vulnerable

So I totally overreacted to something stupid.  I made a big deal over what was meant as a joke.  When he looked at me confused, wondering what could have possibly done to warrant my reaction, I started talking.  I talked myself into a corner.  And then I did it.  I blurted out something I didn't even really realize was in my heart until the words tumbled out of my mouth.

I now feel like I overshared.  I shared where my safe spot is.  I told him what I dreamed of when I was a little girl and needed to escape my reality.  I now want to rewind time and leave those words unsaid. I want to keep that spot only in my head.  I want it back.  I want it to be mine again not ours.

 I feel vulnerable. I feel guarded.  And I feel those things with the person in this life who loves me most of all, with the one person that I don't need to feel guarded with.  And feeling those things makes me feel lonely also.

I want to crawl into my head and stay there.  I don't want to be vulnerable.  Even though this vulnerable is safe.  I want to protect my heart but I'm trying to protect it from the wrong thing.

yeah, I'm crazy

Would you think I was crazy if I told you there is a area at my work that scares me?  No, not the lunchroom, though that scares me for totally unrelated reasons that I have already covered here!  There is a place that I walk by and it brings back memories of attack. 

When I walk by it the anxiety feels visible.  If I'm playing it as well as I hope I am, no one can see the anxiety that I feel drips off of me like wax off a candle.  But I feel it.  I feel trapped when I'm near that area.  I feel scared when I'm near that area.  I feel not in control when I'm near that area.  I want to run, hard and fast.

Remember when I said something was on the edge of my consciousness that would have to be dealt with?  It started with a friend tagging her friend in a Facebook post.  There was his name right in front of my face.  The name I haven't heard in many years.  It wasn't him, someone by the same name with a slightly different spelling.  But it was enough. 

A few days later I walked past this area at work and my palms got sweaty, my heart started racing and the tears threatened behind my eyes.  Suddenly I was there again, being held down, clothes being ripped, my body being groped.  My mind tried to tell my body that I wasn't really back there but it was too late, my body was already reacting.

 Logic wasn't enough to convince my heart rate to come back to normal.  Knowing he wasn't there, that I wasn't in danger, that I wasn't about to be hurt wasn't enough.  And in my head right now I hear the article I read recently written by a counselor about PTSD, about how the body reacts no matter what the logic says. 

I just walked by the "scary spot" when I was getting my lunch.  I wanted to sprint again.  I wanted to hide.  I wanted to get away.  So I sit here eating my lunch and blogging so that my heart rate will return to normal, my voice won't shake and my palms won't sweat so that I can get back to doing my job in a few minutes. 

Silly really, that I react to something so simple.  How I wish I were normal enough to not freak out at work over things that in reality don't still have the power to hurt me. 

Please define "real"

I am torn to shreds hearing comments about "real" rape, "legitimate" rape and "forceable" rape.  Is there any other type of rape?  Is there a polite way to violate someone so viciously?  If there is, I am certainly unaware of it. 

How is it possible that once again it is all the woman's fault?  SHE got pregnant (never mind that it was because HE forced his deviant way upon her).  It must be her fault.  Wasn't it her fault that he couldn't control himself in the first place? 

I'm sorry, but this time I call bullshit.  Ask the friend of my friend who recently birthed the baby of her rapist.  Ask her if his assault was welcome.  Ask her if her body could have shut down his sperm.  Ask any victim of unwanted sexual touch if their experience was "legitimate". 

Although I know the controversy is a launching pad for an abortion debate, I can't even get that far right now.  All I can hear is that women are responsible for having bodies that men want.  All I can hear is that women are responsible for getting pregnant when attacked.  All I can hear is that women don't really matter, that their voices aren't heard, that their bodies aren't worth protecting.  All I can hear is a man saying what far too many women have been through isn't significant.

