Brothers and Sisters

I am part of this group of people in recovery for abuse.
It's encouraging to see I am not alone. In the same notion it is heart wrenching to read stories like mine and worse are "Common".

Today is a day for new beginnings... many of my brothers and sisters in recovery are scared today.
They are afraid of another year facing fears, being let down by the justice system and looking like targets for predators.
I hurt and ache for them. I message many of my sisters often and tell them they are beautiful and loved.
We are the orphans with living parents. We are isolated in a world full of people. We are the survivors in a world where evil thrives. We have each other and often we forget that. We fight for each other and struggle so much to fight for our own self.
We give others the permission to cry, scream, and heal that we struggle to give ourselves.
We are the family that non of us ever had.
We rarely if ever see each other face to face. We don't even show our real faces when we meet. We all see each other clear as day though.

I want my brothers and sisters out there struggling today to know, I am thinking of each of you. I am holding you near in my heart. Let yourself cry today. Let yourself scream today and if the opportunity arises... let yourself smile today.

We are not victims anymore. We are survivors and when we stand together we are over comers.

Much love to the unloved. 

Young Enough and Old Enough.

Thoughts,


Here I am at the young yet, old age of 25 years old.
I find a deep bitterness trying to grow in me.
Anger and hatred planted so deep it will cause much pain to rid myself of it.

My mother tried to contact me around my birthday.
It's like she wants to try anything she can to ruin what should be happy days for me.
There is some small part of me that wants to believe she doesn't have motives and genuinely wants to be a part of my life. I hate that soft part of me... that weakness that longs to have my mom back... It's just a big manipulation.

My most recent struggle is the war of whether or not to go back to school. I am young enough it wouldn't be a big deal... for most anyway. The other side of the coin is, I am just old enough that it may be harder to get back into than I can handle. I have no high school transcript, no SAT scores, no ACT scores, nothing. A few credit hours at a previous community college but, nothing to shake a stick at.
This all because my parents lied and said "God" told them to home school. I believe it's possible He told them to do so. However, they didn't. They simply pulled us out of school and put us to work on the ranch. Everything I know, I taught myself post 3rd grade. The only problem with this is, you don't know what you don't know and things like Math, Science and Biology fall to the way side.

The long and short of it is, if I go back to school I need to want it, bad, and be ready to struggle harder to reach my goals. Oh, and figuring out what my goals are.

There are so many things looking back that cause me a great deal of hurt, anger, and frustration.
Beyond my lack of education and opportunities there is so much I feel cheated out of.
I feel like my passions I had in my youth have been stripped from me and the only passion I feel (outside of my love for my husband) is anger at my relatives.
I feel disconnected with the very gifts that once kept me tethered to this world.
 Music barely touches me, it used to be what pulled cleansing tears from the once secret hurts of my soul.  Horses used to be my heart beat. I haven't even touched one in over a year.

Maybe this is the feeling of lost.

It is time to find a way to let go of  yet another ugly hurt and bring a pulse back to my decayed and decrepit inner being.

I am hoping this new year brings new beginnings but, I know better than to expect those beginnings will thrust themselves upon me.
I must to take it a day at a time and build strength to take those days by force instead of the usual passive lethargic existence I've found myself struggling with once again.

I'm just walking it out.

Lies, Only Skin Deep

 Skin Deep,

                                                        Image: My Fighting Chance

If only it was, skin deep. Epidermis and tissue can be sewn, even glued shut. It can be treated with antibiotics and therapies to enhance and accelerate the healing process.  It's so much more though, this wound. It's spiritual, emotional, psychological and the least of it's damage is skin deep.

I'm talking about the wound of abuse.
The words abusers speak, the manipulations and exhaustive exercises they put souls through. --They brand minds and to sear mental recordings with lies.
Lies, that if left untreated, just like a skin deep wound have and will infect the rest of one's being.

For me these lies were once a blanket I used to cope and conceal. I used them to hold my broken heart together for a time suppressing my true emotions.
These lies comforted me and gave me a false sense of control. Control that was stolen from me when my abusers first touched to me.
Lies that said "It's YOUR fault." something as a victim I had told myself time and again in hopes for that false sense that I had some control. I needed to feel I wasn't the helpless victim no one wanted to believe I was anyway.

Breaking the cycle of these lies and the layers of shame they had held over me, made healing on every level possible.
It is, was, and continues to be hard.  Well meaning loved ones try to help but it's hard for them to understand.

 I am a survivor of more than just abuse and assault. I am a survivor of a false sect that fronted as "family."  They coddled my abusers because entangled within their communion were the very monsters who touched me. The very barbarians who looked at me with hungry eyes and spoke to me with their blasphemous mouths -- lived amongst and were people whom my life was entrusted to, family.
As I look back at my youth it pains me to try and grasp the level of desperation and denial one had to live under to miss all the signs of hell right in front of them.
Then to couple that with a strong religious foreground--oh, how depraved they are!
Yet, I was once one of these delusional individuals. A hard grievous truth that I have and do face daily.

