Raise your hand if you knew that I used to be suicidal…….anyone? no?

You might find that surprising, or maybe not.. but if you think about it, it’s not really too far of a stretch to think that anyone these days, particularly of my generation or younger, could have been subject to the kinds of depression and hopelessness that might make one consider ending one’s life. Even I, who grew up going to church, got to a point where I felt like I could take no more, that the small amount of hope I knew would not be enough to push through one more day of hell.

Though I have my concerns about the relevance of churches these days, I cannot deny that the fact that I grew up in church, the fact that my very foundations were based on the truth that God loved me and had some sort of plan for me, was all that saved me when I had a razorblade to my wrist and no more tears left to cry. When I felt like I had no one on my side, no one I could talk to or count on, no one who wouldn’t throw me under the bus to save themselves, a small voice spoke to me and reminded me that I have a purpose.

A friend texted me a quote recently that really stuck with me – “Would you rather suffer the pain of discipline or the pain of regret?”

I hate discipline. I’m not gonna lie. Discipline makes me put away my beloved sweets and get an apple instead. It makes me go running when I want to watch a movie and get up when I want to sleep. But after nearly 2 weeks of trying to be extra disciplined, and failing spectacularly, I’m learning that the pain of regret is a hell of a lot more poignant than the pain of discipline. You know. I’m sure we’ve all been there.

Except for all those perfect people. Thanks for setting the bar high, perfect people. I am short in stature and short on self-discipline and I cannot reach your standard.

On my own.

Dude, I love the guy who invented contacts so I can like, see people’s faces and all, but seriously. There’s a freakin plastic disk in my eye. I wonder what my opthamologist sees when she looks at my cornea. “You been ice skating on this thing, or what? I’ve seen fewer scratches on my 86 year old grandmother’s Buick. Someone needs to take away her license.”