I figured I'd just post it. This was made about a year and a half ago, when I was still eighteen years old. Figured some of you might have the time to read it all. :] It is about me, just to let ya'll know.

I'm 18 years old, and I've been a born again Christian for a year.

Okay, I'm going to start from birth. My parents were divorced when I was three years old, after, from, what my sister tells me, was an abusive relationship on both parts, my mother emotionally towards my father, and my father, I suppose, physically, to my brother, I was never touched, and I thank God for that, but I don't remember much of anything other than what my sister told me about it, and that's the most I can go off of. My mom's story is different, of course. He was an alcoholic, and the last time I saw him was about, twelve years ago. I did the whole visiting thing every other weekend, which was going pretty well for quite a few years, until I was seven or eight. My mom met this other guy at that time, and that's about the same time, from what my sister tells me, my mom told the police that my dad kidnapped us, even though he had us for visitation the day it happened. From that moment on, he barely had any contact with us again, infact, I remember my sister being told on the phone by him that he never had any kids. That kind of rocked me, even though I was young, I understood what he meant, and I have to tell you, that's probably the point of my life where depression set in. I felt like, you know, I was in the middle of this great big patch of grass, that went on for miles and miles, and I was the only one there. No one seemed to take interest in me, and my mother was in a depression of her own. She tried to kill herself three times, from what I understand. I was home one night, and I went upstairs, and saw that she was in her room, and there were tons of beer cans everywhere. She didn't look at me, say anything, or do anything like that. She was crying, it was obvious, but I couldn't really do anything, cause I honestly was scared of what might happen.

This was also about the time that her boyfriend showed that he was an alcoholic as well, and he was very violent. He beat my sister more times than I'd like to remember, and, since I was only eight or nine, I couldn't do much in terms of defending my family. I remember many nights of just screaming for him to stop, and that face…the face that he had when he was doing those things, it's just…horrible to even think about. That happened when I was about eight or nine years old, and it went on till when I was thirteen or fourteen, way too long. Now that I think about it, everyone always tells me that I don't take jokes very well, and if I had to put a reason to it, it's probably because of those events from my childhood. Anyways, my mom is still in that relationship, and while the physical abuse has stopped, the emotional hasn't, and they don't really exist as a couple anymore.


Well, About the time that my mom's boyfriend was finally put into rehab for the…first time, I think, out of two, I was entering into eighth grade. I had a normal school experience...a few friends, that, of course, I told absolutely nothing about. I made a lot of jokes during my middle school years, in the middle of class, which was strange, now that I think back on it, and I really don't understand it. But in eighth grade, I started to have some serious issues with one of the kids that seemed to follow me around a bit. He started to really get on my case about things, and picked on me about all these different things, probably anything you can imagine. I lost faith in myself, because I was so used to doing nothing about being stepped on.

My mother, that I can remember, never really showed me that she loved me, she was always too sidetracked by other things that seemed important to her life. My sister had a drug problem, which she dealt with in probably the worst way that you can, and ended in my sister moving out of our house at fifteen, I think. She lived with friends until she was eighteen. Her alcoholic boyfriend seemed more important than her thirteen year old son, which, obviously, bothered me.

Back to school, and I will spare you the three years of endless insults and picking on, from now a few different 'friends' that had seemed to gathered about to speak down on each other. I couldn't get out, because they wouldn't leave me alone, so I couldn't change things myself. Things had been boiling up in me for a while, with the things going on at home, and at school, by eleventh grade, I was blown out. I couldn't stand going to school anymore. Anxiety attacks, making myself sick, and lying about how I was feeling is all that I used to get out of going to school, and I was successful. I'd miss the bus by accident some times, and by the end of the school year, I had skipped out forty days plus. I was skilled at avoiding school, but it wasn't enough. I broke down to my mom one day, which, now that I think about it, seems to have been the only time my mom actually sat down and talked to me about something. We finally resolved to home school.

I was home schooled through my public school for a year, and I passed. My senior year, my sister, who I was living with to do my schoolwork, didn't want to do it anymore, so we found another place, that was pretty cheap, to do things through. By chance, and we didn't think about it at the time, it was a Christian school. Something my mother would come to regret. My work was all bible related, something that was never mentioned in the household I'm in. I slowly, but surely, found myself reading it more and more, and becoming genuinely interested in it. It was something that I could turn to for answers that actually seemed Logical to me, and it made me feel good. I felt as though I could get a little bit of peace in my life, just by reading a little bit of that book. Anyways, In October of 2005, I was working with someone I know at my old job, and she invited me to come to church with her that Sunday. I figured it would be interesting to see, and tagged along. That Sunday morning, the Pastor was talking about how visitors to churches decided whether or not they want to stay at that church seven minutes into the service. I glanced back at the clock, and I had been there for an hour and ten minutes, and I was enthralled by what he was saying, and how everyone was treating each other, and how everyone seemed to genuinely love one another, and accept them for who they are. I accepted God into my heart that day, and I have to tell you, I haven't had the most wonderful time since then. My life was not magically made peaceful, I did not suddenly have thousands of friends, my problems were not all corrected when Jesus came in. I still had my trials, temptations, but the one thing that Jesus did help me conquer, was the very thing that held me back as a person for most of my teenage life. Depression. And I can tell you, it isn't completely gone. But that promise that Jesus gave me when he died on the cross, of an eternity spent with someone who loves you beyond what our own human minds can fathom...that keeps me going.





Psalm 23:4

Even though I walk
through the valley of the shadow of death,
I will fear no evil,
for you are with me;
your rod and your staff,
they comfort me.

Never forget your past. No matter the foundation it gave you, it is part of what has served to shape you.

No matter how far 'down' you think you've gone, if you're still thinking, then you havn't hit bottom.

Every experience, real or preceived, that came before, is what has served to make you who you are today.

Reflect whatever goodness you have found, and shine on others the peace you have attained through your personal beliefs.

And remeber that the nature of belief, of faith is indeed person, and can not be shown, proved or inflicted upon any other person. It is yours and yours alone, allow every person the right to find their own path, as you have found yours.

Continued well being to you.

Well said 'redy',

... and how incredibly moving Casemu.

Keep up that authenticity about you, and with that newfound peace in your heart, loving people will start occupying the space your preparing for them around you.

Keep up the real life 'shares', they beat the 'preaching' handsdown!!!

Thanks for your generosity.

:)

Casemu,

Thank you for sharing. Painful experiences are difficult but they can also be a time when we learn more about ourselves, who we are, how strong we can be, the depth of our personal endurance. It can also help us to be compassionate to others and to be able to reach out to those in need. When you feel sad or alone, hold on to the thing that anchors you, until hope is restored.

I also appreciate that authenticity about you.


Character cannot be developed in ease and quiet. Only through experience of trial and suffering can the soul be strengthened, ambition inspired, and success achieved.
Helen Keller (1880 - 1968)