I woke up unusually early this Saturday morning. I looked in the mirror, and the reflection I saw was not the woman I thought I had become. No, who I saw was the hurt, broken, and scared little girl I so desperately tried to help heal throughout the years. I immediately felt like a failure. Painful flashbacks overtook my mind—a little girl, me, hiding in a dark room, terrified. I couldn't breathe. It was as if my present trauma and the trauma from my past collided, transforming itself into hands wrapped around my neck, choking the life out of me. My face stained with dry tears from the night before and stained wine glasses on my bathroom countertop. My lips chapped, curls all over my head, eyes heavy and swollen from excessively crying, and my shirt hanging off of my shoulder.

 

I could hear the sound of my boys playing in the living room with my now ex-husband. I was still in my pajamas. I grabbed my phone and put on my shoes, and walked out of the bedroom. I greeted everyone, and without giving a reason, I left the house telling them, "I will be back shortly!" As my hand touched the doorknob, I began to cry because I wondered if they would see me again. I opened the door and shut it quickly, walking down the stairs to my car. My cries became uncontrollable, and I was gasping for air. My sobbing then turned into moans and screams as I frantically tried to hold it together as neighbors were walking by, but I couldn't. It was a painful and tearful release that was long overdue for me.

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I entered my car, and I drove to the nearest park. I sat there for what seemed like minutes, but I was there for hours, maybe even half the day. In the midst of me sitting in the car, every memory of abuse that I suffered, every person who walked out of my life, every broken promise, every tragic event—it all crossed my mind. Here I am with two boys, on the brink of a divorce, living in a foreign country far away from family and friends, and every bit of the pain I felt in my life all hit me at one time like a ton of bricks. Sitting in my car, Satan began speaking ever so loudly, "No one cares about you. No one understands you. Look at all you've suffered. You're a failure. If you truly want peace and for the pain to stop, you will take your life right now! You don't deserve to live!" Grievously, I believed all the lies Satan told me that day.