Guess what?  ALL rape, assault, harassment, unwanted touch is evil.  Every last bit of it.  If they didn't say yes, then it was forceable.  Every single time that someone is raped, whether by a stranger with a knife or a "nice guy" on a date who forgets his boundaries, it is a crime against her body and soul and is a legitimate rape.  No matter what, she walks away broken.  Physically, emotionally and spiritually broken. 

Be The Change You Wish to See

It isn't ok.  Assault is never ok.  Bullying, whether it be in the form of words, physical actions or sexual assault is not acceptable.

So I've told the story before, as least I think I have.  When I was in high school I was attacked by someone who had been a friend of mine.  We were alone in the chapel (private school, remember?), it was fairly dark with worship music playing.  He called me over to where he was and asked me a question.  We talked for a few minutes.

He told me he liked me and wanted to know if I would go on a date with him.  I told him no, I was seeing someone else.  Before I knew it he was kissing me.  "Well now how do you feel about me?"  I wanted to scream,  "I HATE YOU!  I SAID NO!" but instead I just froze.  I tried to tell him again that I wasn't interested.  And in moments that happened so quickly I am not entirely sure how it happened, I found myself on the ground pinned down. 

I didn't know it was possible for anyone to have that many hands, they were everywhere.  I couldn't move.  He was still kissing me, I couldn't pull away and I couldn't even scream.  As he tore the buttons off of my shirt and broke my bra strap, I knew he was going to rape me and in my head I said, "God, help."  Suddenly my attacker was against the wall as if he was being held there, staring at me with a blank "What just happened?" kind of a look. 

I seized the opportunity and ran, clutching my shirt closed.  I wore my coat for the rest of classes.  I didn't tell anyone at first.  I was so scared and so ashamed.  A couple of days later, I told a youth group leader and she gave me the courage and even went with me to tell the school administration. 

Here is the surprising part.  The school did nothing.  First they said I must have been mistaken.  Then they finally called him in and he admitted to it.  They gave him a one day in school suspension, which basically meant he did homework in the office instead of going to classes.  I felt really devalued.  My parents were pissed.

Now I know I don't always have great things to say about my mom and that I struggle with her a lot, but this time she did right by me.  She went in to the principal's office every.single.day for two months until that boy was kicked out of school.  He said he couldn't help it, that was just how he was.  They tried to tell us that.  My parents would hear none of it.  My mom finally went over the principal's head to the director.  Finally they acted.

A year or so ago I read an article in my husband's Sports Illustrated about a girl who had been sexually assaulted at school and the school refused to protect her.  Her dad stood up for her.  I remember reading it and being pissed that once again the school protected the attacker not the victim.

And folks, it is happening again.  Read this blog.  Ok, so Lillian wasn't sexually assaulted but she was still assaulted.  She was hurt at school from bullying, hurt enough to need medical intervention and the school is protecting the wrong person.  Her mamma and auntie are tough cookies though and they are advocating for her.  Her story has moved like wildfire across the country. 

I can't make every bully stop bullying.  I can't throw every starfish back in the ocean.  But I can make a difference for one.  WE can make a difference for Lilly.  I know first hand what it feels like for the school to say it wasn't a big deal, that I was exaggerating, that I was lying, and that he couldn't help himself.  I know what it feels like when the people who should be there to protect you end up protecting the person who hurt you AND IT SUCKS. 

I've written to the principal Nick Johnson (njohnson@hpsk12.net) as well as to the superintendent Dr. Johnny Scott (jscott@hpsk12.net).  I also wrote a note to Lillian to let her know that I stand with her and that she is worth fighting for.  I'm tired of hearing about bullies being protected or rewarded.  It isn't right.  Tonight I decided to do something about it.  It may only be one, but I'm going to stand up for this one.  And if I hear of another who needs support, I'll stand up for them as well.  Someone needs to change the world.  Why not us? 

Fifty Shades of Heartbreak

It's the hottest book series on the market right now, Fifty Shades of Grey.  I heard it was like the adult version of Twilight, with lots of racy adult scenes.  I read the back cover and didn't seem too intrigued.  The intrigue came when a firestorm of a debate came on Facebook.

