Our Own Private Hell

This post is a departure for me. It is a letter to my friend of 15 years who attempted suicide the other day, and by the grace of God was not allowed to succeed.

Dear W,
You are not alone. We are all in pain, that is simply the human experience; as are mistakes.

I understand that you have been masking your pain for over 30 years with drugs and drink until it became to large and overwhelming to continue on under the strain of it. I understand. I feel you.

Your heart feels shredded with it's tattered ends blowing in the cold uncaring winds of a winter landscape. Your soul is screaming in an agony created by cruelty, injustice and horrors unfit to be bestowed upon any human being, never mind a child. Your brain is incessant in its determination to blame you for the images playing in constant loop in wide screen technicolor in your memories; unforgiving and unmerciless in the guilt and pain they deliver.

You have work to do to heal, my friend. And while I, nor anyone else, can walk through the doors that you must go through to bring light to the rooms containing the deep dark wells of the hell of your past, I can promise you this...

When you emerge from those rooms, on your bruised and torn hands and knees, blind from tears, I will be there... to help you to your feet, and hold you steady while you turn around and see the healing light pouring into those once dank places...just as I will help you to turn back around and walk away from them, tall and proud and strong as you are truly meant to be.

I am not in any way exaggerating when I say too, that I am not the only one that will be there. You are loved more than you know by more than you know. You will find yourself sometimes surprised by the hands that will reach out to you to give you the strength you need to continue on your journey... You will get and be better than you are today... this much I know as surely as I breathe.

My friend, and I am here, and I am so very thankful that you are still here too...

I love you,
A