It has taken me such a long time to write this story. Mostly because I wanted the little girl who felt that her brokenness could never be loved know that one day she would be happy. It took years of guarding my soft pit of a heart from injury before I could feel the entirety of my sorrow and eventually my wholeness. I always felt that my edges had somehow disappeared & parts of myself were somewhere out in the world waiting to be retrieved. I can tell my story now because the bodies of water, those streams and rivers of searching have stretched out across the world pulling in my corners. I am returning to myself. I am still my brokenness, I am still my nights of terror and depression, I am still my silent, wordless, rage, but now I know this story ends in gratitude.