I was seventeen when I joined God's family, and I felt so very very happy.
From that day onwards, I told myself, everything would be bright and joyous. I would never sink back into the devilish depths of depression. I would never look back on the past with ill longing. My soul was cleansed of the rotten hatred, and Love would be my master forevermore.
That November, the year I was seventeen, the seventh anniversary of Vere's death, would be the happiest November of my life, because Jesus Christ was in my life, and He would be holding my hand every second of the fatal day.
That Sunday I went home singing. My parents were at a loss as to what to say or do.
"I've found God!" I cried as I entered the hallway, and everything I saw was beautifully inspirational. "I've given my life to Jesus!"
And my parents came from the sitting room staring. But through the chill of their stares I saw beauty; God makes everything beautiful with His gaze of love and colour. Every person is valued unconditionally in the fantastic clarity and enlightenment of His love.
If they laughed or taunted, I don't remember feeling the delight ebb from my soul, nor the optimism dull to tastelessness. I don't remember despair or depression - only grief for their lack of understanding, and love for their loveliness.
My salvation and redemption had been granted me, and I was filled with an overflowing eruption of joy, clarity and pristine gratitude.