An addict's mother crying, as the day begins. Endless prayers are rising, her hope speaks to win. But battles are not owned by mothers on the side. And gloves may be on, but never touch the fight.
When momma mothers addiction.
They may not make it out alive. I already found my daughter unresponsive in a suicide attempt, so I am numb to the scenario, yet in fear. As a parent, you never want to accept your child might die, but I acknowledge this painful truth.
Today, I admit my loss, and it's not you, it is me. My identify is gone, and my will to live is slowly dwindling to nothing. I moved from the joy of living to hate of breathing.
Stepping into Done
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.
..Beating her in and out.
And there flying free,
Her dreams escape her now.
As morning sun arises,
And newness hollers, "Free!"
Lies the skeleton of survival,
No longer needed or in need.
In dreams they stay.
No, I am not a hero. My experiences are cringe-worthy. Navigating God's purpose in the aftermath isn't always easy. Who am I, and why me?