Painful Truth

Suicide attempts by loved ones suffering from the cruelty of mental illness have been a devastating part of my life since I was 16 years old. That does something to your ability to process and respond outside of your own trauma.

Today, I gave God as much as I could give of that pain and the struggle to find my part in it all–both the build up to those breakdowns and my loved ones’ recovery thereafter.

I talked about how wishes don’t come true, and I blew the most breath I could muster at a wishflower all the same.

I cried and I cried out.

I thanked Him for every hour and begged for every one He can give.

Then I admitted the truth which sets one free even as it breaks the heart anew.

I am not the giver of life He is.

I don’t get to decide the way, the time, the why.

I just get to trust His love is bigger than time. His love is more than mine. I have no control over anything but my response to any given thing under the sun.

The truth hurts, but it’s a pain that addresses the wounds left behind by things beyond our control.