I believe that love really can heal all wounds. I have always felt the need to be in love with someone. I was diagnosed with chronic depression when I was 15, and went about finding a way to make the hurt go away, one man at a time.
My first serious boyfriend cheated on me with my best friend. As you can imagine, this did not do wonders for my self-esteem. My next attempt at love was a man who had more problems than I did. He was kind, loving and hopelessly bipolar. He asked me to marry him and I accepted. He committed suicide a year later. It was only through the grace of God and the vigilance of my friends and family that I survived. The next man I fell in love with loved booze more than he could ever love a woman. But because he told me he loved me, I married him anyway. Our marriage lasted seven years. Just when things were coming apart, and my depression was at its worst, I found out that I was pregnant. My husband was less than ecstatic. I had never felt more alone.
In 1998 my son was born and I was changed forever. I had finally found the love that would heal me. Motherhood changed me in a way that no amount of therapy or medication could. Motherhood saved my life. The first time his tiny fingers wrapped around mine, I knew I was saved. I knew the worst was over, and even when his father left us, I knew that we would be ok. A little child taught me that the right love can, in fact, heal all wounds.