Selfless-esteem

I sat staring at this screen for quite some time now. Wondering what to write. I even thought to myself, "If thinking about what to write is so difficult writing nothing is probably the right thing to do." Hmm... which in itself is something to write about.

Day after day goes by, and I am finding more to hate about myself, and more to love about the Lord. This suprisingly brightens my heart and mind. My soul rejoices! Keep this in mind as your read the following. Praise the Lord God Almighty. To him be the power and glory forever and ever. Amen.

Ever since I was a young boy, I've never had a high self-esteem. My parents were so worried about my anger, and attitude that they brought me to psychiatrists. In my heart, I knew they meant well, still...
Still...
Just... imagine yourself in my shoes.
-You're 10 maybe 11, you go to school ea. morning with your overweight backpack and double-knotted sneakers. You find school boring, because you're reading on a higher level than the kids your age, and you think that math is too easy. You wonder why every other child seems to be smiling so much, and you come home everyday to watch your mother walk out leaving you behind with some random baby-sitter who wants to you to teach her how to draw. Your father shows up late, because he's working three jobs trying to avoid some monster called bancrupcy. You start to get frustrated, not at one thing, but at everything. You start to pick fights at school, and you begin to get defensive about your privacy and your family life. You claim to be sick often, so you can get sent home from school, to grab a few extra hours with mom. But that only works until the nurse learns you've been putting the thermometer on the lightbulb. You soon realize fighting gets you sent home just as fast. Then the DCF blames your mother for your anger problems, and claims if you don't show improvement they're going to take you away from her.

Still I knew who psychiatrists were, and what they did. I knew that I was there because there was something wrong with me, something everyone around me wanted fixed. I could never justify this, but the feeling was...
I just hated myself.
Why couldn't anyone understand; more importantly perhaps, didn't anyone else hate themselves the way I hated myself?

A couple years passed, and I learned how to supress my anger with lies. Highschool rolled around, and I found myself slipping into a dark-depression. The depth of which I will not discuss now. So it was back to the shrink, to keep my mom from losing her mind too. I was diagnosed with Manic Depression. Some pills were perscribed, and I took 'em for a week or so. The next week I showed up for a follow-up appointment only to find out, that I needed to increase the dose otherwise the problem would continue. I basically told the Doctor where he could put his pills, and as politely as I could, wished him a wonderful journey to Hell.

And I slipped further. Fell farther. Hit the bottom and then started falling again.

But God...

But...God...

But GOD!

...you see...what you have got to understand

He

saved

...me...