You run across some really weird stuff here. I was reading a blog that, at first, seemed slightly normal... but the farther I read, the weirder and more graphic it got. So I stopped. Probably not soon enough. Morbid curiosity, I guess. Blech. It'll take weeks to flush that junk outta my head. I wish I had walked away sooner.
However, it occurs to me... that could so easily have been me. The cynicism. The avoidance. The flings. The dysfunction.
How in the world did I end up so... different? I mean, that was the crowd I ran with. So how is it that I now walk the path of healing, while others smother out the lights of their life with vicious salacity?
Whatever the difference is, I am immensely grateful. I find myself in a state of happiness I've never experienced before. Yeah, it's hard... but it's also worth it. Which makes up for all the pain.
The pages of my journal rustle as I scan my list one last time. Tears seep unbidden from my eyes as I breathe deeply in preparation for the agonizing emotions that already encroach upon me.
Wordlessly, I hand the journal over. As she begins to read, I anxiously tear open the small envelope in front of me, searching for some sort of comfort or relief from the cresting tide of horror that wells within me. Soothing, comforting words leap up at me in neat, orderly writing, but I still feel myself being pulled down, down... sucked into the vortex of shame and sorrow and utter vulnerability that threatens to engulf my entire being. I am naked, exposed. My heart has been vivisected, and the vile black seepage that oozes from its fibers is there, in her hands.
I give in to the emotions, and sob out my anguish.
God, I feel so exposed... so alone... so... dirty. I'm sorry for causing you so much pain. But I'm so exposed! What do I do?
Silently, stealthily... something else pours into my being like warm water. My heart quiets, and settles within me. Could this be... can it be... peace? Is this truly peace I'm experiencing? Even as she reads the lined pages of my blackness?
"You don't have to cry anymore. I've taken it away. You're free."
...What? Free? You mean, like, forgiven?
The peace quietly swells inside my heart, and washes over my whole body. I relax, my tense muscles unknotting themselves, my breathing regulating. I still want to cry, in a way, but now I know that it's all okay.
She finishes reading. The journal is purposefully laid aside, and the scattered books that lay between us are stacked and removed. She crosses the space between us, and we embrace. As our arms connect our bodies, so the tears that streak down our faces connect our hearts.
As we pull apart, I marvel at the peace that is still firmly entrenched within me. I meet her eyes with a smile, and share this new development with her. Our tears flow again, but this time they have root in joy, not anguish. Her face practically shines with happiness, and I realize once again how very precious our friendship is to me. She says I am brave... maybe so. Bravery is the last thing on my mind. I am simply content in the knowledge that, were I to die today, it would be all right.
Besides the inexplicable peace that has taken up residence in my heart, there is also a bright flicker of savage joy. I revel in it as I tear the offending pages from the journal, and leave them crumpled on the carpet beside us. What once held such foreboding and shame now lies in a helpless heap of cream and silver, nothing more than pulp and graphite.
She prods the sleepy fire back into groggy cognizance as I deposit the wadded remnants of my torment into its eager jaws. Together, we watch the overbearing blackness of the past wither into harmless ashes.
Wordlessly, I hand the journal over. As she begins to read, I anxiously tear open the small envelope in front of me, searching for some sort of comfort or relief from the cresting tide of horror that wells within me. Soothing, comforting words leap up at me in neat, orderly writing, but I still feel myself being pulled down, down... sucked into the vortex of shame and sorrow and utter vulnerability that threatens to engulf my entire being. I am naked, exposed. My heart has been vivisected, and the vile black seepage that oozes from its fibers is there, in her hands.
I give in to the emotions, and sob out my anguish.
God, I feel so exposed... so alone... so... dirty. I'm sorry for causing you so much pain. But I'm so exposed! What do I do?
Silently, stealthily... something else pours into my being like warm water. My heart quiets, and settles within me. Could this be... can it be... peace? Is this truly peace I'm experiencing? Even as she reads the lined pages of my blackness?
"You don't have to cry anymore. I've taken it away. You're free."
...What? Free? You mean, like, forgiven?
The peace quietly swells inside my heart, and washes over my whole body. I relax, my tense muscles unknotting themselves, my breathing regulating. I still want to cry, in a way, but now I know that it's all okay.
She finishes reading. The journal is purposefully laid aside, and the scattered books that lay between us are stacked and removed. She crosses the space between us, and we embrace. As our arms connect our bodies, so the tears that streak down our faces connect our hearts.
