It's a hard thing to accept.

Towards morning, I dreamt of C. When I sleep, I half hope to dream about him, and half not. Part of me wants to go back, to experience the emotions and relive the relationship, if only for a time. The other part of me screams, "The C you dream of is NOT REAL! You've idealized and rationalized him into what you want him to be. You're in love with a fantasy!!"

I wish I'd never gotten involved at all.

I'm still reading through The Wounded Heart, in bits and pieces, and the last chapter I read mentioned how the abuser often flashes up at the least expected and most unwanted moments... he shows up in dreams, or situations flash you back to the incidents, or... pick an option.

That's not really the case with me. I rarely dream about G. As a matter of fact, I make sure to try to goad my mind in as far an opposite direction as can be from wherever he is. I don't want to be anywhere near his vicinity, even if it is only in my head.

C, though, is the one that pops up. He's the one I dream about. He's the one that I tell stories about. He shows up in my daily conversations. He dogs my footsteps wherever I go. Why? Because, for so many years, he was my life. I didn't have to feel sad anymore. I didn't have to be unfulfilled. I no longer had to worry about the fact that I was molested, or worry that I wasn't good enough, or that I was sub-par, or that I lived in constant depression. He could lift me up. He was my drug, my emotional fix... and also my salvation. If I hadn't found that anesthetic in him, I would have found it somewhere else. Promiscuity? Maybe. Drugs? Probably. Delinquency was another anesthetic. So was Wicca.

So anyway, I had that dream, and then came The Fall 2.0. No need for details, but I ate it. Hard. So I asked for forgiveness, and immediately came up with 1 John 1:9--If we confess our sins, he is faithful to forgive us our sins, and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness. That's what I want. Cleansing. Purging. I don't want to be a cheap whore inside anymore. I don't want to be a dark, twisted... I don't even have the right words.

Anyway, I claimed that, and tried to believe it... and I do. But my heart refuses to realize that there's nothing I can do to make myself more appealing, more... forgiveable. More forgiven.

I cannot even describe the depths of the heart-nausea in which I find myself. It's like... I know it. It's gotta be true. But why can't I know it?

My whole being cries out for something beautiful and gentle to take the place of the gnashing, raging darkness within me. Just as my body cries for water, so my soul cries for rest.

The very first thing I'm going to do when I get to heaven is to hug God. I want to feel his arms around me... to feel his love enveloping me and sweeping me away... to feel his hand gently brush the tears from my cheeks... No man has ever wiped the tears from my face.

Maybe what I'm longing for from the past... is really what I'm longing for in the present... from God.

I wonder what it will be like when I am finally able to just be loved.

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