Skin deep, not even my tears are just skin deep. They come from deep within, a reservoir where pain and hurt meet mercy and healing. The effects of which are pools of soul cleansing tears.
Tears which only recently in my life have I allowed myself permission to feel and experience.

How can this be? How do such places of horror and people of illness exist?
My comfort is understanding that, this side of eternity- I don't have to be able to comprehend how or why on such matters. I must give myself permission to deduce that I do not even need the answers nor does it matter if there are fathomable conclusions. These entities and evils do exist, period.
My purpose in healing is for personal gain. However, it is also a proposition which effects others around me a great deal. I now possess a real family. One which I am a huge part of creating and even keeping together. If my wounds which are much more than skin deep are not properly cared for and dealt with, they can possibly infect not just myself but the entire unit and community of support and family around me. I am not responsible for the evils committed against me in the past but I am responsible for my healing process and the power I allow it have in my life.

Healing does not end because you can no longer see the wounds.

Dear Nanny

Dear Nanny,

I miss you!
I feel like cancer stole a lot from us, you and me. We had good times, sad ones, hard times but no matter what kind of time it was, we had each other.
I miss that.

I wish you could be here today and see me. Meet my son your great grandbaby. My husband and the loving wonderful man he is. He takes care of his shoes! ;-)
He also loves and respects his mother.

I wish you could see all the things you taught and showed me working in my life. Everything from the way I get pretty before going out to the way I keep my  house. I wish I could tell you I was safe and happy. I hope you know that.
I remember so many things you told me and wish now I had paid even more attention.

I miss painting my nails with you. I miss going out to our little tea house for luncheons.
I miss watching you. I miss your smell. I miss your singing.
I miss you.

I miss curling your hair and eating big breakfast with coffee and Irish cream. I miss having ice cream snacks on hot days with you. I miss drinking a big ice glass of Dr Pepper with you. I miss our fancy cakes.

I miss long car rides with you to Arkansas. I miss our conversations solving the worlds problems.
I'm sorry I grew up and grew busy. I regret that now. I regret not calling you more.
I miss you. I love you.




This day two years ago I was on the phone with you, when you took your last breath.
 I will cherish those last few moments we had. I will never forget telling you it was okay to go even though in my mind it wasn't.

See you on the other side someday.

Spit balling

I am so angry,



I am angry at the people who never protected me.

I am angry at other rape victims who did not report and could have possibly saved  me from this hell.

I am angry that I have to be the brave one who is exposed and vulnerable to the scrutiny of liars and accusers in order to seek justice.

I am angry that I have been a fool and was trained to take a beating and rape time and again.

I am angry that my whole life was spent learning how to mask everything with a religious falseness so as not to disappoint or shame my "family."

I am angry that rapists can time and again CHARM their way in and out of the lives of victims and get away with the horror and damage that they leave in their wake.



I am angry that pictures of my body taken by a rapist are being used in total strangers spank banks and porn addictions DAILY!

I am furious that it will take telling my story AGAIN and even showing these pictures to more strangers before I have a chance... just a chance at justice.

I am angry that my nightmares can't be bottled up and used as evidence to prosecute this rapist.



I am angry my husband has to see or even know of such things.

I am also scared...

I am scared that I will lose... and he, my rapist will be STILL be free.

I am scared that one day I will have to tell my son SOMETHING about why mommy can't sleep good or cries from time to time for no apparent reason.

I am so angry and afraid that I don't have a mom to support me but instead she chose a rapist over me.

I am so angry that she is missing out on my life and sons life and I can't trust her to be safe and help me.

I am so angry that it is me and my husband against the whole evil of rapists and abusers.



I am tired... tired of fighting depression and fear. I am tired of not resting when I sleep because I am running and fighting in my nightmares. I am so tired of hurting, I am tired of hiding but, I am also tired of being brave.

I'm tired of feeling so much and yet it's the strongest part of me... feeling.



WHY?! Why EVERYTHING?! Why me?



How do I get past this and focus on something bigger than me when this IS bigger and consumes me?

When? When do I get peace? When do I get justice?


When will the morning come that I wake up and the day is not a battle to get through?



 Where is Christ in this? Where?

The Heavy Tiredness

Aka Depression.

I move with the agility of an 80 year old arthritic woman.  My walk is slow, I feel stiff even though there is no stiffness in my joints.  My face feels too heavy to smile and my jaw feels locked.
My joints though not stiff, ache. They ache from not having a proper amount of fat or muscle to cover them. It hurts to lay down in one position for too long.  Something falls asleep or a hip pops out of the socket and I am stuck in pain.

My doctor believes I am healthy as a horse and  just a "little" under weight.
My opinion, 92 lbs is too small even for a 24 year old 5.4 petite frame.
I eat, but it's becoming more and more forced.  I feel so detached at times.

