we all have stories. this is mine.

She looked at me right in the eyes when I presented her with the question. Without any emotion she replied, “My drugs and alcohol don’t criticize me like you do.”

I remembered everything. For two years we spent nearly every day together. People mistook us for sisters, and we acted like sisters. We were inseparable and our hearts were joined together. We got in trouble together and I shared everything with her that nobody else knew. We went to dances together and to my first party.

As time went on, I saw what I was becoming--and easy pick; dressing for attention, dirty-mouthed and depressed. I was in so much pain because as much as I poured my heart out to her, she only fed me lies. Lie upon lie upon lie until it polluted my entire being. This sister of mine was handing me betrayal. I understood perfectly why; she was hurting and fell deeper into drugs and alcohol to numb the pain.

I thought I could save her.

I tried to pull her up and didn’t realize she was dragging me down the slope with her. I fell into the dark hole of hopelessness. I stopped talking to God, who I had trusted all my life until I distanced myself from Him. I was marred and ruined--all I wanted was to feel valuable to somebody because I had no self-worth. By the time I realized I had been dragged down, I had no desire to pull myself back up. That meant I’d have to leave her there, hurting. . .alone. . .stoned.

It got to an unbearable point so I presented her with a choice: “Would you rather have me, who really cares about you? Or your drugs and alcohol?” and then she looked at me and answered. I was fourteen years old. How was I supposed to know how to handle an answer like that?

That was it--after that answer I resolved that since she didn’t care about me; since God didn’t care about me; since nobody cared about me, I would be better off relieving them of their anxieties and take care of it myself. My intention was to numb the pain. I just wanted to feel something other than the emotional pain searing inside of me. I thought of a couple possibilities: I could drink away my sorrows or I could turn to drugs since they were easily accessible. However, I didn’t want to disappoint my family by drinking and if I turned to drugs I’d be just like her, this sister of mine.

So my other option was to take a blade to my innocent skin--yes, that was it. That would be my escape. I stood in my kitchen alone, staring at my options of knives--I would take the biggest and sharpest one to start.

I could hear white noise invading my mind; everything was in confusion; there was no peace, no quiet. My heart was throbbing in my ears and I began to reach my hand out for the knife.

At that moment the static broke--like a veil lifted from my face. For the first time in months I saw clearly and I drew my hand back. I went into my room and finally surrendered to the God I still love and serve.

I was raised in a Christian family, but I didn’t meet with a real God in church--I met with Him at the edge of a knife, at a point of desperation. I turned my back on Him and He still sought me out to bring me back. I didn’t have my life together, but He made it exponentially more beautiful than I could ever make it on my own. I don’t have scars on my wrists because of Him; the scars on my heart have healed because of Him. I didn’t deserve it, but that is what grace looks like--getting what I don’t deserve.