My friend was heavily attacked because she had read the book and enjoyed it.  Someone "unfriended" her sending an email criticizing this friends Christianity, her marriage, and her desire to read such wonton hussy books.  That did it.  My friend is one of the sweetest people on the planet.  She is kind and doesn't judge others.  She is an amazing woman, a wonderful wife to her military man and a fabulous mother to her girls.

I was pissed that she was judged so harshly (by someone who had not read the books, no less) and suddenly I wanted to read them.  I wanted to know what the big deal was.  The last things that sparked huge controversy in the Christian community ended up being series that I now love, Harry Potter and Twilight.  This, I expected, would be the same as those.

So here is my thoughts on the book, there is a bit of a spoiler alert but not much more than the review on ABC news and for some, this spoiler alert is needed.  I could have used it. 

The book is racy.  The part where they first have sex made me ravenous for my husband.  It created a physical response in me so unbelievably strong that I wished Hubby wasn't already asleep.  I'm not opposed to racy in a book.  I am opposed to this book though.

Christan Grey asked Ana to sign a contract allowing him to be her dominate and her to be his submissive.  The contract states that if she is not submissive to his every whim that he has authority to "discipline" her.  He has any number of ways that is accomplished, through a belt, a whip, a cat of nine tails, a cane etc.  He was made to be a submissive through his teenage years and that is where his dominating sexual appetite comes from. 

I had to close the book.  My heart was racing and not with desire.  My heart was racing with fear.  Now I have a wild side.  But this was just too much for me.  Memories flooded my mind.  I couldn't sleep and when I did it was not well.

This morning I picked the book up again.  I thought that possibly I had over-reacted.  Maybe I was just tired and that is what sparked those feelings.  Maybe Ana doesn't actually sign the contract.  Maybe it really is a love story like everyone said.  I started reading and felt that same sick pit in my stomach again.

I flipped later in the book.  He was beating her with a belt.  She was in her mind crying and begging him to stop but never saying a word.  (I also read the last few pages but I won't spoil that part for those of you who don't want to hear the end.) I can't do this book.  I pushed it away from me while the tears sprung up.  I understand the sexual appeal of some of the things in the book.  I cannot handle though, the physical aspect of how those sexual moments come to be.

I've been held down, unable to move while someone forces his hands on my body.  It wasn't love, that is for sure.  I've been hurt for not doing as I was told.  It isn't as glamorous as this book portrays.  I guess my thought is this, sometimes I do enjoy doing exactly as my husband says.  It can really be a turn on.  But he would never beat me if I didn't.  That is my issue.

How does loving someone ever mean wanting to beat them?  How does loving someone ever mean wanting them to hurt?  Submitting and hurting are different things.  I personally feel like it crossed the line into abuse.  I'm just not ok with it.  I'm not ok with telling other women that it is ok, good even,  to be beaten for sexual pleasure.

I'm sure that someone out there is going to bring up that Ana willingly signed the contract, that she desired to be hurt and that makes is why it is different from abuse.  I've heard that argument but I still can't go with it.  For me, in my life, coming from my past, this book is too close to the abuse that I suffered and I cannot bring myself to relive it from the perspective of someone who willingly subjects herself to it.  Your opinion may be different, and that is ok.  We can agree to disagree.

Right now I am nursing my fifty shades of broken heart.  Though I am not a spoiler alert kind of gal, I really wish someone has given me a spoiler alert.  I would have never read this book.  It was just too triggering for me.  I'll be ok, but I'm not right this moment.  I'm hurt.

Tears

                    
I have cried a lot of tears in my lifetime.  If it is true that God saves each and every tear we cry, then when I get to heaven I will have filled an entire lake solely with my tears.  Recently depression and anxiety have been a bit bigger hurdles for me.  I'm struggling.  There have been days that it simply just hurts to be me.

