I asked Sheli Massie to blog for me this week because her writing is raw and beautiful. She doesn’t shy away from darkness or feel the need to wrap things up in a pretty little bow–and yet–she somehow displays the hope and redemption of God. I know you’ll be moved by her story. 

Second floor of the dorm they had just completed that spring. I lay on the bathroom floor. 
Cold tile against my ribs. Hair matted with last night’s pasta with red sauce. Head propped on the toilet.

Because of your wrath there is no health in my body; my bones have no soundness because of my sin. Psalm 38:3

Not sure if my roommate could hear me crying. This time. This time I had taken too many. Too many little blue pills that promised to make me feel better and look thinner. 
She had tried to hide them in her room behind her Biology book.
I lay there and could taste the tears salty, wondering who would find me first. Maybe she hears me. Maybe she hears my emptiness.

I am feeble and utterly crushed; I groan in anguish of heart. Psalm 38;8
I can’t move.
My heart is going too fast.
Someone see me.
My heart pounds, my strength fails me; even the light is gone from my eyes. Psalm 38:10

The ambulance came that night. As morning pushed her way in.
My brother knelt over me crying. I could hear them say someone had found me like this.
This way. The way where the price of being thin had now caught the attention of the entire campus as the sirens rang my addiction for the seminary student to judge.
Tubes shoved down.
Raw throat, black charcoal spewed over the grey tattered t-shirt of the boy who broke my heart.

Friends that would never come. Never come to see the girl with the charcoal lips. 
They had given up watching me pile bowls of cereal on my cafeteria tray. 
Cereal they knew they would hear coming back up within the hour.
They stopped asking me to go out to dinner with them. Wasting money on food. 
Wasted on a girl who cared more about the size of her jeans than the relationships she left walking through the bathroom door.

My friends and companions avoid me because of my wounds, my neighbors stay far away. Psalm 38:11

They had tried to save me. Tried to send me nutritional printouts through campus mail. 
Tried to distract me with activities and conversations.

I am like a deaf man, who cannot hear, whose mouth can offer no reply. Psalm 38:14

But where the mind wants to go there the addiction stays.

Trapped in the image of emaciation is where control was found. Where no one would see the pain that I  forced out multiple times a day. Toilets, trash cans, napkins, pillow cases, showers, ditches. When grief would surface, the quicker it could be driven out the more I could breathe. The more I could have control again.

Yet this morning. When night was leaving me there on the tiled floor. When the secret was made public. Here is where He found me. Here is where I began to see the emptiness. Emptiness  in the sin that had bled me of actually feeling. Another addiction that clouded any connection others tried to grasp from me.

Oh Lord, do not forsake me; be not far from me, O my God. Come quickly to help me, O Lord my Savior. Psalm 38:21-22

Here on the tiled floor is where He met me. 

That is where He is meeting you.

Sheli is a writer on good days when a child isn’t puking or screaming or the dog hasn’t run away for the zillionth time or when the house doesn’t look like a Hoarders episode or she didn’t forget to pick up one of the five children from school. She lives in the western suburbs of Chicago with her husband who has pushed her to be a better version of herself for sixteen years. She adores her best friends and she gets anxiety attacks around anyone pretty or skinny, so she stays in her yoga pants and writes about her redemptive story as a proud member of Redbud Writers Guild. 

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