This Is My Exodus

         It’s been a long journey getting to this point, but now I’m here – finally free, I am finally free.

         I made my scarlet river shed its hidden tears as my demented mind smiled with false assurance and acceptance… ink stained fingers slipping among the pages of the worn out memories – tears staining the wordless mess. A beauty within itself – a battled past – forgiven.

         The days turn into nights as the memory of the battle runs through my head – no hope, broken, dead. I was lost within a world of my own; my addiction became the demons that haunted my darkest nightmares – yet each time, I kept running back to them over and over again. Stuck in a cycle, I was the hamster at the wheel – I couldn’t let go.


         The burdens of an addiction root themselves at the core of each insecurity. The pain, the nightmares, the confusion – fed by these demons. These burdens are a reminder of the pain she once endured, the battle of heart and soul, right and wrong, ying and yang.



         As the day slowly comes to an end and the weight of the day is shrugged off as the work clothes hit the floor. The maroon scars are illuminated by the candle’s flickering light dancing amongst the shadows of night; once again she sits at the edge of the bed tracing the razor’s piercing tips in her hand. Each drop of blood brings back the memories, the thoughts, the torture – amplifying the pain she feels. Silent screams echoes off the walls; she’s alone – all alone. Is anyone out there? Can anyone save her? Unanswered questions lost alongside her voice. How could you save someone from themselves? She was already gone. Years of abuse had led her to finally break. Her heart, once strong and pure was filled with the evils of another, her innocence stolen from her, along with her humanity. She began to hate herself, God, him, she hated what he had done to her. This once little girl grew up at a young age; she began to hide herself in the darkest corners of her room, creating new creations with the razor along her youthful skin – her skin was the canvass, her razor the paintbrush. Over the years her cutting became harder, angrier, deeper. At first it scared her, knowing the consequences yet she couldn’t stop. Consumed by this addiction, she breathes yet inside she’s dead – a body without a soul. These scars, memories, temptations – these are her burdens, this is her habit and she can’t stop. Can anyone help her, or is it too late?



         Her body endured years of torture, her mind fighting the knowledge that this was not right; still each night she would paint another picture upon her little wrists. It took years, courage and a Savior to help her stop this monster that was consuming her. When she came to the realization that she needed help, she was no longer in control, this monster residing within her grabbed hold onto her heart, her mind, her actions – herself. She had lost hope of a normal life, and her depression ate her up alive. It took one courageous email to a beloved friend to start the process of forgiveness, of love and most of all of overcoming this once loved addiction. I have a problem. Four words, it took four words to start the healing. People began to realize that something was wrong, while I turned a blind eye. When my world was opened I knew I couldn’t do it on my own. I left behind my secrets, I left behind the lies, my heart was no longer enslaved to fear, to hiding, to torture. Running miles away, over mountains through jungles – I’m still here, in the same spot as where I have started, yet something had changed. I am a survivor; these demons no longer part of me, just an old forgotten memory. This is my – exodus.