I have a story to tell, but the weight of it is so heavy I worry it will make you feel sad the way it makes me feel sad.
I think my story is worth telling, not because it is particularly special, not because I want you to feel sorry for me, not to feel sorry for myself.
I tell my story to purge the darkness that’s been laying in my heart like thick black crude oil that’s been suffocating me all my life, like an oil spill that threatens to suffocate all of God’s beautiful creatures caught in its wake, that if you have a similar story to tell, you might find the courage to tell your story because you are not alone.
But bare with me as I tell it in bits and pieces so I don’t overwhelm you or even me in the telling.
It’s five minute friday, the day we write fast, unedited thoughts that spill from our brains, united in writing about a single word.