We All Have A Story | Brian’s Story

Over the past few weeks I have shared my story with all of you. For the next few weeks we will be sharing stories from others who have been through similar struggles of their own. Here is Brian’s testimony.

I’m a pastor’s son. I grew up in a pastor’s home. For years that was my identity. But that identifier was masking a prison that tormented me to my soul. Have you ever stayed up to the see the sunrise? Those minutes before dawn peaks its light on the horizon are the darkest. However, they cannot be compared to the depths of despair and hopelessness I would find myself. People knew me for my smile. Big. Vibrant. Welcoming. Here is my story of that struggle.

I am a miracle. The doctors told my parents they shouldn’t have any more children after my brother was born. While miracles are perfect in completions, my story started shaky from birth. I lost oxygen to my brain for several seconds to the point I was turning gray. At a month old I had surgery to repair a stomach issue. These events by themselves would be taxing on any newborn. But combined in such a short space triggered a chemical change in my body, of course the multiple concussions didn’t help, but those sports stories are for another day. All that to say this, miracles come with a price to show the power of Christ. The price for me would be a battle for my soul.

From my earliest memories, chaos and confusion detained my thoughts. Held them captive to the point I contemplated for 15 years. Finally at 26, I had enough. I had enough hiding; and enough of faking everything. As I sat on the end of my bed the only thought I could must was freedom. Father God had other plans and interrupted my story. I’ll admit I was angry at the time. Years would pass before the healing would happen. Also, at the time I didn’t know the cause of the distress I was suffering. Then came the diagnosis Bipolar 2 (Rapid Cycling), Schizoaffective disorder, ADHA and OCD. For several years the merry-go-round of medicine turned. I tried to be ‘normal’. Advice and “help” came in all forms; but nothing worked. One day, after realizing the medicine wasn’t doing anything to help, my wife encouraged me to take a step of faith and stop taking them. Please note, I’m not endorsing this method. We were both working our way back to Father.

Several months later we started attending church. The power of the Holy Spirit overwhelmed us and we both returned to faith in Christ. I was healed and delivered from those prisons. Prayer works. I’m here today because I had people praying for me. Sadly, for many, that type of support isn’t there. You can be healed but only by the power of Jesus Christ through His death and resurrection.

Meet Brian:

10171247_10154057863595483_8682251334006674415_nGrowing up in a small town bred a need for an outlet from the humdrum quietness. Writing became my outlet.  From poetry to song lyrics to short stories, expressing the spectrum of human emotion, paper is my canvas and a pen is my brush.  Introspective and insightful, I write from experience and creative spontaneity.  I collect music and enjoy coffee. Be sure to check out my blog, here: brian.artistmonkey.com.

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