subject line: 11 months and 15 days.



You’re laying in your bed, blaring your music so loud all they can hear outside the door is the voice of your favorite artist. But behind those sweet sounds are the wretched aches and cries of your soul screaming out; you’re gasping for air as you rock back and forth, convinced that if you live to see the next day it will be a miracle from heaven above. Your eyes are bloodshot and your head is pounding and my goodness, you are tired. You are so tired. I know. I know because I’ve been there. And its been 11 months and 15 days since I’ve been okay. 11 months and 15 days since normalcy. 11 months and 15 days since my dad walked out that door without notice. 11 months and 15 days since my heart was knocked out of my hands and fell to the ground where it shattered. And if I’m being honest with you, its been 11 months and 15 days and I still haven’t figured out how to put all of the pieces back together. I’ve fumbled with them a little bit and at certain points in time, it’s felt as if they almost clicked back in place. Almost. But they haven’t. And I’ve spent the last 11 months and 15 days beating myself up over the fact that I haven’t found the perfect glue recipe to mend myself up. My hands haven’t stopped shaking long enough to skillfully line my wounds with magic sealant. My breath is never strong enough to force out the words, “help me.” So some days are so high it feels as if the whole earth is below me, and I’m soaring on the clouds, and the sky is calling my name, and the wind is blowing in tune with my heart, and I’m okay, I’m okay, I’m okay. And some days are so low it feels as if I am buried 6 feet under, and I am clawing my way into the hollow ground, and I am screaming out for help, and no one is there, no one is there, no one is there. And I am broken. And my fingers are raw from scratching and fighting. And I am suffocating as the walls close in. And that is my life. Ups and downs and brokenness and okay-ness. And it’s okay for now. Its been 11 months and 15 days since I was shattered. And I haven’t quite healed yet. But that’s okay, because our wounds tend to mend themselves in their own time. And I have hope that my tomorrows bring sunshine and goodness and freedom from these chains I have adopted. And you will be okay too. So as you struggle for air under your pillow in your bedroom I want you to know, I need you to hold on. Fight on for a little bit longer. You are not alone. You will never be alone. I don’t care if it takes you 11 months and 15 days, you will heal.