I feel like I have spent most of my blog talking about my tears.  The tears are often what drive me to write, just so I don't explode.  Since you probably know that, these are some of the things that have caused tears recently:

~anything at all to do with the Jerry Sandusky trial
~Hubby dealing with his own depression and the fact that I cannot make it better
~friends feeling lonely in their marriages
~that Garden of the Gods is in the path of one of the wildfires here in Colorado
~that they are evacuating horses at the fairgrounds in Estes Park due to another of the wildfires
(those two places are two of my favorite places in Colorado.  Their beauty brings serenity to my life.  The thought of even possibly not having them as a sanctuary any longer weighs heavily on my soul.)
~my brother-in-law yelling at my kids

Power

This post really devoured me.  When I saw the word was power, everything inside of me recoiled.  And like that, with one word, I am now two days behind instead of one.

To me, power was what was used against me.  "If you don't do what I say the police officer in my family will tie you up naked on the swingset and leave you there."  "If you don't do what I say, first I'll beat you up and then he'll beat you up."  Power, in the form of sheer force, was how my attackers subdued me.

To me, power was what was far too often abused.  Power was the church telling me that my depression wasn't real but rather an indication of the sin in my life.  Power was the religious force of the day that used to tell me that I was not good enough, nor would I ever be good enough for the church or for God.

Power was what stole from me.  Power stole my innocence.  Power stole my voice.  Power stole my identity.  Power stole my desire for living.  Power stole my control.  And when power stole my control, orange came along by my side and gave me control again.

I gave MY power away to my eating disorder.  I let her abuse me just as much as other power had abused me.  Even as I have been recovering, I still saw power as a bad thing.  It has always meant the abuse of power. How could I blog about something so evil as power?

I had to read everyone else describing power in a positive light to have insight that I have never had before.  I suddenly realized that I have power, and it isn't bad or evil.  I have the power to recover.  I have the power to use my voice.  I have the power to live my life, not the life someone else dreams for me. 

Thanks Blogosphere.  Until I had to think about power, about how the word itself made everything in me pull back, I would have never realized what an important word it really is.  If I hadn't heard my friends talking about power as a good thing, I may not have stopped to really think about power and the true role it plays in my life.

old territory from a new perspective

There is something really big weighing on my mind.  For the first time I have to deal with the reality of childhood sexual abuse as an adult.  I have friends who are dealing with big stuff right now.  There has been sexual impropriety between their young children that will result in a foster child needing to be placed with a different family. 

As the little girl who wasn't protected, I am so grateful for the steps being taken to protect the other children in the home.  On behalf of those children, I want to hug the parents and social workers and say thank you for stopping it while it is still impropriety before it becomes full fledged abuse.  I want to hold the child affected by the actions and never let go. 

As a parent, I ache for my friends.  I can only imagine the pain of having to say goodbye to this child who has been part of their family and they were trying to adopt to make him forever a part of their family.  I cry thinking of having to say goodbye to one child in order to protect another.  I cry thinking about needing to protect the other. 

As someone who loves this child dearly, I want to hug him tight.  I want to make the wounds of the past better.  We don't know what his past held, but based on some of his incidents, I would guarantee that he was exposed to some form of sexual inappropriateness.  I want him to be free of this.  I don't want to see him labeled as the bad guy.  I don't want to see him grow up, never dealing with whatever it is that has gone on, or for him to become the attacker.  I love him and I want the best for him.  I love him and I want him to have a family who loves him as much as he has been loved by my friends. 

And selfishly, I ache because the child we have to say goodbye to is my sons best friend.  I don't want to have to tell him that his best friend is moving away but best friend's family is staying, that we will still see the family multiple times a week but the family will be minus his best friend.  How do I explain this to my son?  How do I tell him and not have him fearing that he will have to go live with a new family if he is naughty?  How do I comfort my son when he has to hear that his best friend has moved away when this is the child I get asked DAILY if we can play with?

