Ghost No More

by CeeCee James

My three-year-old self reached out to the Creator, and I prayed over and over in a chant, “Please God, let me start over. Let me start my life over. I will be good this time. I will do it right. I will be a good girl. I will be good.”

My life was like trying to navigate around hidden land mines while I waited for the explosion.

I couldn’t describe to her how this one thought dominated everything else, as though it were trying to birth itself into reality beyond my choice. I daydreamed about it all the time.

With each bit of violence to my physical body, my mental body became more controlled. The razor gave me power. I was in control over how much it hurt.

I wasn’t like everyone else. I didn’t belong. Being drunk highlighted that I’d always be on the outside looking in.

“We’re not the perfect family, we’re the forgiving family.”

I realized he had never seen me as a bad person whom he chose to love anyway. He saw me as his precious child, just like how I saw my kids.

You make mistakes because you’re human, not because you’re a monster.”

I’m not afraid of messy, because it’s in the messiest of times when I’ve had nothing left to give that I’ve sensed God’s arms wrapped around me, telling me that I am forever his.