I love my son and my husband but, I struggle feeling good enough for them.
Good enough to deserve them, good enough to be worthy of their love and affection towards me.
It's time again to see my therapist and doctor about increasing my meds.
I feel defeated in the need to do so. I feel like I failed on this smaller dose.

What are my rapists and abusers suffering?
Nothing, that's what.

Damn!

Here I am in therapy, on medication, in support groups, blogging, drawing and anything I can do to try and help myself recover and still...I am plagued with nightmares, this stupid depression and more.

Anger... how I hate that you are there and won't come out.
You frighten me and comfort me. I have no idea what to do with you and yet I want so badly to express you to a degree in which I would feel justified and effective.

Tears... where did you go? Do you not know I am hurting and need to feel you slowly run down my face like the caress of an angel letting me know it's real?

Fear... you're an unfortunate constant. You and anxiety seem to know where to find me easily enough. I feel as though you, like my father, and the devil laugh at my pain and enjoy torturing me.

Nightmares... Yes, you mental rapist. CURSE YOU! You love to chase me and trap me. It's a sick game of cat and mouse you play with my head at night. No matter where, when or how I sleep you are there. No matter how many times I wake up or jump in my sleep you infiltrate my head.

Shame... you haunt me still.  I told you, I was done with you and yet you come back and hang over me with the rest of the previously mentioned group members.

I hate you...all of you... depression and all you bring and steal from me.
This is a bad day...no, this is a bad week.
I'm so tired.

The Somatic and the Spiritual

The Nightmare:
There are images of an elevator, my sister and a knowing  she is pregnant and then another image of my father. Things get fuzzy and clear off and on and then next thing I hear in my mind is "You were never going to take care of me anyway! You never have!" It was my sisters voice in response to my father kicking her out of the house.
Things get dark and a horrible feeling of doom overwhelms me. I can't see anything and I wake up abruptly.

The body memory:
I hear the low hum of the air conditioner at work in our room. Jimmy is laying next to me on his stomach tucked snug in the sheets.
I am wide awake and feel cramping in my abdomen. Then I feel moisture running down my legs.
This is unusual and confusing. I throw the sheets and blanket back and sit up in bed there is blood.
Now I'm more confused and freaked out. "It's not time yet.." I say to myself.
I get up and go the bathroom to clean up and feel humiliated and embarrassed.
I get back in bed and try to sleep but at this point I am too afraid to sleep.
The next day I am more confused about the previous nights nightmare and cramping with bleeding. I did not bleed anymore the rest of the day...or the next.

What I had is what is known as a somatic memory... or body memory.
It's when a memory is stored in your body instead of your mind. I know my father abused me far worse than just back handing me and throwing me across the room from time to time. I know there are deeper scars from more than his verbal abuse on my heart. I have memory gaps in my childhood and there is no doubt in me that these gaps are repressed memories from sick and degrading abuse inflicted upon me by my father. The memories have been suppressed unto my body...and come out in the form of cramping, bleeding, weird bruising, chronic back pain, and more. My body has a flashback instead of my mind.
I know that until I got my first period my childhood is VERY fuzzy.
I also know that when I did get my period my father loathed me. He wouldn't come near me except to hurt me and even told me not to touch him.
He was in no danger of me wanting to be near him anyway.
When something triggers me to get that feeling of doom like I had in the nightmare I get cramps and usually back pain. I have no memories though.

This body memory and the pain I feel is VERY real and this is a defense mechanism against the nightmares and suppressed memories. Or as some would have it...LACK thereof.
Mentally I could not handle the hell I was put though so my body took the memory on in physical form and holds it there.
I will need much therapy to learn how to cope with this and decide on proper treatment.

I HATE this!

I have a life time of recovery ahead of me and I struggle with everything from physical pain to emotional and mental anguish from my past abuse.
I feel as though the only thing my abusers are suffering is old age...something we are all damned too.
How unfair.

Paul was right, "to die is gain"... and some day's I struggle wishing I had died long ago. It would have been a mercy.
However, I must not leave this verse or partial verse out of context.
Because Paul also said "To live is Christ,"

"For to me, to live is Christ and to die is gain." 
                                                                                     Philippians 1:21

Paul spoke this while in chains... imprisoned in his own kind of hell.
He was not speaking from behind the comfort of a solid pulpit with "safe" religious people.
He was speaking covered in filth, and chained. He starts by speaking about how all this horror he was suffering and had suffered served only to advance The kingdom.
The verse prior to the above says:
"I eagerly expect and hope that I will in no way be ashamed, but will have sufficient courage so that now as always Christ will be exalted in my body, whether by life or by death."
                                                                                        Philippians 1:20


To live is Christ... what is Christ?
Christ is a living sacrifice, a death to sin, both sin committed by and against the body.
The physical death was the body or somatic reaction to sin.
The wages of sin is DEATH.
Yet, in this death... Christ is glorified.