Broken Pieces

Recently I stopped praying.

I stopped reading my bible.

I became so immersed in my addiction that I was physically and mentally exhausted.

I stopped hoping.

I cried a lot at night. It became so difficult to smile at work. I found myself working harder to keep up the facade, to pretend that I was okay. And it only made me more tired.

Then I gave up. Overwhelmed by the guilt and pain of the endless cycle, I am ashamed to say I felt like I had enough. Thoughts of leaving everything behind consumed me. Again. I felt so weak and pathetic and I did not know how to ask for help.

I had forgotten how depression could feel so paralysing. Numb to anything but pain. Each day became a mental struggle to hope.

I confess I was so low I wanted to end it. I thought it. I planned it.

What does that make me?

I thought by now I could do this. I write to encourage but am I a hypocrite for being encouraged myself?

Somehow as He always does, God pulled me through. I was going home to do exactly what I had been doing for the past month but a surprise visit and conversation from a friend became a reminder that I was not alone.

I write because I remembered how broken I felt. I remembered that maybe you feel that way.  Although I am not there in person, I desperately need you to know that you are not alone. We are not alone.  We can do this. It doesn’t feel that way all the time, but the fact that we made it through all those other times means we will be okay.

Thank you to my friend who just showed up. You saved me without knowing. Thank you, God for sending me help when I was down. Thank you for helping me when I felt surrounded by darkness and death. Thank you for your faithfulness even when I am faithless.

I am grateful to be alive writing this and I am grateful that God is still writing my story.

You never know the tears behind a smile. Show love always to all that you meet, as if you are meeting a broken you.