I was having a rough time this morning. I had it almost set in concrete that I was going to do something. Something I knew was wrong. I asked God for help because I knew I didn’t have the strength myself to resist such a strong temptation. And then, by some chance, looking for something very different, I found the 40-minute video below. I encourage you to watch it. Now, the moment has passed, and I’m free to take on the next challenge.

Not that I’m looking forward to one, but one will not be long in coming. I’m not proud of myself. I didn’t do anything except ask for and be open to help. I don’t hate myself anymore. I accept the challenge. I have to.

While writing my post for Easter, I lost interest. I moved Part One back to draft status and ceased work on Part Two.

I’ve been having a difficult time keeping focus and faith. I’m sure you know how that goes. We all do.

But what happened is that in trying to find my strength, I realized how weak and small I really am. I couldn’t do it without help. In the past, all the things I did were useless. My effort to reach out to survivors with hope were tainted by my own frame of mind. Was I really doing something good? I don’t know. I wrote that if I had low stats as far as views, it didn’t matter, so long as something I wrote helped someone. Even if I never got to know if I helped. But the thing that bothers me is, I was always in the picture. It’s been about my life, this memoir of mine, but I got carried away. Lost my way.

Then, I realized how lost I had been since the beginning. Mental illness is a tough affliction, and much of the time, I was failing to get how sick I’ve really been or notice how it affected my work. My anger and indignation show in every line I have written. I offer no excuse, and I’m aware that most of my followers don’t bother anymore. I know this because getting one or two views a day or less is normal. I’m not reaching anyone anymore.

But that’s okay. I understand. I’ve posted some good stuff and some awful stuff. My dream of being a writer goes no further than this blog. The “cursed novel” will never be read. I will destroy it because I have known for a long time that it felt wrong to me, whether it was good or not. It felt blasphemous to me. That same conviction haunts my work here. Without reminding followers or mentioning to new readers that mental illness figures prominently in my everyday life, I often turned people off. And, while I’ve never felt that I had the right to take a pass because of mental illness, it does affect what I write because it’s part of who I am.

Maybe it’s not my fault that abuse shaped who I was. But that doesn’t mean I get a pass now. Being aware of problems means we have to fight them, right?

Well, my words have done far more harm than good, and I’m sorry about that. It’s not why I write. I ask you for your forgiveness if anything here on this site caused you pain. I have no excuse. Words hurt.

At the end of March, my health care worker notified me by text that I had an appointment. The next day. That’s cool. It’s telehealth anyway, so no stress. But the next day, I didn’t get the usual text for a link. I called the office, and it wasn’t supposed to be for that day; the appointment was the next day. I texted my worker that it was the wrong information. She apologized profusely, apparently unaware that I’ve never cared about little things like that. I texted, “I’m gonna get you back for this. Little early for April Fools Day, innit? When you least expect it, expect it.”

She wrote back,”Why be evil? I’m under a lot of pressure and words hurt…”

I sprang the trap: “Got ya! Hahahaha!”

A couple of minutes passed. She sent a smiley face. I had to remind her to lighten up. She’s overworked and underpaid for such a good and caring person in that job. She’s rare. The next day, she started her vacation. Haven’t seen her since. I hope she comes back, but if not, I’ll know why. A vacation is often difficult when the last day is up. Hours pass like minutes. A tired body isn’t ready yet, and the mind can’t handle jumping back into the pressure cooker.

But I had to try to get her to loosen up. She had never called me “evil”  before. I was kidding, and she didn’t catch on, despite knowing me better than that. The lesson I learned was to watch every single word, written or spoken, that comes from me. To never have anything that could be taken as having a different meaning come from me.

Words can do great damage. I don’t know how many I may have hurt in my posts, but I am sorry.

The choice is always mine. I admit I enjoyed being critical of Taylor Swift, but even though the media is mostly the prime perpetrator in her attention, she does revel in it, and a person cannot serve two masters: God and fame. Her claim to be a Christian falls flat with me.

So does my own claim. I’m taking that problem on right now, every day, with the courage and determination that can only be strengthened by God. In my quest to regain honor, I forgot about him, and in so doing, lost my way completely. The answer to overcoming anything was always God. In writing Part Two of my Easter posts, I was hit hard when writing about Christ seeing and being punished for every sin I had ever committed. The full meaning hit me like a train. God knew before I was even born every single word I’d say, every evil thought I’d have, every bad thing I would ever do. Hecknew how I would use my freedom of choice. But he loved me so much that his one and only son was sent to be sentenced and executed in my place. And yours.

I felt deep shame. For the very first time in my life, I knew what it meant to repent. It’s important that I tell you it’s nothing that I thought it was.

It doesn’t mean asking for forgiveness. It doesn’t mean that if I did that, I could sin again and repeat my prayer.

It means that God doesn’t tolerate or forgive me of a sin I have no intention of stopping. My apologies were not accepted. They were useless words.

Redemption can only come when I decide to face, not avoid, the shame that comes with sinning. I have to face the sting of that shame and truly, honestly, fight temptation and not have the desire to commit a sin again because that’s not okay. To hate the act, to really mean it when I pray for forgiveness, that is when it will be forgiven. That’s when God can help me. I will ask for help and get it. Because I’ll honestly want that help.

I’m in that battle with myself and the devil now. This is a fight I can’t avoid. I can’t throw the towel in either; I have no desire to ever see Hell. I want to be with God. Because I know the things he’s done for me, and I love him for that and more.

I search and thirst for redemption, for without it, there is no honor.

Only Hell.