And the Saga Continues...

Although I had slowly started turning away from God, my latter high school years were awesome. Not only socially but spiritually. Our youth group at church was tight. I never doubted that if I needed something, a friend or my youth pastor would always be there for me. Our youth group was awesome and that was a time in my life I'd actually felt close to God.

That was until the summer of the Toronto Blessing. Our youth pastor, in which I had the greatest amount of respect and trust, and another individual in leadership were planning on making the journey to Toronto during this event. In all honesty, I did not feel led to attend. I can't tell you exactly why, but I knew deep down that this was not something that would make or break my relationship with God. However, these two individuals proceeded to tell me that if I didn't go, I was no longer following the will of God. I was 18 years old. And and that moment, I had completely turned away. How is it that these "Christians" could decide whether or not I was following God's will? Needless to say, I was extremely hurt and angry. Hurt because a youth pastor (who I'd known for years, had stuck by my side when things got tough, and was constantly encouraging) was no longer supportive of my personal decisions when it came to my faith. Angry because these mere humans suddenly felt they had permission to play God. Who are they to determine my place in God's kingdom? Who are they to insult my personal walk with Jesus when they, themselves, had made poor decisions for the whole church to see? Why was it just me who received the "out of God's will" speech? I felt so isolated.

That incident was a monumental turning point in my views of faith, God, and Christianity.

My senior year in high school was a joke. Since I was the super awesome smarty pants, I managed to complete enough course work that I only attended school in the morning and participated in a work program in the afternoons. And, quite frankly, I just didn't care anymore. Church was a social thing for me. Nothing more, nothing less. My real social life consisted of staying out late, partying with friends, and being someone I never expected myself to be.

After graduation and a few semesters at the community college, I had enough. One day I decided to move halfway across the country and two weeks later, I was gone. At 19, I did was some adults are too scared to do. I bought a condo, lived alone, worked full time, all this while completing college course work. I was in control and I liked it.

One thing about my personality (that I'm still working on) is the need to please people. This personality trait was probably a huge contributor to my eventual unraveling. I wanted to please all the wrong people. This landed me in one bad relationship after another and always having those "friends" who didn't have my best interests at heart.

During my college days, I met my first husband. I really don't know why I was in such a rush to get married...maybe it's because everyone else around me was doing it. It was the thing to do at the time. And I didn't feel cool not being married. Well, I didn't feel cool ever. I was constantly reaching out for "things" to fill that void and make me feel like a worthy person. Even though I had come out of my shell a bit, my self esteem was nonexistent. At that point in my life, I wasn't really sure who God was. Sure, I believed in God but that was about it. I lived the party life and how I did that while working full time, I will never know. And how God saved me from death, I'm still trying to figure out.

So I got married. And, to be honest, I can't remember much of it at all. The main thing I remember about it is that after the wedding was over, and we were on our way to a tropical honeymoon destination, I crashed. Not "crashed" like I was super tired and had no energy. I crashed in the most extreme meaning of the word. I knew the next day that I never should have gotten married. The entire honeymoon was miserable. I hated it and I hated myself. And that plunged me into one of the deepest, darkest depressions known to man. There are no words to describe those feelings. If you haven't been there yourself, you just don't know.

Almost a year after being married, my world as I knew it, came crashing down. Due to constant mood swings, marital problems, and the beginning of alcohol abuse, my family suggested I seek professional help. Yes, they wanted me to see a shrink. It's very difficult to recall these memories because this is a time when I hated everyone. I was furious that they wanted me to see one of "those" doctors. Pissed because I didn't think they loved me anymore. I thought everyone was out to get me and make me miserable. Even more miserable that I already was. I couldn't stand those phone calls from my parents, or anyone for that matter. Every phone call seemed to be an argument or lecture and I just didn't want to hear it. The anger that had been building up for years started to seep out. I lashed out at everyone. My husband at the time, my family, and even myself. My self-destructive behavior was just beginning and would very quickly intensify.

I went to the shrink and was pissed throughout the entire appointment. But nothing could have prepared me for my diagnosis. Slowly, at that point when I was diagnosed with Bipolar Disorder, my life began to fade. I did not take the news well at all and was absolutely furious. Furious with my parents for suggesting the shrink, furious at my husband for making me go, furious with myself for being such a screw up, and above all else I was pissed at God. How could this so called "loving" God write this little chapter in my DNA? Was this some kind of joke? From that point, I no longer associated with God. The walls had been built and I continued through life living in my own castle and those closest to me entered at their own risk. Little did they know the fiery blazes within would be crippling.

The self-implosion began and it was going to be a wild ride.