I knew I was sick.
Had known for quite some time.
Knew I needed help. Didn’t really want it though.
Also didn’t feel deserving of it. Pretty sure many of you know the feeling.
One night I was on a recovery website looking at the survivor’s wall. People who had recovered would post encouraging things to others who were suffering.
One sentence in particular stood out the most. I’m paraphrasing, but here it is:
The fact that I’m still alive shows that God has not given up on me.
That one little sentence made me cry, brought me to my knees, have a revelation. It was like a religious experience and I’m by no means religious.
I thought back to all the times He could have taken me, but didn’t. All the times I flirted with death. All the times I prayed for death to come and take me.
But He didn’t. I was still alive.
I didn’t want to be most of the time, but I was.
Now I’m not saying I jumped on the recovery bandwagon the very next day. But it got me thinking. It got the ball rolling.
It would still be a few months before I found myself crying in my doctor’s office about how I can’t stop the starving and purging of what little I did eat.
But maybe there was some hope for me. Maybe I was being kept alive for some reason. Maybe I wasn’t hopeless. It was like a light had been turned on in my head.
And now I’m saying it to you. The fact that you’re still alive is because God hasn’t given up on you. So don’t you give up either.
love and light, kelly