If I could say to you, Shard, you once promised me life, and life everlasting. What I didn't realize was the cost. You spoke to me softly, calmly, told me you would make all my pain disappear. Promising me power, you were a shining crystal that caught my eye and lured me in. I was hooked, addicted to the clarity you provided. We stayed up late in the night, going on adventures no one should know. You turned my nights into days with every waking moment. Sleepless nights stretched for days as you told me “We're just getting started.”. Little did I know, something was being stolen from me. Only if I would have know.
You came into my life, unannounced. I wanted to escape, escape the boring life I was living. I wanted to live on the edge, striking the boundaries of what I thought life could be. You promised that escape, seeing I was week, you groomed me into wanting you. Said you could deal with the monsters in my closet, but you only became one. So with the prick of my skin and into my vein, you delivered. Time moved slow as I sped past it all. It was all electric, I was invincible. Only until. Until the numb and disconnected person I became set in. Then, and only then, you took your mask off, didn't you? Heart racing, skin crawling, and my mind! My mind spiraled, I was losing myself. You were stealing the light in my eyes, just as you had stolen my nights and turned them to endless days. And as light turned dark when you promised night would turn to day, the rush after became panic. I lost myself in you, Shard, and I kept chasing you. I was clinging to the hope of the promise you once made.
Between the sleepless nights and the half finished thoughts, I realized that this couldn't be it, right? I knew in the back of my head there was more to life than chasing shards of broken glass. I was searching for what was stolen from me. I couldn't find it! Panic set in, im scared. Can I get it back? My voice is gone, lost quickly after I introduced my veins to needles. The clarity and strength that I once found in pain was no longer there. Im terrified that the strength which formed me through pain was bled out after every prick of my skin, it formed a void. A void that left me dry, weak, and without the clarity I was promised. I was in a prison of shattered glass, stuck in a cycle of confusion and desire.
My open eyes couldn't hide from the truth. I was seeing clearly what was being done to my life. Clarity set in—seeing what I lacked, I faught to get it back. Coupled with my newfound clarity were the voices in my head, urging me to come back, I faught. I heard whispers, telling me to come back, pulling on my hunger and hope that maybe it will be different next time. Lies. This time I wasn't going to listen, and soon the whispers turned to screams. This monster was now in my closet, but I wont hide. Slowly. Slowly something changed. I started to feel again—really feel. I found myself laughing at stupid jokes, enjoying simple things. I went on walks in the park again, laying in the grass feeling the sun on my skin. In these moments I found clarity again—the clarity I had forgotten in the haze of my addiction.
There were days I thought I couldn't make it. My withdrawals were vicious—I became dizzy and confused. My emotions pulled me in two different directions. I knew that one more hit would stall the pain, but no—I couldn't. I thought I could handle it, but I was losing patience. I was living a lie. “No,” I told myself, comforting myself, saying it wouldn't be long. I'd be back to my normal self in no time. I bit my tongue, feeling all the emotions I had pushed down for so long. I came undone with the clarity that set in. I heard the birds sing in the morning, saw the dogs in the park, and felt the water on my skin in the shower. I pushed through. Now, I craved clarity more than the rush. I'm moving on. I feel again for the first time—clarity.
Now, im grateful. Though I may have lost my humanity—my clarity—to this addiction, Im rebuilding what I lost, one step at a time. Im grateful, not for you, Shard, but for the strength I found in myself to let you go. Ive had lessons learned, I have greaved the life I once knew, knowing I will never be the same after this. Clarity of mind is what I am after, and what I am after, I will get. Clarity is what brought me through the grips of addiction. Peace of mind is my reward. I grew too tall for the ceiling of confusion to hold me under. Now I see outside. I see clearly now.
Lately, Ive been distant—not in a bad way, but in a good way. I'm not isolating, just reflecting deeply on who I am and who I'm becoming. When I look back, I think my younger self, from around 10 to 16 years old, would be shocked, maybe disappointed, but also overwhelmingly sympathetic. I'm not the same person I was then, and honestly, I don't want to be. Moving forward means embracing change.
