My hope with this

I hope in this story you can see that God was the hero. Although there are still antagonists, and I often am my own worst enemy, He saves the day. He loved us so much that He created us. He loved us so much that He brought us out of sin. He loved us so much that He gave his Son to pay for our sins. He is with us each and every day.

When I was little, I use to think that when I prayed it would go to God's answering machine. He would listen when He had time. Silly I know, but it is still hard to believe that He hears every single one of our prayers.  He counts our tears. He comforts all of us. I am thankful that He has forgiven me, countless times, healed me, continues to work on me, and especially thankful for His love.

He is has written my story. He is still introducing plot and events, developing the characters, but He knows every part. He wrote it all for my good, and to show others His glory. I'll still struggle. I'll fall. I'll fail.  Just like my dad did, He will pick me up, hold me close and tell me it will all be okay.  Just like my dad, sometimes, He'll tell me I need to get up and try again.

My Mental Prison

For half my life, I lived in a mental prison. It was self-created, even if it was a chemical imbalance, and I was the warden. I refused to let myself out. I was determined that this was my punishment for not being good enough, smart enough, pretty enough, and not being a "good" person.  I was very angry at first, which I later came to realize is the twin of depression. I hurt people around me, was sarcastic, and said things that I regret to this day. When the ugly twin of depression came out, especially in my early 20s, I saw this prison as a just punishment. I was bad. I was not a good person. I didn't see myself as a good daughter, sister, or friend. I tried to apologize to all those that I hurt, thinking that my "sentence" would lift. It didn't.

I replayed almost nightly everything I ever did wrong. At the time, the job that I had just added to that. I was always in the wrong, always having to justify myself, or look over my shoulder.

I also felt like I was never good enough for my extended family. My parents would brag with excitement how by the age of 23 I not only had my Bachelor's degree, but a Master's degree and a job in my field. My maternal grandparents would tell me and them," that's nice but your cousin is doing so much better." With each word, a new scar and a longer prison sentenced formed. I longed for them to see value in me.  I longed for them to love me. I believe that somewhere in their own way, they did love me; at least that is what I hope.

I worked myself to the bone for my job, so that others could see the value of me. I became whatever anyone needed, overthinking each situation so I could anticipated what might go wrong. If I could fix it before it went wrong or had a plan, they would like me, right? If I spent hours finding and putting together research, they would know I was a good teacher, right? If I kept learning and doing better at my job, my extended family would see that I wasn't the "dumb, ugly girl" that they had told me I was so many years ago.

I was so afraid to lose anyone or for them not to like me that I gave away my heart to every person that showed an interest in being my friend.

At the end of the day, between work, friends, and family, I had nothing left for me. I was an empty vessel.   If things didn't go perfect at work or a friend would ignore a message, I would immediately re-evaluate everything I've ever done or said. I would perform an investigation like that of Criminal Minds, CSI, and HOUSE on my life, on me. It had to be something wrong with me.

I only added to my sentence. I was in solitary confinement. I would get out every once and a while. Those closest to me, could see that I was hurt and they longed to help me.

I tried every method out there for years trying to find my "fix".  Some things worked temporarily like counseling or medication; other things didn't work at all. I studied depression and anxiety.  I could fix this. I had to be strong enough to beat this thing. But with nothing left, this empty vessel easily broken into many pieces.

I started reading "Battlefield of the Mind" by Joyce Meyer. I had been having a very difficult time, and feeling attacked in all aspects of my life. I realized that the days that I gave myself first to God, my best offerings of myself--not the end of the day, beaten down self, I did much better. I could not only cope but succeed.  I didn't come home an empty shell. I didn't cry myself to sleep. I didn't have anxiety attacks multiple times a day. Things started to change around me. I started to feel content and happy, feelings I hadn't had for longer than a week at time for years. I started to look for my value in Him, not in others. Humans are fickle creatures, tastes changing with the wind. I didn't need my friends, bosses, co-workers, or family members to validate me or value me at all.  I only needed God to do that. I'm not completely unbroken but with each prayer, each time I lean on Him, He is picking up my broken peaces and making me whole again. He is filling this vessel with His Love and His light.

From there, I found I was stressed way less. I still have some set backs, like the toddler learning to walk. I don't feel imprisoned in my head anymore, I don't even feel like this is a short time out on parole. I'm not waiting of the bottom to fall out, and for my world be turned upside down.  I feel free. Soon I'll be whole again, which some cracked spots, just enough that His light can shine through me and hopefully help others.