Dear Our Mother of Perpetual Help, You know me and what I have been through and the unreasonable suffering I have to endure. It's a problem since around 1970 or so and I fail containing myself after the torment builds at any time till I lose my temper.
I feel saying prayers, being able to say I did my best is a con job to you and Jesus. I can only say I've been happy with another once in my life after visiting the shrine of St
Bernadette Soubirous in Nevers, France. For one afternoon on the way back to Paris. I had the confidence you gave me and used it. That gift has been tainted now, I'm grateful that I have it but its useless to me the way I've treated it. My hope is futile. I need divine intervention though unworthy I too remember kindness. Thank you.