Pills and Potions

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*major trigger warning of addiction* ⚠️

Maeva's point of view:    

I sat in hospital staring at the blank wall ahead, fiddling with the blue blanket that smelt like sterilisation in a nutshell. I've been in this position three times already in the past 4 weeks, it becoming an endless cycle. Physically, my body was fine, healthy and injury free. Mentally, however, I was at the lowest point to date. After camp had ended, I headed home, my intentions to build on what was an exciting start of the season for the toffees, and to find some normality amongst my return to school. My reality, was that I found being alone tougher than ever, camp provided me with a group of people who cared, home had taken that away. I spent every waking hour with my thoughts, causing me to spiral. I let my anxiety win, and boy did it do a victory lap. I hid it for a while, using my medication as an escape, taking 2,3,4 times the amount I should have. But this floating feeling I would get, soon became addictive. The feeling of looking down on myself whilst being utterly numb is what I craved and so the pills increased. Any time I would get a slight inclination of anxiety, another pill would be popped. I had it all worked out, and it was going so well. Until it wasn't.

The pill bottle soon became empty, and the withdrawal hit. I failed a routine drugs test, and turned up to training in peak withdraw state, and you can imagine the concern that soon spread. The photos snapped of me were front cover, I was unrecognisable, the topic "Maeva Williams addiction" trending. Hospital stay number 1 commenced, mission sober began. The first stay was hard, a lot of tears were shed but I made it through. I convinced everyone it was a slip, a simple bump in the road and that life was more than okay to return to normal. But of course, I was no better, in fact the week of being sober made me crave the drugs even harder, and it very quickly became a gamble of addiction rather than an anxiety cure. Hospitalisation 2 and 3 were somewhat of a test, an overdose led me into my second stay whilst the third came from the police arresting me in a public park. I was convinced my football career was down the drain, after being dropped from Everton, I had nothing else to live for and so my coping skill was the crushed up pills I called a sanctuary.

The support stopped after a while, everyone reached out after my first slip, they sent messages and cards with words of encouragement. A few visited, mainly England girls, but I think they would agree that I wasn't in the state for visitors. Leah stayed by bed every night, alternating in the day with Georgia, Lucy, and Keira. They tried to be there for me but after I was discharged, like everyone else, I convinced them I was fine- i pushed them away. In stays 2 and 3, the support became gradually smaller, I became angry, said things I didn't mean, and hurt a lot of people. I guess for their own well-being they took a step back, and I don't blame them. And now I was in for my 4th stay, I didn't have the same mentality though this time. I admitted myself, whilst as high as a kite, and to be honest, I was miserable. I didn't want this life anymore, I hated the tabloids for what they wrote about me, I hated my mum for abandoning me out of shame, but mostly I hated myself. I hated me for pushing those who cared the most away, I hated the pills for being my only lifeline.

I was 4 days in to my hospital admission, the worst of the detox taking place. I knew I was heading for the psych ward after this, I overheard the doctors earlier this morning. I felt beyond rough, my skin crawling and itching for the drugs. The waves of nausea overpowering me as if I was the smallest fish in the ocean. My hair was matted and my face bruised from whatever activity took place in the midst of my high. I tried sleeping most of it off, and it worked- I avoided conversation and the humiliation. I knew Leah had visited everyday, whilst pretending to be asleep, she always held my hand, and spoke to me even after the shit I put her through. I think Keira had also been once or twice too. Their support baffled me considering the rage at which I lashed out at both of them. I pondered upon this for a little while until the sick bucket was utilised once again. I heard a few footsteps walk into the room whilst my head was deep within the bucket, presuming it was a nurse, until they cleared their throat.

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