As we pull apart, I marvel at the peace that is still firmly entrenched within me. I meet her eyes with a smile, and share this new development with her. Our tears flow again, but this time they have root in joy, not anguish. Her face practically shines with happiness, and I realize once again how very precious our friendship is to me. She says I am brave... maybe so. Bravery is the last thing on my mind. I am simply content in the knowledge that, were I to die today, it would be all right.
Besides the inexplicable peace that has taken up residence in my heart, there is also a bright flicker of savage joy. I revel in it as I tear the offending pages from the journal, and leave them crumpled on the carpet beside us. What once held such foreboding and shame now lies in a helpless heap of cream and silver, nothing more than pulp and graphite.
She prods the sleepy fire back into groggy cognizance as I deposit the wadded remnants of my torment into its eager jaws. Together, we watch the overbearing blackness of the past wither into harmless ashes.
We've enjoyed good fellowship. Played football in the snow. Opened Christmas presents, and they gave me a day pack with a water bladder! I frosted M's cake, and decorated it with a Mustang GT. (It was okay. Not as good as I was hoping or intended.) We Journeyed to Bethlehem. E came today, and we played (football) and watched movies with the kids (It's A Wonderful Life).
Tomorrow morning, J and I are going through my searching and fearless moral inventory... and sharing my shortcomings with myself, with someone I trust, and with God. I don't want to do it. I don't want her to know my deep, dark secrets. Ugh. Just the thought of pulling back the curtain and revealing my true, hideous self fills me with trepidation. But, she has assured me of her love, and I must trust that. It will probably help me to understand God better, actually. Realizing that, yeah, he actually knows all this gunk... but still loves me.
Hmm.
I'd still rather avoid it.
Tomorrow morning, J and I are going through my searching and fearless moral inventory... and sharing my shortcomings with myself, with someone I trust, and with God. I don't want to do it. I don't want her to know my deep, dark secrets. Ugh. Just the thought of pulling back the curtain and revealing my true, hideous self fills me with trepidation. But, she has assured me of her love, and I must trust that. It will probably help me to understand God better, actually. Realizing that, yeah, he actually knows all this gunk... but still loves me.
Hmm.
I'd still rather avoid it.
Crystal Peaks Youth Ranch
For me, this place symbolizes hope. It is the epitome of metamorphosis. Whenever I see, hear, or read anything about it, my heart stirs and yearns within me.
I want... that. Everything this place symbolizes. Hope. Healing. The unbounded, tender love and intervention of God himself. The relationships. I want it in MY life.
I actually applied to be a volunteer there once. We both prayed about it, but they said no, that wasn't what God had in mind at the time. They were sure right. I've found incredible growth up here, and healing, and relationship, and... well, love.
But still, my heart aches and longs to be there... to do something like that... something with meaning. Something where I can see God melting a heart, shattering icy reserves, tossing down ancient walls of distrust...
That's why I'm going to school for social work. I want to do that, too.
And, more than anything... I want to visit that ranch. I want to ride those beautiful angels in horsehair... to meet the people who are so dedicated to sharing God's love.
That's what I want to do on my birthday. I want to visit Crystal Peaks Youth Ranch. I want to walk away with that hope ignited inside me, too.
For me, this place symbolizes hope. It is the epitome of metamorphosis. Whenever I see, hear, or read anything about it, my heart stirs and yearns within me.
I want... that. Everything this place symbolizes. Hope. Healing. The unbounded, tender love and intervention of God himself. The relationships. I want it in MY life.
I actually applied to be a volunteer there once. We both prayed about it, but they said no, that wasn't what God had in mind at the time. They were sure right. I've found incredible growth up here, and healing, and relationship, and... well, love.
But still, my heart aches and longs to be there... to do something like that... something with meaning. Something where I can see God melting a heart, shattering icy reserves, tossing down ancient walls of distrust...
That's why I'm going to school for social work. I want to do that, too.
And, more than anything... I want to visit that ranch. I want to ride those beautiful angels in horsehair... to meet the people who are so dedicated to sharing God's love.
That's what I want to do on my birthday. I want to visit Crystal Peaks Youth Ranch. I want to walk away with that hope ignited inside me, too.
There's a thing we do each week during our counseling sessions. We start off listing our thankfuls for the week, and then we claim promises, then we pray together.
