Two Years and counting...
Some people remember dates for birthdays. Some remember dates for anniversaries. Some remember dates of death. And some...remember dates of survival. June 5, 2017. A date for me that will be tattooed in my heart for the rest of my life. A day that I was to take my last breath ultimately lead to me learning to appreciate the very breath I breathe today, and becoming absolutely sure that there is a God much bigger than any of my problems.
My Facebook status that morning was “I’m not good at being strong. 💔💔💔” I can remember typing that. A way of reaching out, yet vague enough to keep me in the dark. I sat alone in the house that was once filled with the life I yearned to get back. The memories around every corner we’re drowning me and there was no escaping. I was at a point of no return. I wanted out. I wanted it to be over, and there was no changing my mind. My broken heart was physically painful. Mentally I was in a place so low climbing out was unattainable. It was time for it to end.
Sitting in the car in the garage...I remember inserting the key and feeling a sense of finality when I started the engine. My hands trembled. I laid my head back and the tears just continued to pour down my face. I screamed out in sheer pain. No one heard. No one came. I remember wondering how long it would take. I can see it all as clear as day. I remember every second.
Out of no where it was as if someone shook me to wake up. Something came over me and made me question what I was doing. I sobbed even harder. I reached up, turned the car off, and opened the garage door. My head rested on the steering wheel as I continued to cry myself to sleep. Waking up in that spot the next morning I wondered why I had stopped. The realization that something much bigger than I had been sitting in the passenger seat the entire time making sure I didn’t go through with it. When I was at my lowest, when I felt completely alone, I wasn’t.
Life isn’t easy. And for some it’s harder than others. It’s just the way my cards were dealt. I’ve walked through fire and come out alive. Barely, but I did it. So as this day rolls around every year, I will face the reminder of what could have been, and be grateful for what wasn’t.
My Facebook status that morning was “I’m not good at being strong. 💔💔💔” I can remember typing that. A way of reaching out, yet vague enough to keep me in the dark. I sat alone in the house that was once filled with the life I yearned to get back. The memories around every corner we’re drowning me and there was no escaping. I was at a point of no return. I wanted out. I wanted it to be over, and there was no changing my mind. My broken heart was physically painful. Mentally I was in a place so low climbing out was unattainable. It was time for it to end.
Sitting in the car in the garage...I remember inserting the key and feeling a sense of finality when I started the engine. My hands trembled. I laid my head back and the tears just continued to pour down my face. I screamed out in sheer pain. No one heard. No one came. I remember wondering how long it would take. I can see it all as clear as day. I remember every second.
Out of no where it was as if someone shook me to wake up. Something came over me and made me question what I was doing. I sobbed even harder. I reached up, turned the car off, and opened the garage door. My head rested on the steering wheel as I continued to cry myself to sleep. Waking up in that spot the next morning I wondered why I had stopped. The realization that something much bigger than I had been sitting in the passenger seat the entire time making sure I didn’t go through with it. When I was at my lowest, when I felt completely alone, I wasn’t.
Life isn’t easy. And for some it’s harder than others. It’s just the way my cards were dealt. I’ve walked through fire and come out alive. Barely, but I did it. So as this day rolls around every year, I will face the reminder of what could have been, and be grateful for what wasn’t.
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