Shunned and disqualified from the pastorate, I held my diagnosis like a disease. My moods, infected by the devil, were a treacherous battleground in need of salvation. However, I still choose medication over prayer, and my worth as a spiritual leader plummeted. Hope along with it. Nothing has paralleled that despair in my adult life. Not my divorce, not my postpartum ptsd, not even my hospitalization. So, for my safety, I hide my disbelief in a family full of believers.
I write a poem
for all to see