A new journey, a deeper life

I bought her first book before she was a guest on the morning show.  It sat in the store under the sign new authors.  It was shortly after I woke up that morning to a grey world beginning my search for joy.  A friend had recommend it to me.  She said it was about this woman's search for joy and maybe I would enjoy the read.  I bought it.  She was right.  It is because of One Thousand Gifts that I started counting.  On those dark days when I couldn't feel joy I saw it and recorded it for a good read later on when I could feel it, for a hope I could hold onto for that moment.

About six months ago my personal demon caught me off guard sending me into a short lived but an intense mania.  Since then I've been fighting for joy and hoping for balance to return.  Shortly there after she wrote another book, The Broken Way.  I tried to buy but it was sold out.  Once I finally got my hands on a copy I sat snuggle under my quilt ready to read.  I couldn't make it through the first page.  She has a way of painting with her words cutting straight to the soul.  I had to write so I could remember (Read it here).  Turns out that's the challenge of her book remember your brokenness.  Something I'm already doing as I have been revisited first by Mania and more recently by Depression.

Here's to a new journey, a challenge, a deeper life.

That time I sat in the dark on the edge of the tub

I remember that day with the kind of clarity that you have when someone close to you dies or two airplanes are flown into the twin towers.  My husband was fishing as I sat on the edge of the tub begging God to protect me from myself.  The numbness was too much.  I just wanted to feel anything even if that was pain.  Actually pain was what I wanted.  If I just made one cut then I could feel pain for at least a few days.  If it scarred I could see it always never forgetting the feeling of pain it brought.  Then the numbness would have to go.  I sat in that dark bathroom while my boys slept trapped in the house begging God to protect me.

Never before had I felt like this.  Never before these "miracle" pills were prescribed.  My razor was so close and I longed to see the red flowing down my arms.  I only wanted to a few cuts nothing life threatening.  I begged some more as tears of hopelessness rolled down my cheeks burning hot reminding me I was broken.

I finally settled on a hair band, hopefully snapping it hard enough would bring the pain I longed for or at least distract me long enough for my doctor to call me back.  The band broke flying across the room.  Again I reached for a band, no two bands this time.  The phone rang.  The pills were flushed as the drug was added to my critical list never to be prescribed again.

A day or two passed my husband loved me and never have I wanted such pain again, but I remember the fear, the hopelessness, and the numbness.  I said thank you.  God heard me.  No scars, no being committed into the psych ward, just strong arms to hold me tight while I waited for the pain of depression to return, a pain I preferred to the numbness of those pills.