There are a lot of emotions going on inside me right now.  I bounce back and forth among them.  There is no good answer.  It hurts.  It hurts on so many different levels and in so many different ways.  As I told Hubby yesterday, I don't know how to do this.  I don't know how to walk through it, much less how to guide my children through it.  And I'm scared.

**** to my dear friend,  I remained as vague as possible, not sharing names or specifics.  But if you read this and I have said more than I should legally or more than you are comfortable with, please let me know and I will delete this post.  I had to process what I was feeling before it swept me away and this was the easiest outlet tonight. *****

some days are harder

like today.

I've had plenty of random things trigger big emotions today.  I'm not a fan of big emotions, especially when several different ones hit me in just a few hours span.

On the way to work this afternoon I was overcome by sadness.  As I turned the corner to the street I work on, I saw two men on scaffolding and one man down below extremely exerted and struggling to lower the scaffolding.  In January, when Cousin died, he fell from scaffolding at work that he was helping his guys to take down.  It was the last thing they had to do before they went home for the day.  I gasped and tears immediately sprung to my eyes.  The sight and the subsequent intense emotion caught me off guard.

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At work, I checked my email.  There was one from my former pastor that had a link to something he had just written.  The short version of what he had to say was that depression is a symptom of trusting your feelings rather than God. The long version, to be honest, made me a bit angry.  When someone who has never dealt with depression tries to tell me why my depression isn't as big as it is or that it is my fault or that I'm just not enough of a Christian, I get really frustrated.

 I wonder if these Christians who believe that depression is a sign of sin have ever read the Bible. What about the prophet Elisha (or maybe it was Elijah, I still to this day get those two mixed up!) who sat beneath a tree and told God to just kill him, that his life was over?  God had to send an angel to tell him to sleep and eat and to minister to him. Or what about David, the man after God's heart? He was as extreme in his emotions as one could ever be.  How many times does he, in his hurt, cry out to God and beg God to kill him?  How many times does he ask God to kill his enemies?  How many times does he make comments about despair and agony within him?  And yet he knew God was faithful.  And yet he still worshiped God in spirit and in truth.  DESPITE the agony.  Why can I not still know God is in control and worship Him even though often times my soul is in despair?  Why is my hurt a sin in so many people's eyes? Wouldn't it be nice if people had to live a day in your skin before they were able to criticize your emotions?

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Many years ago I heard it said that once you have been stalked, you will always live with one eye over your shoulder.  At the time I didn't understand but thanks to abusive boyfriend, now I do understand that comment. Looking over my shoulder has been somewhat of a second nature to me for far too many years now.  I'm not terrified like I used to be.  I don't think every car or person behind me is out to get me like I used to.  I am aware though of any car that has been behind me, including lane changes, for more than a mile.  I have detoured on my way home from places just to be sure that I'm not being followed.  While most of the time I feel fairly safe, sometimes I don't at all.  Tonight was one of those nights.

I work in a really nice part of town.  We joke that you are more likely to get pulled over there for something minor because the police need something to do to kill their time since they don't need to be out stopping crime.  Tonight, however, the police didn't need to kill time.  I don't know what happened, but something did.  I saw 18 cops tonight, lights on, sirens off, blocking parking lot exits and several side streets in 1/4 mile radius as I was leaving work.  As I got on the highway, I saw 2 more that I hadn't seen who were parked on the sidewalk next to my building where the light rail station is.  They were definitely looking for someone. I was suddenly bombarded with icky feelings of insecurity and danger.

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All of that comes to top off the fact that last night I realized that think I have been subconsciously sabotaging my recovery for the past week or so.  I wasn't intentionally acting out but suddenly last night I realized that I have been restricting.  I haven't been concentrating on it, I think that is what is scary.  It comes so naturally that I don't realize I'm doing it sometimes.  I realized simply because I had very little wine last night before I was aware that it was affecting me.  I made a comment about being a total light weight last night and Hubby asked me what I had eaten.  As I started going through my day I realized I hadn't had much at all to eat, and then I went through the previous several days and suddenly understood why the wine got to me so quickly.  Had I not done that, I wouldn't have even realized that I was doing it.

