It had been a couple days of this "recovery mindset." I was remembering every moment of my past that had anything to do with what I was feeling than. I didn't want to eat. Anything.

I was feeling so overwhelmed by the urge to take some laxitives and find a sharp object... But I didn't. I grabbed the keys and walked out the door.

I was shaking. The minute I shut the car door I started screaming. Tears fell down my face. I shouldn't have been driving, I really shouldn't.

I was screaming God's name. I was binding Satan. I was ordering him to get out of my car. I was begging God to come in. I was hoping angels were flooding every inch of the car. I screamed and cried for awhile.

I was hungry. But I couldn't eat. There was a tiny granola bar in my gym bag. I kept eyeing it and looking away.

I finally exhausted myself enough to quit screaming. I pulled into the YMCA and calmed myself down enough to start the whole process over.

I started hitting the door and hitting the seat and hitting myself and stopping.

That was not going to get me anywhere.

I started talking. "Ok, God. Here I am. I'm done. I want to stop. I'm sorry." I started singing to Him. I was happily praising Him, hoping He had His hand on my shoulder, smiling.

And than do you want to know what I did?

I grabbed the granola bar.

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Author guidance for This story

So why is this story of mine called the Stickers in my Purse? You may be disappointed by the literal meaning of it. Every week my doctor focuses on a different aspect of recovery with me, and she leaves me with a piece of encouragement, which I write on the sticker she gives me as I leave. Such things as "You are beautiful," and "You are loved," are kept in a tiny pocket of my purse. Therefore, I see them constantly. They make me smile, never failing.
They remind me that God has a plan for me, and that His plan is greater than the obstacle.

updated Feb 28 by BeauteInterieure