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Hope
I was moving around twenty, thirty, sometimes forty pounds of marijuana a month. I was eighteen years old. I had money. I had friends.
I stopped paying my bills. All my money went to alcohol, smoking, and things that are not healthy. What I was going to do at night became more important than going to school. I almost dropped out of school. I lost my job.
I was realizing that more of my identity was wrapped up in the NFL and in quarterbacking than in who God says I am, my worst moment of life converted to my very best moment of life in a matter of fifteen seconds.
She later told that she was thinking about suicide, and that it was my simple hello that had let her know that she was alive.
I didn’t know if God loved me. I was just so desperate. I started to try to find my identity in relationships with guys.
"While I thought that they were special things, my husband at the time found that journal and thought it was really weird, really strange, and told me that I was really weird."
But I couldn’t escape the idea that suicide would be a good escape. It was like I was holding on the casket of my wife, and as morbid as it sounds was like I was being buried. I remember picturing myself breaking my grip with...
I thought that I had nothing to live for. I thought that I was the most worthless mother on the face of the earth. I was no good as a wife. As a mother. As a daughter. As a friend
It was eleven o'clock in the morning, and my blood alcohol level was twice the legal limit for the State of Tennessee. My ten-year-old daughter was in the front with me, and she escaped serious physical injury, but her emotio...
We tried everything possible to make his life normal. He studied in a very good school. He tried to study hard and behave very well. Nevertheless, society had a hard time accepting him.