I had a perfect life. The loving husband, the sweet little boy, I even had the white picket fence. If someone took a picture of my family, I’d be the epitome of what they envisioned for themselves. I’d smile for the camera, laugh when it was appropriate and carried on with my life like there wasn’t anything wrong. I was happy. But it was all a lie. Everything I knew or believed was a lie. I wasn’t happy. I was broken despite having everything anyone could ever want. I’d lay awake imagining a world where it would all vanish. Maybe then I wouldn’t feel so alone. To the outside world, I had the perfect life. But inside all I had were fragments of what I used to be. A loving husband, a sweet little boy, and a white picket fence. My life was perfect. But it was all a lie.