I knew I have been unhappy with my body.  I knew that I don't feel anywhere near summer body ready.  But I also have known that having energy to enjoy my family again is better than fearing my body.  I thought that since I have been acknowledging my and validating both my body and my emotions that I was in a good spot.  And now I see that recovery still needs to be an active choice even when I think I'm handling things fairly well.

So that's my night.  There are a lot of emotions swirling around in there, and a lot of thoughts as well.  I'm not pushed over the edge, which is good.  I'm a little overwhelmed still by feeling and especially so many things in such a short span of time.  I'm reminding myself that feelings are ok, good even, and trying to embrace them rather than run from them.  It is a little (ok, a LOT) scary and difficult too.

forgiven

Obviously on Monday I blew it big time.  Yesterday was only slightly better.  I spent my morning feeling sorry for myself.  I spent my afternoon feeling guilty.  Food was not high on my priority list.  I was too busy beating myself up for giving in to my addiction.

See this is how orange works.  Doing well.  Doing well.  Then the voices.  You really don't deserve that nice meal that you just had.  Food is for sustenance not for fun.  Your husband shouldn't have spent the money to buy something special for in house date night.  It is frivolous.  How dare you enjoy that food?  You don't deserve to be taken care of.  You don't deserve to eat. The lies keep attacking until finally in a sheer panic, I give in and try to purge.  Maybe purging will shut them up. But it doesn't.

Then the next morning when I cannot swallow without feeling raw scratching in my throat, I realize what I've done.  And the voices start again but this time even more accusatory.  Look at yourself!  Look what you've done.  You know better than this.  What is wrong with you?  You're a worthless piece of sh*t.  You spent your night trying to get rid of food that your body needed.  If you aren't going to try to keep it down then why on earth should you eat it?  You have to pay for last night.  No you can't have breakfast.  How can you trust yourself to not go running to the bathroom to get rid of that breakfast?  No, better to not eat, at least until you can trust yourself again.  See, it's true, you are not capable of recovery.  You will always mess it up.  Just give in to it.  You aren't going to beat me so why not just surrender to me? Just let me destroy your body.  You are stuck.  You are mine.  You will never be free from my grip.  Even when you think you want something else, I will always be here waiting to hold your hand and take you back.

The lies of orange attacked me so viciously that I couldn't hear anything else.  I shivered my way through a miserably cold night at work.  I joked with my customers that it was ok that it was only 54* because shivering burns calories.  Who needs exercise when you work in an icebox?  They laughed.  I ached that I had seriously just said that.  I had hoped for time with a good friend after work but in God's grace and wisdom, she didn't get my message asking if I could come over for a bit. 

I decided as I neared home to turn on the radio.  Once again God used music. The only song I heard before arriving at home was Forgiven by Sanctus Real.

I love the end that says, "When I don't measure up to much in this life, Oh I'm a treasure in the arms of Christ."  See that is the amazing part of grace.  I blew it.  But God gently calls me back.  He reminds me that I don't have to carry the weight of what I've done because He has already carried it. As I thought of this, I remembered a verse that was very dear to my heart during my first go round with recovery.

Micah 7:8 (NIV)

  ⁸ Do not gloat over me, my enemy!
   Though I have fallen, I will rise.
Though I sit in darkness,
   the LORD will be my light.

