My Prologue
Write what you know. That’s what I’m told. I’ve heard that everyone has a story inside them to share. I’ve been told that no one can tell my story quite like me. So as I sit back and ponder these words, I have to ask myself, what do I know? I know the pain and sting of rejection. That feeling that I wasn’t good enough, especially when being my real self. I know the grip of fear. The paralyzing realization that I cannot stop mistakes, pain, or hurt from happening to myself or the ones I love, whether real or imagined. I know the shame of admitting that I don’t have enough: enough resources, enough time, and enough intelligence, even at times enough perseverance. I know the hurt of brokenness. I am too familiar with the hurts that exists due to the selfishness of others as well as the ones that exist due to self-centeredness of my own. I know the emptiness of loneliness. There’s a kind that keeps me busy day in and day out, constantly pouring my heart out, yet f