Where something beautiful should be, lies a vacant space only filled with the waste of pain. Years of abuse scavenged every last bit of light—a broken mind from a broken heart.
The experts disagree, the politicians disagree, local and state municipalities disagree, and we are stuck in the middle.
Maybe my lesson is the one you need today. Maybe your pain is still holding you down, even to the point of wrapping itself around your throat and constricting every breath you take.
I look back, and a wasted dream comes to mind. However, what if God's perfect timing was after I endured the crazy bumps of life. Every piece of my story speaks to the strength and power of my Savior.
When mental illness meets addiction, death happens.
Heroin, alcohol, pot- how did we get here?
How do we love those who not only appear unlovable in their mess but also hate us in it, as well? I had dodged fists and verbal attacks, put up bail money (only once), picked up my grand-kids from a ravaged house with a passed out mom, and cleaned out more hidden empty bottles than I can count. Still, the pain I felt when the handcuffs went on killed me. The hopelessness was burning through my soul the way Satan enjoys.
From far away, things look regular and routine. However, up close, you see the jagged edges and broken pieces of a shattered soul. When I step into myself, I face a stranger.
The world's vision of bipolar or other mental illnesses, is narrow and incomplete. My prayer is that one day the stigma will evaporate and truth will prevail.
Depression is hard, but we keep trying.