Though I have fallen, I will rise.  Though I gave into darkness, the Lord will be my light. I blew it but He redeemed it.  I can't say I'm feeling perfectly fine right now.  But I can say that I am allowing God to minister to my pain and my guilt and my self condemnation.  I don't know how to do this but I do know that God knows how to carry me through this.  I know that His grace is sufficient to cover me.  I know that sometimes the lies will win in my heart but I know that His truth is bigger and can break through those lies.  If I know nothing else, I know this
HE IS FAITHFUL.

painful realization # 3,762

So yesterday some more issues at the core of my heart came to light.  My entire life I have held my mom indirectly responsible for the abuse that happened to me.  I have absolved my dad from any guilt.  What little girl wants to not see her daddy in a hero light anymore?  Last night I realized something.  I am angry with my dad.

This is a very new feeling for me.  I have defended my dad fiercely for my entire life.  And now I am realizing that I felt just as unprotected from him as I did from my mom.  My dad is a great guy but he has not much in the line of a backbone.  My mom rules her house.  He is not the head of his house.  She speaks, he does.  Sometimes begrudgingly but none the less his hatred of conflict outweighs mine and he always does what she wants. 

I told Hubby last night that I was frustrated with something my dad did.  Hubby validated my feelings.  I thought I was being sensitive.  Hubby told me it is my dad being insensitive, not me being sensitive.  I started to feel angry.  I felt uncertain of the strength of my anger.  It has been repressed for so long that I was shocked by the intensity of my feelings.

I am at the difficult reality that my dad is not perfect.  He is a good man.  But some of the hero status has left him.  I would continue to live in denial if I did not acknowledge that he too played a part in this.  I am hurt by his actions, both now and in the past.  I am hurt that he never listened to what his gut was telling him and didn't stand up to my mom when she insisted that I go over to the abusers house.  He never liked those people and yet he couldn't stand up to my mom and defend me.  As a matter of fact, they would have been my legal guardians if anything would have happened to my parents when I was a child.

It is a painful realization to know that my daddy isn't perfect and that he too shares in the responsibility of not protecting his daughter.

when profound thoughts wound

****Blogger is pissing me off tonight, changing some of my stuff and rather than ensure the post is the perfect way I want it, I'm deciding to say screw it and post anyway.  I guess we'll just call it a step toward beating perfectionism..... *****


Today I had a very profound thought, one I'm not so sure I like.  I could tell you all the steps that led to it but then you would have to follow the incoherency of my thoughts as I put them together.  The end result is this...

Romans 5:8 But God demonstrates his own love for us in this: While we were still sinners, Christ died for us. 

 

This is a verse that brings me much comfort.  While I was still lost in sin, Christ came for me and died for me.  He came because He loved me enough to want to save me from the wickedness of my own heart.

 

And today this same verse brought me much grief.  While my attackers were still sinning against me, Christ died for them.  Someone on the radio mentioned the book The Shack.  I haven't read it yet so I don't know if this is a spoiler alert or not, but she mentioned that God loved the victim and God also loved the perpetrator.  I am so glad that I left my youngest at home and was not quite to my older kids school yet when I realized that God loves the men who hurt me.

 

That thought made me really angry.  God, how could you love them?  Didn't you see what they did to me?  How can you love me and hurt with me and yet love the ones who hurt me?  This isn't right.  This isn't ok with me.  How can I believe that you love me when you love them?  How can you love us both?  I felt like my breath had been stolen away.  It couldn't be possible.  Of course, I believe that Jesus came for everyone.  Of course, I have always been a person who believes He can redeem anyone.  And today, He asked me to believe that He came for those men just as much as He came for me.

 

 That is a big pill to swallow.  Angry and hurt I said out loud, God loves........but I couldn't even finish and say his name.  I tried again with the next one, God loves.....but I still couldn't finish it.   I spent some time alone this evening.  In my car I kept asking how God could love us both, it just doesn't make sense.  I felt like God was telling me that they are His children too.  I wouldn't stop loving one of my children if they hurt one of the others.  I tried to argue that point.  My boys wouldn't do this to each other.  But if they did, wouldn't I still love them? After a bit of driving, questioning and arguing I came home to my family, still ill at ease with a God who could love me and yet still love them, especially  him. 

