tuition, travel, and all living expenses.

I’m currently juggling waitressing, dog-walking, and babysitting jobs to save every dollar I can. But I can’t do it alone. If you’ve ever believed in second chances, in the power of resilience, or in the possibility of new beginnings, please consider donating. Your support would mean the world to me. Help me prove to that younger version of myself, the one who thought the world would be better without her—that healing is real, and that she deserves to see it.