Every person has a story. Some are completely willing to share every detail while others choose to only share a small part of their true story. Lately I've been realizing how few people know my full story. In fact, I can honestly say that only one person knows the full story of how I became a Christian. A lot of friends have heard the abridged version that only includes what began to happen after I got to college. But the story is a lot more complex than that and in fact it began long before I even started thinking about college. It has been on my heart lately to share the full story. I don't know if I'm supposed to share this story for my own benefit or for someone else's, but either way, here I go.
When I was in seventh grade, several of my friends began experimenting with self injury. I found out about it from my friends but not in detail. But the idea of something like that was all I needed. I didn't know a thing about self injury at the time but as a 12 year old, I was able to find more than enough information online. I began searching through blogs, websites, and even videos about different types of self injury, tools, methods etc. I don't think I fully understood the concept of self injury, until the first night I tried it. The first time I cut myself is a complete blur in my memory. But I can remember the rush I felt when the blade cut into my skin. I couldn't tell you what problems I was facing at the time, but all I can tell you is they were weighing me down heavily. The release that came from cutting is unmistakable, something even now I would still recognize.
I quickly became addicted to cutting. It started as a way of coping with emotions I had no other way of releasing. I cut because I was so numb from everything else going on that I just wanted to feel something. I wanted to feel anything, even if it was pain. I would cut when I was sad or angry about something, but to me it was always justified. Then there came a point where it stopped being because someone was mean to me at school, or I had a fight with my parents, and my thoughts became irrational. I would cut because I was frustrated that the internet was down or I couldn't find my favorite pair of jeans. Everything began to be out of proportion and everything felt like the world was ending. I sunk into a deep depression quickly. Around this time, I found out that I would be moving in a few short months to Albuquerque, New Mexico. I began to hate everything around me, including myself. I hated God for ripping me away from the place I had known as home and even began to doubt that He could even exist when things in my life seemed so bad. I hated my parents for being so selfish as to pick out a house without me getting to see it first. I hated myself for being too short, not skinny enough, etc. I stopped caring about school, my friends, and my family.
I moved to New Mexico a few months later. It felt like the longest summer of my life. We moved in June and school didn't start until August. I had no friends and I certainly didn't want to spend time with my family. I continued on hating life and everything in it. My parents looked for churches in the area with youth groups so that I would be able to make Christian friends. I couldn't stand the thought of it. I would sit through church staring blankly into the crowd and wondering how everyone could believe such lies. Any hope that I had that a God existed or cared about me quickly vanished. In March of that year, 2005, my grandfather was diagnosed with cancer of the lung, liver and brain. He died within two weeks of this diagnosis. I was devastated. He had just moved with my grandmother in October and I had just started getting to know him. All my life, we had been separated by many, many state lines and I hadn't ever spent more than a few days at a time with him. I remember the night after his funeral, I cut myself worse than I ever had before. I never cut myself because I wanted to die, it was never about wanting to get out of living. I continued cutting only to feel something other than emotion pain and numbness.
A few months went by and I began talking to a guy from school. He and I had been good friends for a little while and I started being able to confide in him about things I couldn't talk to other people about. I began to feel happy again after a very long time. We started dating a few months later and I finally stopped cutting.
When we broke up almost two years later, the thought of cutting crossed my mind multiple times. I felt lower than I could ever remember feeling. I felt like I had lost everything. Instead of turning to cutting like I had so many times before, I remember praying. I didn't fully believe there was anyone listening but I figured if millions of people believed there was a god who cared about them, I could at least buy into the lie for a while, at least until I felt better. Over the next few weeks, I stopped feeling like I was talking to myself and began to feel a connection with whoever was on the other side listening. I started looking forward to going to church, singing the songs, I even started to enjoy listening to the sermons. I started listening to Christian music and may have even read some passages in my Bible. My faith continued to grow stronger and more importantly the huge void I had been trying to fill with self injury, sex and drinking was being completely filled. I finally stopped putting the world onto my shoulders and finally realized that I could never go through this life alone. I was desperate for the Savior who had been waiting for me to come back to Him for years.
I learned a lot from those years, mostly how incapable we are as humans and how fragile this life is. There is so much hurt, heartbreak and pain in this world and I honestly don't know of any way to make it through without something bigger than all of us. Our time on earth is so incredibly short, whether you believe in an after life or not. We spend 80-100 years on this planet and for what? If we aren't living for something higher and bigger than us... something eternal, then our short time on earth is really a waste.
While I learned a lot from those years of depression and self-injury, I would trade it all in a heartbeat to go back and know my Savior through it all. But my plans are not God's plans for my life and I have to believe that there was a purpose for all of the pain. In fact, I know there was a purpose. Without that pain, I would have never known that I needed a Savior. We have to hit our lowest point sometimes to realize how incapable we are.
As I said before, there are very few people who know this entire story. Truth be told, I could elaborate even more on this story, but this is the gist of where I was and where God has brought me. If you are struggling with self injury, get help. I was too stubborn to let anyone help me, including myself. There are years that I spent trying to cope in this unhealthy way. There is hope, rescue is possible (If you want more information look at www.twloha.com). More importantly, if you're wondering if there's a God who cares and who wants to be in control of your life, the answer is YES. You just have to let go, and let Him take over. Being a Christian certainly doesn't make life any easier a lot of the time, but it will give your life more purpose than any earthly thing could. Without God's direction in my life through those hard times, I'm not sure I would still be here today.
“I will instruct you and teach you in the way you should go; I will counsel you and watch over you.” Psalm 32:8
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