Zombie

You want to know why I have named myself Zombie? I don't care if you said no, this is my blog remember. I have spent most of my life not feeling anything. I was young once and I had all these dreams and stars in my eyes. I was raised by my mother who suffered from Depression and extreme Anxiety Disorder, and she was also Bi-Polar, so she was kind of a wreck, though she did an amazing job given the circumstances. I had no idea that I needed a father or was supposed to have one until I was about 12 and started going through awkward changes and weird stuff started happening to me. I saw my friend hang himself and die at 12 years old, and I had no one to help me deal with that so death became and obsession for me for the next, well even now. I would lie in bed pondering things that should never be thought about in a child. The sadness grew and in came depression, a lot of it, then nightmares, then tears and more tears and anger and shame. Fast forward to age 19, I am laying on a set of train tracks, feeling nothing but relief. Finally it was going to be over, I just didn't care anymore. I saw the train, it was coming. It was coming fast, so I closed my eyes and braced myself. Then I got hit and thrown off the tracks to the side. It hurt, so I assumed I was dead. I opened my eyes expecting to see white lights or hell. I saw red, it was blood and the glare of the street lights that shined over the top of the trains. What happened? I looked down and my friend was lying on top of me holding his hand that was broken from pulling me off the tracks. I was stunned, so I passed out. I woke and we walked silently to my house which was a couple miles from where I had laid down. He told me he was driving around and felt like he should go to my house, he did and found my suicide letter laying on the bed. It was written by a hand so drunk it wrote right over the top of the last entry. It said nothing of a train, yet he walked 2 miles down the tracks to pull me off before I was killed. For days I battled the notion that this was a coincidence. It bugged me because as arrogant as I was, I had always hated myself. I got tired of thinking and wondering and trying to spin what happened around so that I could write it off, but I couldn't and I still felt like garbage, so I tried to cut my wrists on purpose. I sat in the bathtub and and said the first real prayer I had ever said and meant. I told God that if He were trying to tell me something, please say it, because I don't understand. I expected silence, then blood, but what I got was something different. My heart melted, it was the first real feeling I had had in years. For 3 days I sat in that apartment and cried, and I could not and would not stop because God had broken my heart. He had let me know that He was there the whole time, and that He cared. I call myself Zombie as a reminder as to what life is like without the realization that God loves you no matter what has happened. I gave my life to Jesus that night in the tub with my jeans on and a clean razor blade that was never used for anything again. I can tell you that I looked high and low in life for a solution to the equation of pain and sadness and loneliness. Guess what? I still haven't found it, but what I have found is a Savior that continues to repair what is broken inside me. Pain is here because sin is here, but God repairs. My real name is Adam