📖 Sacred Testimony XXIV

“The Case History”
offered for the moment the mind fractured but the soul still searched for light.

While I was in treatment,
they asked us to write a case history.

I wrote something that spilled from the cracks:
“My sister made me eat grass and I had to have my stomach pumped out.”

It sounds strange.
But in that moment,
it was real to me.

That memory—whether dream, distortion, or metaphor—
was the language my pain had chosen.

And something in me gave way.
I had what they called a psychotic break.

They moved me to the Baptist Hospital—
the psych ward.

Another place.
Another layer of confusion.
Another attempt to find the pieces.

I remember being downstairs,
sitting there with my mom,
and asking her:

“Do I have cancer?”

I didn’t mean my body.
Not really.

What I meant was:
“Is something inside me killing me slowly?”
“Why do I feel like I’m dying, and no one can see it?”

They changed doctors on me.
Faces shifted.
Names blurred.

I was already confused,
but that made it worse.

And still, somewhere beneath all the fog,
I kept trying to understand what was happening to me.

That, too, was sacred.

🌿 And now I see:

Even in the breakdown,
I was reaching for truth.
Even in confusion,
my soul knew something was wrong and wanted to be heard.

The grass.
The cancer.
The changing doctors.

It wasn’t just madness.
It was memory.
It was metaphor.
It was pain with no place to land.

But even then—
I was still holding on.

✨ A Blessing for the Break That Was Really a Cry

May the one who wrote strange things in a case history
be honored for her courage—
not mocked for her confusion.

May the grass and the memory
be seen not as madness,
but as a message the soul had no other way to send.

May the psych ward not be remembered as a failure,
but as a sacred shelter
for a spirit too overwhelmed to keep pretending.

May the question—
“Do I have cancer?”—
be held with the tenderness of a child asking,
“Is there something wrong with me… or can someone please tell me I’m okay?”

May every changed doctor, every new face, every shift in the story
be wrapped now in mercy—
not for what they got right,
but for the fact that you stayed,
even when the world blurred.

And may the one who broke
be blessed as the one who survived.

She didn’t lose her soul.
She found the crack where light would one day pour in.