Most of you reading this might also feel shocked or disappointed, much like my younger self would, because of how different I am now. You might want to reach out and say, "I'm praying for you." I'd appreciate that, but what I really need isn't pity—I need the warmth of genuine friendship. If you tell me I'm “living in disobedience,” I'd probably distance myself. Not because I have a hard heart, but because I already know it in my head and my heart. Just walk with me, live your life alongside mine, and let me see the light in you. That's what truly changes people, not being preached at.
People worry about me, but the truth is, there's nothing to worry about. Life is short—we're here one moment and gone the next. There's no time for endless worry if you really want to enjoy life. But, as I think about it, would we even enjoy life if we didn't worry about it? Maybe a little worry is actually a good thing. But one thing is clear: the version of me you knew is gone. There's no need to worry about losing me—you already have. Now, the only thing left to do is get to know the new me, who is healthier than I've been in a long time.
So, recently, I've been deep in thought. I've been processing, stepping back from things, and stepping into others that are completely opposite to who I once was. Life is mostly hard and painful, but there's something beautiful in that combination—life and pain together.
A word of advice: don't be quick to try and “save” me or “bring me to Christ.” Instead, listen to what I'm saying, understand its value, and share your thoughts if you feel like it. Not to sway me or push me in a certain direction, but to give me insight into who you are. I'm far more interested in knowing that. Don't minister to me—I don't need that either.
Some people say God allows us to experience pain to know Him more. But why would a good God let us experience trauma just so we can know Him better? If He's so good, why wouldn't He just forgo that knowledge so I wouldn't have to endure the pain? If He's all-powerful, why doesn't He take away some of this pain? Yet, here I am—still hurting, with wounds that feel like they're only getting worse. I know He's there, but does He actually care? Right now, my answer is no. I've come to this conclusion after devoting 13 years of my life to Him, only to end up burnt out.
I could call myself the “prodigal son,” except I didn't leave with any wealth, and my reason for leaving isn't rebellion—it's to escape the organized religion that did some good but also taught me toxic masculinity and harmful views on sexuality.
Wildflowers are beautiful. I remember one that caught my eye, growing beside a dumpster. It moved me. But just like that wildflower, God might be present in low places, like when I'm feeling down, but He didn't seem to show up when I needed Him the most. That's why, even though He's supposed to be everywhere with all living things, everything dies eventually. Even while the God of life is present, He still lets His creation suffer and die.
I don't want to stay stuck in the same old Christian path that boxes me in. I'll never be able to leave if I don't do it now. At this point, I wouldn't even say I'm following Jesus, which would sadden a lot of people. However, I still talk to the Holy Spirit often, and He talks to me. He's all around me like a fish breathing in water. His grace is there too. He always tells me there's more for me, and each time He does, my heart sinks a little deeper.
Yes, I'm bitter, obviously, but I'm also healthier because I can express how I feel toward God. I cried every day last week, about five times a day, just thinking about all of this. I'm not numb to my feelings. I'm sitting in them, accepting them for what they are, without trying to change or manipulate them to fit my ego. I'm letting them go so I can move forward.
But here's the real question: If God is good and genuine, why am I the way I am? Maybe it's because, if I didn't know the broken parts of myself, I wouldn't see the need for God as a rescuer. I do need rescuing, and because I know that, I also know that only God can rescue me.
He has always been there, that much I can say. He's never left me. I could feel His peace right now if I wanted to because I know how to access His presence. It would happen instantly, because He's always with me. Yes, I'm bitter and resentful toward God, but I also know I could never fully pull myself away from Him. I belong to Him, and there's no escaping that. Even though I've failed to keep my promise to stay with Him, I know He'll keep His side of the deal. He never goes back on His promises.
God confuses me, but maybe that's the whole point. He wants to be fully known, but even more than that, He wants to fully know us.