I grew up in a domestically abusive environment. Dad was a drunkard and him and mom married young. I'm the oldest child. I learned to fight my father before I learned how to read. I'd throw things at him to protect my mom and we'd hide from him every other night. He'd take out a knife and we'd all scram. Growing up, I took it upon myself to save my mom and my sister (this was long before my brother was born). I studied so hard so I could get a job and we could leave my dad. Either that or I'd cut myself, hold a gun to my head or pour some toilet cleaning acid thingy in a cup, in an attempt to flee this demanding world. This was before I was a teenager.
Long story short, we all became Christians (as a family) and my dad became a new man. I was 15. I had forgiven him (Mom did first) but I hadn't changed. I still thought all things depended on me and that I had to be good enough. This was intensified by what the church taught me. That I had to do things to please God. I tried hard to please my family and was always disappointed in myself when I failed to measure up. But on the outside, I was almost perfect. Mom became a youth pastor. I was in the worship team. I had a great job and never dated. Neighbours thought I was the perfect daughter. But I really was bitter on the inside because I thought I still had to prove myself. Not long after, I secretly got into fornication. And I maintained a double life.
When I started living alone, it only intensified and I also got severely addicted to an online video game for 1.5 years. I got into bad company and started backsliding. I did many immoral things with random strangers on the internet. If I didn't care about my image so much, I would've sold myself as a prostitute. Then, I met my first love online, who was an atheist. I tried to please him in all ways possible. When he broke up with me and I decided to quit the game for good, reality hit me in the face. The guilt that I'd been carrying since I was young plus the withdrawal syndromes from the game and the bf that I put on a pedestal breaking up with me, it was all too much to bear for my immature mind and heart.
When I heard people say there's a hole in their heart, I thought it was an exaggeration. Until I felt it for real. I remember holding my chest making sure I wasn't bleeding somewhere while I was lying on the kitchen floor unsure of how everything went wrong in my life. I tried, very hard. I just wanted things to be right. The hardest thing was accepting that I could never do it on my own, in the first place. The truth was I was a filthy sinner regardless of what was on the outside. This was a huge blow to my ego and ego was all I had.
I sat there in my bedroom, surrounded by boxes of tissues, pillows wet with tears as I played the first podcast sermon my mom sent me (thank God for moms).
This was two years ago and I thank God that I'm now an overcomer, in Him. Jesus loves me. This, I know.
