I can do this. Or so I keep telling myself.
I have done this. For about a week. That's a victory in itself.
The memories taunt me. The wounds have faded, but they are still slightly visible. They beg me to punish again. No. NO. These thoughts overwhelm me to the breaking point once again. They try to make me break. I can't. I won't.
These painted nails. Why did I paint them? I can't let myself fail.
These thoughts taunt me, but now there's another still, small voice whispering things I know to be the truth.
Your guilty = You are redeemed through my blood. You are forgiven.
Your imperfect = I only ask you strive for perfect, nobody is perfect.
Your weak = Through your weakness, I am made strong.
Your alone = You are never alone. I am holding you by your right hand.
Your unloved = I love you so much, I gave my life for you. I am your Father.
Your undeserving = My children deserve any good thing, I have given it to you.
Take that demons. I am an overcomer. I am redeemed. I am not asked to be perfect. I am strong. I am never alone. I am loved. I am deserving.
This is truly when healing begins. When you begin to believe what you know to be true about yourself.
The mirror doesn't scare me anymore. I see my face. Tears still roll down it sometimes. But a smile resides within my face too. Smiles come to surface more than they used to, and they aren't fake.
There is hope. There is freedom in surrender. Thoughts still come, but I know how to battle them.
Never let yourself believe you have fallen in a pit so deep that God can't reach down and pull you out.