Desperate Joy

  Photo by James Wheeler at https://www.pexels.com/ In the summer before my freshman year of high school my family moved to a new town, and I started in a new school. To this day, I feel awkward coming into a new location, or a new job. It takes me a while to feel comfortable and confident in a new situation. When I was a gangly, weird teenager, it was much worse. I had difficulty fitting in and finding new friends and was subject to some bullying. I felt isolated and lonely at times. After that freshman year, my sister went off to college, and I had to ride my bike to school because she had a driver's license and would drive us. For some reason, my mom did not want to drive me. I made a few friends during that year and had some connections at school, but then I would ride my bike home, and the house would basically be empty. Eventually my mom would come downstairs to cook dinner for when my dad would come home from work. I know now my mom had struggled with depression for...

  Image by  Holger Langmaier  from  Pixabay Those who know my story or have been reading this blog for any amount of time will know that I am an addict. My drug of choice is porn. That addiction dragged me to some dark places, and I ended up in Federal prison where I am now. We all have a hurt, a God-shaped scar on our soul. A piece of us that is hollowed out. As children we looked to our family to fill that void and heal the scar. Our caregivers usually meant well, but often their best intentions still left us wounded. It is an unfortunate reality that in most cases our parents and siblings are broken themselves and instead of pouring ointment into the gash, they poured in salt and vinegar. They loved us and wanted the best for us, but their love is still a fractured gift, it may have been genuine, but it was still tainted. For others of us, those caregivers abandoned us, or worse, tormented us further. Opening the wound even deeper. So, we looked to our frien...