I'm doing that today, to help myself refocus and unfunk.
Thankfuls:
-Two healthy kitties, one of whom is my beloved son.
-Talent in photography
-Good music
-Supportive family
-Upcoming visit to my biological family
-Winter clothing
-My own room
-A steady paycheck
Promise:
-Psalm 91:4--"He shall cover thee with his feathers, and under his wings shalt thou trust: his truth shall be thy shield and buckler."
-Psalm 18:28-34--"For thou wilt light my candle: the Lord my God will enlighten my darkness. For by thee I can run against a troop; and by my God I can leap over a wall. As for God, his way is perfect: the word of the Lord is proven: he is a shield to all those that trust in him. For who is God except the Lord? or who is a rock save our God? It is God that girdeth me with strength, and maketh my way perfect. He maketh my feet like the feet of deer, and setteth me upon my high places. He teacheth my hands to war, so that a bow of bronze can be bent by mine arms."
It's funny, because verse 28 meant so much to me a few summers ago that I made a reminder, which now hangs on the wall of my room. Perfect.
This is it:
I'm doing that today, to help myself refocus and unfunk.
Thankfuls:
-Two healthy kitties, one of whom is my beloved son.
-Talent in photography
-Good music
-Supportive family
-Upcoming visit to my biological family
-Winter clothing
-My own room
-A steady paycheck
Promise:
-Psalm 91:4--"He shall cover thee with his feathers, and under his wings shalt thou trust: his truth shall be thy shield and buckler."
-Psalm 18:28-34--"For thou wilt light my candle: the Lord my God will enlighten my darkness. For by thee I can run against a troop; and by my God I can leap over a wall. As for God, his way is perfect: the word of the Lord is proven: he is a shield to all those that trust in him. For who is God except the Lord? or who is a rock save our God? It is God that girdeth me with strength, and maketh my way perfect. He maketh my feet like the feet of deer, and setteth me upon my high places. He teacheth my hands to war, so that a bow of bronze can be bent by mine arms."
It's funny, because verse 28 meant so much to me a few summers ago that I made a reminder, which now hangs on the wall of my room. Perfect.
This is it:
Why are you strivin' these days?
Why are you tryin' to earn grace?
Why are you cryin'? Let me lift up your face.
Just don't turn away.
Why are you lookin' for love?
Why are you still searchin', as if I'm not enough?
To where will you go, child? Tell me, where will you run?
To where will you run?
'Cause I'll be by your side, wherever you've fallen
The dead of night, whenever you're callin'
Please don't fight these hands that are holdin' you.
My hands are holdin' you.
Look at these hands, and my side.
They swallowed the grave on that night,
When I drank the world's sin so I could carry you in
And give you life... I wanna give you life.
Why are you tryin' to earn grace?
Why are you cryin'? Let me lift up your face.
Just don't turn away.
Why are you lookin' for love?
Why are you still searchin', as if I'm not enough?
To where will you go, child? Tell me, where will you run?
To where will you run?
'Cause I'll be by your side, wherever you've fallen
The dead of night, whenever you're callin'
Please don't fight these hands that are holdin' you.
My hands are holdin' you.
Look at these hands, and my side.
They swallowed the grave on that night,
When I drank the world's sin so I could carry you in
And give you life... I wanna give you life.
And I'll be by your side, wherever you've fallen,
The dead of night, whenever you're callin'.
Please don't fight these hands that are holdin' you.
My hands are holdin' you.
Here in my side, wherever you've fallen,
The dead of night, whenever you're callin'.
Please don't fight these hands that are holdin' you.
'Cause I, yeah I love you. I want you to know
That I, yeah I love you. I'll never let you go.
And I'll be by your side, wherever you've fallen,
The dead of night, whenever you're callin'.
Please don't fight these hands that are holding you.
My hands are holdin' you.
Here in my side, wherever you've fallen,
The dead of night, whenever you're callin'.
Please don't fight these hands that are holdin' you.
My hands are holdin' you.
Here in my side, my hands are holdin' you.
It's so important for me to listen to music with positive lyrics. I tend to internalize the words I'm hearing. That's not an uncommon thing, since music bypasses the frontal lobe (which makes our judgment and moral calls) and goes right into the brain without passing through a metaphorical metal detector for dangerous stuff.
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.
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.