six months.

Dear You,

Today is the day. Well, I guess there won’t ever be THE day. But this is definitely one for the books. Today is day one-hundred-eighty-two. Today is twenty-six weeks. Today is six months.

Some people might say that I am celebrating. But the truth of it is that we are celebrating.

Choosing life always sounds so simple. And sometimes it is. But then there are times where the right step is the blurry step and the right choice is the hardest one. I remember talking to you in those days before. “If I don’t walk away from this – it will kill me” I told you, knowing full well that playing with fire sends you home burned. “Take one step. Just one step. I’ll be here for the first one and for each one after it.”

I had been self harming almost consistently since I was 11 years old – more than half my life. The motivation for walking away was not “I want to be obedient to what God has called me to” or “I don’t want to keep running to things that will never satisfy” or “I want to be faithful even though I am so so tired and I don’t think I can do this.”

My motivation was simply this – I don’t want to die right now.

Sometimes, I guess, that is enough.
So, I packaged up the far-too-many razor blades I possessed and painted a picture.

“I will have JOY in the Lord. I will be glad in the God who SAVES me. the Lord is my strength.”

The envelope, filled with cisterns that can hold no water, was taped to the back of that painting.
It was shipped off for safe keeping.
And then I cried.

On day eight I texted saying there was no way I would make it to day nine.

On day twenty-three I pocketed a razor blade swearing that it was the last day I was going to count.

On day forty-nine you called me out for believing lies and I was adamant that I would never talk to you again.

On day one-hundred-twenty-six there was a feast. We celebrated making it that far. We told stories. We raised our glasses. And we made dessert.

On day one-hundred-fifty-four I realized that it was really only day one-hundred-forty-seven. I resigned myself to defeat and convinced myself there was no point to move forward.

Then day one-hundred-fifty-four came back around. And we celebrated it again.

On day one-hundred-sixty-six we had breakfast and dreamed about celebrating six months.

Day one-hundred-seventy-three we both raised our fists against the darkness. We longed for light and were determined to fight for it.

So today, on this day, I want to say thank you. I raise my glass to those who have called me on my crap, to those who won’t let me continually shut down or check out. I want to give a shout out to those who refused to walk away, to those who have stayed up way past their bedtime to remind me of who I am and whose I am. I am grateful for the truth you have spoken over me. I am grateful for the texts and emails and Facebook chats.

If you come across those today who are walking a hard path would you tell them a few things for me? Would you encourage them to be faithful and obedient to what God is asking of them?

I am familiar with the shaking hands and the weak knees and I would still say that choosing life is worth it. You will doubt almost everything and that is okay. Relax into the doubt. You won’t drown, I promise. Chances are you are going to fail at some point. Maybe not outright, but in little ways. That’s okay too, get back up. You aren’t alone. There will be times when you will be so tired you will think your body is actually failing you…don’t give up. Keep walking. The road is dusty and tiresome, but one thing it is not is empty.

Trust that God is a good father. His heart is kind toward you.

So, on day one-hundred-eighty-two, I raise my glass to hope.

Here’s to day one’s.
Here’s to longing for light.
And here’s to a hope that does not put us to shame.

I’m with you and for you.

All my love,
Alison

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14 thoughts on “six months.

    • i long for the day when all sad things have come untrue and we raise our glasses and tell our stories and have no memory of the darkness.

      because even the darkness has been light to him.

      over the top grace in my life to have you walk this road with me.
      you are my family.
      and i love you. much.

  1. Oh, Allison, this is so filled with hope. You are amazing! I haven’t met you personally, but I’ve begun to know you a little through our reframing collective, and I’m so glad you have come this far and are not only holding on to hope for yourself, but you also are encouraging others through it. Thank you for being brave. Our story sisters are so faithful and loving and we really do help and support each other. I’m blessed to be a part of such a wonderful group of ladies.

    • hope rises. even when i don’t want it to. i hope that my story can be a light to those who sit in darkness. proof that sometimes love can stay. and they are never alone.

  2. Stunning. I work with addicts and DSH is a common theme among many of the ladies, in particular. As is Borderline Personality Disorder. The love/hate relationship with oneself.

    What you are doing is incredibly hard and you are incredibly brave and raw in sharing.

    Keep at it. Great post.

    • i would love to talk with you about your work. thank you for your encouragement. today has been a reminder that this is all possible. hard as hell, but possible.

  3. I adore you, so damn much. I’m so proud of you for choosing life even when it’s fucking hard, when it’s damn near impossible. I’m proud of you for hanging on, because you are worth hanging on for. Raising my glass and clinking against yours.

  4. ❤ So proud of you! You make the world a brighter place, and I am so thankful that you have chosen life, even when it has been utterly agonizing. You are a gift to us all.

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