...I’m broken. I’m not OK. In fact, I’m so far from perfect that it’s laughable. And, honestly, I do laugh at it sometimes. I laugh at the way I allow myself to continue to be hurt by you over and over again. I laugh at the way I set myself up to get let down simply because I can’t let go of the hope that maybe this time will be different. Maybe you’ll text me first. Maybe you won’t bail on the plans we set. Maybe, just maybe, you’ll show me that I still matter to you. But you don’t. Every time is the same. Every. Single. Time. So, I laugh. I laugh because I don’t want it to hurt. I laugh because I know I’m creating the place for myself to get hurt. And I laugh because, at the end of the day, it’s all I can do.

For too long now I’ve been holding on to the same lies. The lies that tell me to keep trying even though you stopped. I've convinced myself that you're the one who needs me, not the other way around. I've convinced myself that if I let go, you'll be the one who needs saving, and I can’t put you in that position. I've convinced myself that if I don’t continue to show you I care – despite the lack of reciprocation – then you'll end up hurt, and I can’t do that to you.

It turns out, though, that I’m the one who needs you. It turns out that I can’t let you go because I’m going to need some serious saving, and I don’t want to be that vulnerable. It turns out that I continue to show you that I care because I so desperately want you to show me that you care back. And it turns out that the lies that are planted right in the middle of my insecurity are growing with every self-doubting thought that waters them.

Because I don’t think I can do it. I don’t think I can bear the pain of losing you. And as I doubt myself, I water the lies that justify my grip. The ones that tell me I’m being “selfless.” The ones that promise me that holding on is good for you even if it’s destroying me. The lies that guarantee that if I keep trying, then eventually you’ll have no choice but to care, no choice but to come back.

And so I hold on. I hold on to every casual greeting even if it isn’t followed by conversation. I hold on to every half-hearted hug as if it’s the last one I’ll ever get. I hold on to any glimmer of hope I can find because it’s all I can do to mask how much it hurts to be so completely broken.

But I’m slipping. My palms are sweating and my muscles are wearing out. Everything that was once so focused on covering up the pain has lost its will. All the lies that kept my grip strong are fading. I’m ready to give in. I’m ready to let go and hit the ground hard.

Because, even if it hurts, at least I’m hurting in the truth. And unlike the lies that breed self-destruction from my pain, the truth takes my hurt and creates growth. The truth is where I come face-to-face with Jesus and offer Him my broken pieces. And as He takes my brokenness and makes me new, I find joy; and as I find joy, I laugh. I laugh because it doesn’t hurt anymore. I laugh because I’m free from the place that I was allowing to hurt me. I laugh because, at the end of the day, it’s all I can do.