In one week, my life was turned right side up, after years of calling God and pleading with him to spear me like an animal, or rescue me. Not many people thought I needed to be rescued. Their eyes glazed over when I spoke to them. I felt incapable of breaking through and touching them in ways that others had touched them.
I knew they cared, but I knew also that they could not see the real me. To them, the real me was who Satan said I was. The real me was the caricature he had painted of me. The real me was who I had become in order to deal with the life he demanded I should live.
The real me was sad and broken, though I laughed a lot, destitute, though I pretended to be rich, lonely, though surrounded by friends, questioning why I had been born, though full of life. In one week, my life was turned around, right side up.