The darkest of hours could not bring me light. I reached a place where peace felt unobtainable. Night after night, I stared at my walls alone, wondering how or even if I would ever rise above the water I was drowning in. The pangs of agony kept me breathless and powerless. The rush of panic and anxiety pushed into me with every movement, leaving me paralyzed. I couldn’t sleep without the flashing reminders of all the nails that were stabbed into my soul. With pain I cried to God, begging for help. What happened to my life? Everything was gone. My existence, my very identify, had been taken away. I felt nothing. Just the rush of the high and the pain of the comedown.
Throughout those darkest hours, a flicker of light dawned on my soul. A quiet whisper in my ear. A spark of hope. Faith. I stood up. Infused with fear, I slowly began to climb out of the torturous chains I had locked myself in. I had to learn how to fight for myself. How to channel my pain. One hour—One minute at a time. Seeping from my chains, drowning in the water, I reached out a hand for help. And suddenly I saw the Light.
Slowly, like a butterfly in a cocoon, I began to build my strength. With His guidance and strength, my gloves came on. It was time to fight. I kept envisioning my transformation. There must be a purpose for this pain I have endured. What is His plan for me? Surrendering to the process, I realized that I can make it on my own with this new strength I’d never known before. Suddenly, the chains had broken free and I was standing over them, looking down…wearing armor.