She Wrote Herself A Promise

IN McKAYLA’S OWN HANDWRITING

The night before McKayla was supposed to go to rehab, she cleaned her room to perfection.

Everything was in its place. Her suitcase was packed with everything she thought she would need for the new life she was preparing to begin, including her favourite stuffy.

She was ready.

Or at least, she wanted so desperately to be ready.

Before she left, she placed a little envelope on her bed. I honestly don't know why, but she left it right there for me to find. Inside were notes she had written to herself:

“You can do this.”

“Believe in yourself.”

“I’m way too special and have too much to lose.”

These were not the words of someone who had given up on life.

They were the words of a terrified young woman trying desperately to convince herself that she could still have one.

The next morning, her grandpa and I drove her to detox.

McKayla was scared to death. Because she was an adult, we were not allowed to walk through those doors with her. We could not carry her suitcase inside. We could not sit beside her until the fear settled. We could not hold her hand through those first unbearable moments.

We had to leave her at the door.

I can still see her standing there in her Gilligan hat, holding her suitcase, looking terrified and so completely alone.

She was heading into a battle she was desperately afraid to face, and we had to drive away. It was heartbreaking; I just wanted to run back and grab her and take her home, to cuddle her and smooth her hair, and to just take away her pain. But I knew her only chance for a future was through those doors, and we had fought for over a year, every minute of every day, to get there.

After we drove away, McKayla turned around and went back to the streets.

That was the last time I ever saw her. The last kiss. The last hug.

The last time I told her that she could fight this battle. That she would win, she would get her life back.

And sometimes, in the darkest moments of my grief, I wonder if that was the last lie I ever told her.

But then I look at these little notes in her own handwriting, and I know that McKayla believed it too. Somewhere beneath the addiction, the fear and everything that had beaten her down, she still believed there was a life waiting for her.

She still had hope.

That is what people need to understand about addiction.

Even when they appear completely lost, there may still be a part of them quietly planning a different life. Packing a suitcase. Bringing their favourite stuffy. Cleaning their room. Writing little notes to remind themselves that they are still special and still worth saving.

They want it more than we may ever understand.

Sometimes the addiction is simply stronger than the hope they are trying so desperately to hold onto.

I could not save McKayla.

Those words will break my heart for the rest of my life.

But I found the little package of messages she left behind for me, and I will continue fighting for her. I will keep sharing her words, saying her name and telling the truth about the person behind the addiction.

Maybe I could not save her.

But maybe McKayla’s messages will reach someone else before it is too late.

Maybe her handwriting will remind another person that they are still special.

That they still have something to lose.

That they can still become something.

That their hope is still there, even if it is buried beneath a battle no one else can see.

In McKayla’s own handwriting:

You can do this.

Believe in yourself.

I will carry those words for her now.

And I will continue to fight in her name.

McKayla’s Message

Say Their Name. No Blame. No Shame.