That night

Thirty minutes later, in the bathroom I turned on some Dave Matthews and tightened the belt around my neck.

I didn’t want to use a knife as I didn’t want anyone to have to clean up my mess, the boat’s boom had been destroyed by the hurricane, and the davits were equally fucked by Irma. My heart sank as I succumbed to the fact that despite hoping things would get better, they were about to get a whole lot worst.

My job, my home, my relationship, my friends— everything was slipping from my grasp. A man I loved had not only been beating me for years, but he had also been cheating on me with the successful intention of replacing me. At the time, it seemed it was all my fault, that’s what gaslighting and abuse does for you, you start to doubt your own reality and blame yourself for what someone is actively doing to you.

As I felt the belt tighten around my neck and my vision begin to blur, he burst in to the small bathroom screaming “you stupid bitch, you stupid fucking bitch! People will think something is WRONG WITH ME!!!!” That’s what hurt the most, even when I tried to leave this world, all he cared about was himself. I spent the rest of the night paralyzed with utter fear as to what I was going to do after realizing I had to leave.

The next day was my birthday and I had to put a happy face on for all of the guests coming out to the boat. That’s what I usually did anyways, covered up my bruises and put on a mask, I was practically a professional at hiding my problems and emotions. I think this is an act many of us perform, covering our emotions for the sake of keeping up appearances.

My world was turned upside down, accusations of rape, betrayal, physical and verbal abuse had plagued me for years and I could never find an escape.

I just wanted to check out, I did not think I could possibly endure any more pain. Trying to keep a happy face on as he conned a kind and naïve family into buying him a boat was hard enough, let alone traumatized that I had come upon him assaulting a woman a few weeks prior. Because, after-all, who wants to admit that they’ve been so badly fooled and abused? After all, women usually aren’t believed anyways, even when we have nothing to gain, I know most people do not believe me even now. The shame so many people feel when they are unable to talk openly about abuse— whether it is a lover, narcotics, family, or even self harm— these aversions perpetuate unhealthy psychological well being.

Like many of my friends, family, and myself, Mr. Bourdain struggled with addiction and depression. When we do talk about suicide, the conversation often resounds that suicide is an act of selfishness— it’s not. It’s a choice a person makes when they are at the lowest point in their life, when they simply do not believe they can suffer through any more pain and at that moment, no other option seems feasible. The only control they have is over their mortality. Emotional pain to a level which will never be experienced by many people, pain which no one wants to talk about with anyone else, a pain which eats away at your very being. I’ve felt that pain, and I felt it for a very, very long time before I decided to try and end my life.

Through personal experience I can tell you, no one puts that noose around their neck without much thought.

For me, I thought the world would be better off with out me and my pain would cease.

However, that night was the beginning of an arduous path towards self-healing; I am blessed that my last moments on earth someone were not someone beating the shit out of me for hours. Thankfully, once I escaped from my abuser and cut that toxicity out of my life, I was able to start seeing how years of abuse and using alcohol and drugs to escape my reality were compounding my depression. By eradicating those factors, tremendous amounts of therapy, and self-love gave I gained a new perspective, I was happy to be alive. I was HAPPY to still exist.

Days still occur where it seems like an easier choice to pull the reg out of my mouth while I am 100 feet underwater, or to drive my moped into that oncoming bus, but the desire appears with much less frequency as it once did. I’m still not a whole person again, flashbacks to being punched in the face and then raped manifest in my dreams, but as time passes, these episodes are less periodic.

Things are not always as they seem

So, if Anthony Bourdain was a hero to you, like he was for me, try to remember that even though someone might have an outwardly amazing life, they could be living in hell. I had a yacht, traveled all over to exotic locations, had a high paying job, an attractive SO, a fun group of friends—but baby, I’m here to tell you that was all a crock of shit and I was living in the ninth circle of hell, kicking it with Judas, Brutus, and Cassius.

After nearly a year of no contact, surviving abuse, taking off to the other side of the world, the Philippines, to start a new life. I can say I’m walking with Virgil through Purgatory and headed towards Paradise. Today is almost one year since I left the charter yacht industry, stopped drinking, walked away from being abused, applied for graduate school, and started to respect myself and travel on my own terms.

To celebrate my year of being abuse free I purchased my flight to Bali to celebrate my 30th birthday with my friends Aneesa and Nico.

My new life began with the support of the best people and I am so fortunate to have had so many people give me support when they saw I needed it. However, many people drown in their flood-like struggle with depression and suicide; not having the confidence or means to ask for help. We often relegate ourselves to a dark corner and try our best to cope with whatever means we know. To have the luxury to travel as I do is not allotted to most, so we need to take this discussion in to the public sphere and start to talk to one another. I did not drown, I am a survivor, I am a warrior, I am irreplaceable.

So are you.

Photos by

Pictures shot during a free diving photo shoot off of Panglao, Philippines with Summer Jun and 苍岩 (all photos have been edited to meet FB’s nudity standards, so please let me know if this disqualifies the post). For me they symbolize the constant fear of being helpless and drowning in my own emotions, I lived nearly five years on a boat, always hoping things would get better. I stayed because all I wanted was to to travel and did not think I could do it alone.