The Penny

I just finished a novel by Joyce Meyers called The Penny.

The basic premise of the book is the story of a girl, Jenny, who lives in a very abusive household. They're the classic dysfunctional family-- a father who is verbally and physically abusive to all members of the household, and who sexually abuses the girls at night; a mother who, out of fear or from being beat down or whatever, turns a blind eye to the abuse, all of it; two daughters who are going through the same thing, yet cannot speak to each other about it, so they have this weird, tenuous need for each other that usually comes out as bickering and sullenness.

I wonder if that's what went on with K and I. Maybe she felt like she should have said or done something to stop G, but she didn't, so she failed to protect me... and so the tension enters the relationship... despite the fact that we are fiercely loyal to each other.  (And despite the fact that she's my younger sister, and I'm supposed to be the one protecting her!) She protected me many a time, as I tried to do for her. I was going to come back for her after I ran away-- I just had to make sure I had a safe place to take her to.

Anyway, Jenny finds a penny in the street, picks it up, and a chain of events is launched into motion that begins her journey of healing from the abuse, though she doesn't see it for a long while. She gets some safe people in her life. God enters her life. The pennies are like a symbol, a message from God reminding her that he loves her, that he's taking care of her and watching out for her, even though it doesn't necessarily seem like it. (Like rainbows for my family.)

 I have to say... reading that book was both good and hard. I couldn't put it down. I had to finish it.

And I understand Jenny... I understand her far too well for my own liking. Miss Shaw, as well... how she hid the pain from her own past of abuse behind a well-kept, well-mannered exterior. Perfectly groomed and poised, pleasant, yet detached. Jenny is a far more abrasive character than I ever was. Her insides are like mine, though.

And I think about my past... the memories... the things I'd forgotten... the darkness. The shame. The wishing it was just over already so he would leave my room and I could read a book and forget about everything. The "I'm asleep, I'm asleep, I'm asleep, so it can't be my fault, 'cause I'm asleep." The why is he still hitting me? The doing something "wrong" and standing in the corner for over an hour, or being forced to skip meals. The being ignored when all I want is to be loved.

I wish I could just permanently delete the files. The memory of the way his skin felt. The sound of his breathing. The helpless, seething anger when he threw things at me, and I knew I wasn't allowed to fight back, or even be fazed.

I'm pissed off, and I'm grieving, and I'm wondering, God, will I ever be able to forgive?


Will I ever not be ugly inside?


Because when someone sends those messages to you over, and over, and over again... it wears you down. Especially when you're already vulnerable, and you don't know what to believe about yourself... you don't know who you are...

You stop thinking. You just act.

You believe it.

Are they lies? Or are they reality?

Are they lies to begin with, and then they become reality?

I just want to run outside, pull my hair, pound my fists on the ground until they're bloody, and scream for the whole world to hear, "I WAS ABUSED! I WAS WRONGED! And I just want somebody to tell me that it was all a lie, that I'm actually precious, and worth protecting, and I didn't deserve it! It wasn't my fault... right?"

Tell me I'm worth protecting.

God, I need to hear this from you. Tell me you will protect me. Tell me you will treasure me. Tell me that you want me, that you actually like me. Tell me you're not just using me.

Tell me I don't have to bear the weight of my family's failure.

Please... tell me it's okay that I can't clean this up by myself, that you don't expect me to. Tell me it's okay to ask for help.

I look back now, and I realize how thoroughly ridiculous it is to let a child's room get into this state (I realize now that I was a hoarder of sorts as a child), and then demand that they clean it up in one morning, with no help, under the threat of no food until they finish. (And to do that over and over again is... madness.)

No. That is NOT right. I would never do that to my child, and I would not stand for that being done to any child I know.

So why do I accept it? Even still... I am not outraged for myself. Sad? Some. But there remains this distinct core within me that somehow feels that, if I had been better, or if I had _____, or if I had not ______, or if something something anything, then it wouldn't have happened, and I somehow deserved this, because if I were really worth protecting, someone would have done it, right?

If I were really worth protecting, God would have done something, right?

You know what, I am pissed! I'm really mad at you, God, for just standing by and watching this happen. Where were you?

If you're so almighty like you claim to be, then what the hell?!

Why didn't you DO something?

How can you just show up now, all cavalier with your promises and smooth words, and expect me to just trust you?

How can you say it's going to get better, when you could have stopped it from getting that bad?

Are you just some cosmic clean up crew?

I'm sorry. I'm sorry I'm mad. I really... I really want that whole "loving trust relationship" with you thing, I just... don't know how long it'll take me to get past the "I'm so angry I don't want anything to do with you" part.

Yet... my intense longing for a father and his approval always keeps me coming back for more.

I think our relationship is dysfunctional.

Ugh, I'm a wreck. I need sleep.

(And here I thought that I was going to end up with this great, inspiring post. I did NOT expect all those feelings to come gushing up.)

And I wonder... how did I ever get along with J and K? We're... worlds apart. No wonder there was conflict.

I'm angry with them too, oddly enough... angry that they get their perfect little world and I went through shit. Angry that K thinks she's missed out on so much, but that she has no idea that I would give ANYTHING to have had her life! Angry that J's biggest crises are comprised of grades and boys. Angry that they would be jealous that I was befriending their father. It's like a princess riding through town in her carriage, seeing a street child eating a slice of bread, and covetously snatching it because she forgot to pack a sandwich. Does the princess not realize that the street child has been hungry her whole life? Does she not realize that the piece of bread is life to that child? Does she not realize that she has a whole freaking bakery at her palace?!

Wow. Yeah. I am angry.

Good.

I've been wanting to be angry lately.

Now... what am I supposed to do with it?