Falling Apart Does Not Mean Your Story Is Over

Umpteen times I wanted to give up. Not the “leaving this earth” way, but the “I don’t give a shit anymore” kind. Time to guzzle vast amounts of booze and self-destruct by wasting my days away instead of healing my wounds, building self-respect or acknowledging that I was living a helpless life — tearing myself down before allowing an adequate chance to flourish.

However, there is something deep within my soul that never allows me to fully deteriorate or become permanently “useless,” and the only answer that makes sense to me is: God. He was there long before I had a relationship with Him, and He will always be the One holding me together, guiding and refining me so that I may live a healthy, prosperous life.

Now that I am at the halfway point to my expiry date in this tempestuous journey called life, I can say that almost nothing surprises me anymore. I have been dragged through the depths of despair, tangoed with chaos and stared at the ceiling from rock bottom’s basement floor, wondering how the hell I was still breathing.

Although I had a “rocky” childhood, I know someone out there has endured worse which serves as a daily reminder to stay grateful for what I have while learning to ease off the accelerator after years of keeping my foot to the metal in survival mode, driven by both fight and flight.

I tinkered around this world as if my life was a game and that it meant nothing while disappearing in plain sight. I hid the pain I felt inside behind laughter, rebellion and pretending everything was fine and dandy as I walked straight toward destruction — just to feel something real.

And just as I finally woke up and saw the value in giving the skeletons in my closet a proper burial and focusing all my energy on following my dreams, I was shattered — obliterated — during a time when I was simply minding my own business and writing my memoir, “Random Thoughts & F*cked Up Answers.”

Let us skip over the horrifying, unconscionable details and get straight to the nitty-gritty of my message: addressing mental breakdowns and removing the stigma surrounding them.

This is one of those topics that I am confident most people will not outright admit they have been there and done that. It is a messy, scary and wild place to be. Sadly, it is also highly judged and, for the rest of my life, I will likely be looked down upon, with people wondering if I will find myself back in that fuzzy, blacked-out abyss.

Although it has been three years since I experienced that lowest of lows, it still breaks my heart: the thoughts that consumed my mind, the loneliness and utter defeat that swallowed me whole — and sadly, the period of time I have no recollection of.

Temporary mental breakdowns don’t come with a warning label or a neat little timeline. They creep in like fog — slow, silent, then suddenly everywhere. A point where suffering in silence is no longer an option because the barriers in your mind have vanished without a trace.

I used to think psychological unraveling meant failure, a character flaw and something to be ashamed of, especially when people spread rumors about someone else’s collapse. We are told that this kind of cognitive tailspin is a weakness — that something is wrong with us and that we “need” medication or should expect it to happen again.

This implosion of my psyche ruptured the mask I wore while trying to fit into a world that never saw the real me. Because truthfully, I didn’t even know who that was. I was forced to stop running from myself and begin rebuilding from the severed remnants of my identity.

With this fresh new perspective, I see my introduction to life’s nadir as an internal toolbox cracking open, remodeling the interior walls by removing the asbestos and black mold so everything I once knew can be rebuilt into marble with gold finishes.

Then came the whispers about the root cause of my psychologically intolerable situation and that I needed to reclaim my dignity. In my opinion, some things cannot be forgiven and all hardships need to be accepted for what they are in order for us to work toward healing and moving forward in life.

For me, I cannot say I forgive someone if I am embracing justice and actively working towards it. Not to be confused with revenge, but with accountability, boundaries and the refusal to carry what was never mine to bear.

Forgiveness to me in the traditional and biblical sense, requires both inward and outward release with no lingering or negative emotions that disrupt my inner peace — as if those slick bastards defiled my life yesterday and I was still a raging distressed ball.

Some will argue that the Good Book is firm on forgiving your enemies. However, the Bible teaches forgiveness to prevent hatred and vengeance — and in that sense, what it calls forgiveness aligns more closely with what I now understand as acceptance.

There will be no revenge now or in the future. If they cross my path one day, I will ignore them cordially. I will not go out of my way to hurt them, nor will I go out of my way to help them.

At the end of the day we all sin and when my time comes, I will ask for forgiveness from God for not forgiving my enemies, if it turns out that I am unable to do so.

There will be a time to let go and move on. Not because we have “healed perfectly,” but because we have outgrown the version of ourselves that needed to carry all that pain we felt inside.

Then we can rise, smiling at our scars with pride because we have become more enlightened through them. Although I am not there yet, I believe that when the time comes, I will know.

I hold firm to this:

When the chaos doesn’t make sense — when justice is tentatively pending, when healing feels slow or impossible — there is still purpose in the mess.

Even through faith, when we doubt, rage or cry ourselves empty, I believe He is still working.

And sometimes, He needs everything to fall apart — not to punish us, but to rebuild us as if we are becoming the “newborn” in our second.. third… or fourth chance in life.

So, if you are at the start, the middle or at the end of your breaking point, know this:

You are not failing in life. You’re unfolding into something greater than ever imagined in the first place. Your comeback will become such a profound moment, so loud, so undeniable, and that even the trauma you barely survived will become part of the fine print of your life — a collection of experiences that shaped who you are today without defining your future.