
In June 2006, I was on the verge of ending my life, completely consumed by my addiction. Alone in a seedy motel room, surrounded by vodka, sleeping pills, a crack pipe, and heroin, I had finally surrendered. My family and friends had tried to save me countless times, but they had come to accept that they couldn't. I lived in filth, disgusted with myself, my heart overflowing with hatred and resentment. I was drowning, suffocating under the weight of my past—disloyal wife, abusive mother, jealous friend, thief, prostitute, murderer, ex-con, liar, cheater, gossiper, envious, self-centered—the list was endless. It had to stop. I couldn’t breathe anymore. I prepared for my final escape. I washed off the grime, and put on makeup to mask the pain, trying to cover up the scars. But I gave no thought to the internal filth—the darkness clouding my mind, the love I had pushed away, the faces of my three beautiful children, my God-fearing husband. I didn’t cry out to God. In pure desperation, all I could say was: "I can't do it anymore!" Waking up each morning hurt—not just me, but everyone around me. The pills and alcohol had taken their toll, and I knew my time was short. Finally, the pain would end. But instead of death, I woke up three days later in a mental institution. Another failed attempt. Another moment of disappointment. But then, something unexpected happened—a sense of hope, an overwhelming love. And in that moment, all I could see was God. He had come for me. He had left His throne, gone all the way to hell to rescue me. And for the first time in twenty years, I felt free. His grace. His mercy. His love. I had been given another chance to get it right. Lisa Bryson, Founder & Executive Director