When I was a young girl, I went to church on Sunday and read the story of Jesus’ birth at Christmas. Religion got no deeper, but I considered myself a Christian girl. I loved to sing and read my children’s Bible. During my mother’s long, rough path to her diagnosis of bipolar disorder she truly came to God. At the time I thought I too had come to know God in my heart, but looking back, I just wanted to be like Mama.
In high school I attended Bible studies regularly and tried to involve myself with the “good Christian kids” as much as possible. I got good grades and sang in the chorus as well as in the school’s musical theatre productions. Things were looking up until my father came to Christ. I am just like my father – proud. I hated that his job kept him away, and in retrospect I can see he did too. We shared this hatred through every fight, but we fought because we were both too proud to stop yelling and listen for a moment.
My pride, led to my decision to turn away from trying to gain knowledge of God upon my father’s being saved. I couldn’t allow myself to be like him. I started using marijuana. I fell in love with a boy and, together, we experimented with a number of drugs. We got engaged and moved in together after my first semester of college. I thought life was good. I was thin for once, due to a fairly intense case of anorexia-bulimia, and I felt fantastic. I was finally rid of the nerdy, chubby girl I was in high school. I was the cool hippie chick. I eventually left the boy out of fear for my life. I continued to use drugs, starve myself and work myself to the bone. I had stopped singing completely.
One night, I took magic mushrooms with a close group of friends. What had started as just another trip, very quickly became the most important night of my life thus far. God grabbed hold of me that night and shook me awake. I called my older brother, who had recently come to Christ himself, at 4 a.m. and had him and my father drive the half hour to my apartment to take me to a mental hospital. I was terrified and crying, but I felt the most genuine calm possible in the craziness of realizations that was that night. I spent one week in the mental hospital, where I took leaps and bounds forward in my health and faith.
It has now been 5 months since I last purged, I am a healthy weight, I have reestablished healthy, loving relationships with my family, and most of all I am happy to be alive. I strive to live for God’s works and spread his love. I’m singing again -with an audition for The Voice coming -and reading again. I am truly a child at peace.