..::|:.: Scattered Words

"in brokeness, I could see, that this was your will for me..." :: Jeremy Camp


I'm fake.

God I wish that were true. I wish I were making all this up. I wish that I weren't damaged, broken, incomplete, insecure, -- in pain. I wish that I was never abused, that I was never introduced to sex at the age of six or seven. I wish that my childhood wasn't ripped away from me, that I could've had the chance to grow up like the extreme majority of boys do, into the men God destined them to be.

I wish that I'd never turned to sex to self-medicate, to find love, to try to complete myself.

But I did. I can't change that. I can't alter my past. I can't wish it away. I can't pray it away. My past is my past. God knows my future, though. And He's promised He has plans for me -- to prosper me.

So, as amusing as this speculation is, it's deadly serious to me. Because I wish more than any of you that all this were fake. I wish to God it was. But it's not. The thorn in my flesh is very real.