Pain needs a way out. Emotions must be expressed. Trauma has to be dealt with. If not the heart suffocates, reaching for any means necessary to eliminate the current sorrow, situation, or event.
It’s crazy all the ways we try to express the pain; to inscribe it in flashing lights for the world to see that we’re messed up, that we’re not all right. Even though we try so hard to hide, we’re really screaming for help through the messages we blatantly write for mankind to analyze. If they care to. Or are aware to. Or have time to.
I wrote my pain in the way I dressed. My baggy and boyish clothes told you I didn't want any man to ever gaze upon me with lust again.
I wrote my shame in my eating habits. My starvation told you I had to control every aspect of my reality to avoid harm.
I wrote my anguish every time I popped pills. My addictions told you I wasn't worthy of being loved and would rather numb my existence than endure it.
I wrote my story on my arms, hidden by covered sleeves. Deep lines edged in flesh told you I needed saving.
Didn't anyone see my messages? I wrote them. It was the only way I knew how to.
Yet I’m not alone. Others have written their messages too. Have we seen them? Do we care to?
Do we question why that girl we don’t like flirts with older men? What’s her message?
Have we noticed our elderly neighbor sitting alone on their porch? What’s their message?
Do we pause to wonder why our co-worker would rather get high than show up to work? What’s their message?
Pain has made itself an acquaintance with humanity. Yet there is a Man who came to set humanity free from their pain. There is a Man who sees our messages and responds.
This Man saw my messages. Not only was He aware of them, He cared enough to write a message back to Me; a message so bold and so scandalous, so intoxicating and so liberating that all the pain trapped inside my heart could finally be freed into the expanse of His love.The message of His love healed my pain.
I once wrote my pain in self-harm behaviors, emotional chaos, and wounded responses. I no longer need to release, escape, or deal with my pain in these broken ways.
Now, I just write with pen and paper. Conversations I have with the Lover who healed my heart fill up endless lines of paper.Everything buried within has been excavated, exposed, and shared with Jesus. Finally choosing to journal freed my soul. You should give it a try.
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