Originally Posted by mordwyr

Neapolitan,

I was raised in a broken home. As broken as can be. There was nothing but pain and abuse. I didn't do drugs, though. I studied hard, got good grades, got scholarships to university, and studied hard there, too. I vowed not to be like my family. So I rose above.

There was still no God in my life, though. I met a lovely girl at university, and she was the game-changer for me. We married a week after graduation. Still no God, but I had my beloved one. Her presence delayed the effects of my abuse. We had children, and life was great, but then my past reared its ugly head.

Psychiatrists say that when children bury the memories and effects of abuse, such effects usually come roaring back with a vengeance in one's late twenties. And, oh, how they did! But my darling one was always there, helping me every step of the way. I tried so many drugs, looking for answers, but my drug use never compromised my professional or family life. It was casual. MDMA cured my PTSD and gave me a moment to breathe. I had my moment of clarity when I was dead sober, though, with an all-night up-and-pacing fight within myself. And with the dawn came understanding.

I ran to Mary and, with the perfect confidence of a child, cast myself into my Mother's arms--and I haven't looked back.

And my darling wife (and so much more than merely wife!) is Jesus to me. God worked through her, and through her love and patience, I saw the light. By the way, she wasn't raised Catholic, either. We came to the Church together.