How I long to collapse in a corner, away from it all, and pretend nothing ever happened, that my past is not real. Each waking moment influenced by time past, a vicious circle from which I see no escape. I am ensnared in a glass box.

I see the world outside, I clamour against the glass, but this prison obscures the view of the observer. They see only a glimpse of my pain, just as my view of freedom is marred by the deep scars running through my troubled soul. Scars that speak of hurt, rejection, loneliness, and shame.

Christ bore all this for me on the cursed tree, yet I see my scars of pain more vividly than his scars of healing.

Galatians 3:13-14; Isaiah 53:5.


This was the beginning of a very troubled time in my life, where I would be reminded constantly of things I desired to forget. I knew Jesus to be the healer, yet my focus was on the past, rather than hope for the future. I am amazed by how quickly a song of praise written the day before (‘Gifts’) turned into a prayer of despair.

At this point I strongly desired to self-harm once more, which was most likely due to self-imposed isolation and my reluctance to tell somebody how I felt. After feeling so positive, how can I let someone down by saying ‘I’m not OK?’


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