A horse saved my life.

I know what you're thinking: Ok, pack it up, Flicka.

I've hated my body for as long as I can remember. At seven, I asked someone if I should go on a diet (I was always underweight for my age). Got slapped around by my mom's abusive boyfriend. Started having panic attacks, though I didn't know it.

At eight I cut for the first time. From nine to 11 I was sexually assaulted. At 13 I was so out of control that I would leave in the middle of class to cut myself. At 14 I was purging constantly. 15, a horrible, twisted relationship with someone that drove me to a point where I basically went crazy. 16, I started planning my suicide.

After dating a toxic person the summer before my sophomore year, I lost it. I stopped eating. Stopped sleeping. Cut all the time. Had panic attacks and passed out in the school bathrooms. I was on the dance team, I was riding 24/7. My prom photos show my shoulder blades jutting out grotesquely, my skeletal wrist hanging under the weight of my corsage. Went on a band trip, forgot shorts, and jogged through the pool house and scared the hell out of my band teacher (who I adored) while she stared at my thighs. I had no control over my body.

My mom and I fought. She threw things, I threw them right back. Screaming matches became the norm. Almost got kicked out of my house, almost dropped out of school. Qualified for State with my dance team. Ate nothing and blacked out on stage. Lost what was left of my mind.

Hit rock bottom. When you're there, you have nothing to lose. Summer: bought a horse. Started my junior year. Drank, smoked, vaped. Snorted pain meds stolen from my mom. Did the school musical almost blackout drunk. Planned my death date- this small window, right between the end of my competition season for my school's equestrian team and dance comp season.

October 8. That was the plan.

Snowstorm. Those happen a lot in Wisconsin. A horse show was pushed back, October 14. And then we qualified for State. I went. Walked out two-time state champ. I walked in the door of my house, cut for the last time, and said enough was enough. To be healthy for riding I needed to get it together. I was 16, at that point I'd dedicated half my life to destroying whatever part of my body I thought I could get away with. I didn't want to do that anymore.

Junior year was rough, not as much, but still rough. I couldn't get a handle on my eating disorder. Denied it with all my being to the doctors, my therapist, anyone who would listen. At one dance competition: purged four times in three hours. At another, my coach made a joking comment about how I finally didn't eat half the pizza at the lunch table. Smiled, laughed, went into the bathroom and purged. Danced, blacked out, went to dinner and did it again.

Covid hit. I stayed at home, dropped eight pounds in under three weeks, and was put on watch. I didn't want to die- I was past that point. I just couldn't stop.

1st of May: almost died in a riding accident. Couldn't hold my reins due to not eating, was thrown, had my horse fall on me, and was dragged. Kicked in the head multiple times, had my back, hands, arms, and foot stepped on. The last thing I remember before a hoof with the weight of a 1,000-pound animal stepped on the base of my skull: I don't want to die.

Woke up in a field. My horse was standing next to me. It was a wake-up call, one that I needed but didn't want.

Got taken to the hospital. Had a nurse stare at my scars before strapping my neck down and putting an IV in.

The doctor came in. He showed me the x-rays, the MRI, the CAT scan. I've clocked my horse before, and he runs at about 40 mph at top speed. The doctor told me that my injuries matched a driver who'd been thrown through a windshield at 30 mph. That if I hadn't worn my helmet the back of my skull would've caved in and crushed my brain.

I sat there, in a neck brace, very very cold, thinking about how I really should've just eaten breakfast.

I walked out (and thank god every day that I was able to actually walk) with my shit together.

I finished junior year, worked a job at a dairy farm for the summer, and loved it. Went to barrel races and racked up my stats. Applied to my dream college. Got in.

My life isn't a sob story. That's not why I wrote this. It's because through all of that shit, every part of it, I lived.

And you will too. It gets better. When there isn't a light at the end of the tunnel, make one. It doesn't have to be bright, it doesn't have to be big. It just has to be there, no matter how small. Yeah, it's cliche, but my horse was my light. He qualified me for State and stopped me from killing myself. Put me in a hospital and made me look at my life and get it together. He's my everything.

I'm stubborn. Like, dangerously stubborn. I was told I couldn't train horses. Said okay, I'll show you, did that, and took two championships.

Told, you can't live if you stay on this path. Said, fuck you, I will.

And here I am.

To the person reading this: I know. I know how hard it is. I know what you are feeling. I know that you think you're a burden, that you aren't worth anything.

I know that voice in your head. Because we all have it. It's there, all the time, whispering in your ear.

I'm worthless. I'm nothing. The world would be a better place without me in it.

I heard that voice when I stood with two state champion medals around my neck. I heard that voice when I opened my acceptance letter. I hear that voice when I tack up my horses, when I stand in front of a mirror, when I hang out with friends or sit in a class or go to dance practice.

And its. Not. True.

That's depression talking. That's anxiety. And it's not your fault, because you can't control it.

And, quite frankly, it's fucking bullshit.

It's hard. I'm not going to lie and say that the world is sunshine and rainbows, because it's not. That voice will probably never go away.

But you have to fight it. You have to tell it to fuck off, because life is beautiful and tough and crazy. There are so many things that you haven't done. There are so many amazing people you haven't met, experiences you haven't had. You have to fight for them. And it will be rough. Things won't go right. But there will always, always be something that will make your journey incredible.

You will make it. No matter what people tell you, or what you tell yourself, you will make it.

I'm rooting for you.