... seeing the photos of the young babies with eczema on their face, or the horrible rashes that some people have. I have skin problems, but nothing compared to that.
... hearing about the adolescent boy who was so depressed he took drastic steps of self-harm, wrapping his car around a pole, but he survived. I have been miserable before, and thought thoughts that scared me, but never yet have I harmed myself in that proportion.
... remembering my friend who committed suicide. The same age as me, sharing childhood memories and activities. When did we become so different? There, but for the grace of God, go I.
For all that I complain and wish to rise above, I remember that I am already immensely lucky, and well off considering other matters.
Why do I?
And still, that small voice at the back of my mind, whenever I see these things, or think of these things, that says "There, but for the Grace of God, go I"
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