 

Sadly tonight, God did use my boys to illustrate.  I left the room for a few minutes and suddenly my middle son was knocking on my door crying saying his big brother had punched him in the eye over and over again.  His eye looks it.  It is red and puffy and has the possibility of a black eye in the making.  The oldest tried to tell me it was an accident, he was stretching and his brother was behind him and got hit.  No way in heck this was unintentional. There is no way that someone simply stretching could make a mark like this.  

 

 I took care of my little boy, got him ice for his eye and comforted him.  And then I comforted the older one who was now crying "I'm the worst big brother in the entire world."  Was I mad that the older one hurt his brother? Um, YEAH!  Was I hurt for my little guy who was crying?  Absolutely, no mother could not hurt for her child when he cries in her arms.  I was hurt and angry that someone had hurt my child.  But did my love for my oldest ever lessen?  Not for a second.  I was angry with him, I was hurt for his brother but I never stopped loving him.

 

Somehow, I have to come to terms with the fact that these men are just as much God's children as I am.  Somehow I need to reconcile inside of myself that God loves them.  Even though He was hurt and angry that they hurt me, they are still His creation and His love didn't wane though His anger flared.  Somehow I am needing to absorb the knowledge that God was never ok with what happened to me and that I am not the only one that He never stopped loving. What a painful reality this is.

 

God, give me the grace to walk through this.  Minister to my heart, it is bruised and battered.  

difficult conversations

Boss Man J is Hubby's boss.  Over the time of working together they have become really close friends.  Saturday I sent Boss Man J a text.

Hubby said he's worried about me but hasn't said anything beyond that.  How worried is he?  How much of his stress is worry for me and how much is the stressful upcoming work week?

This message sparked an hour long texting conversation.

He's worried about you and your middle child and money and work. 
I wish I could make me better so I wouldn't have to be one of the things he is worried about.
Dawn, that man loves you and his family more than most people realize. And I think he feels such a strong sense that he has to provide and protect his family that when something is out of his control, he doesn't know what to do.
I know.  I feel just as out of control and I am just as scared as he is.
Is everything ok?


Well the conversation went on like that for a while.  Boss Man J asked me to not keep big stuff from Hubby.  Hubby being concerned about me has started to effect his work performance, minimally but nonetheless it is still taking some of his concentration off of his job.  The conversation was basically, DO ME A FAVOR AND JUST TALK TO THE GUY!  HE REALLY WANTS TO HELP YOU AND DOESN'T KNOW HOW TO!

So I did.  Saturday night Hubby and I sat down and I told him what had triggered me and why.  It took 10 minutes just to get the words out of my mouth.  I told Hubby some of the details of the abuse that I haven't ever talked about, even in my journal.  He is AMAZING!  He told me I'm a fighter.  I laughed at him.  "Tell me who you were dating 15 years ago."  I answered the boy I gave my heart to but then I realized it was the abusive boy who I was engaged to.  "Yeah, people who aren't fighters don't have the strength to get out of those relationships.  If you weren't a fighter you would have married him or even the other boy who used you for your body and to look good on his arm.  You wouldn't have waited for a man who would die for you without hesitation if you weren't a fighter."

He was there for me, loved me and comforted me.  And then he kicked my butt.  "How does not eating help?" Well that's easy to answer.  When I'm not eating I have something physical, something tangible to put my energy into so I don't really have to focus on the emotional.  And here is why he is a great husband...... "Well, when you don't eat your emotions go more haywire.  And then you don't sleep because your emotions are haywire.  And then you don't want to eat because your emotions are haywire.  It is a vicious cycle.  I know it is hard and it hurts but I need you to eat.  I don't ever want to bring our kids to the mental hospital to visit their mom again and when you don't eat or sleep, that is how you spiral to the point of being in the hospital."

So as a promise to my husband, I am to be in bed by midnight and eat 3 times a day (minimum).  He said even if I just need to eat "and".  Huh?  You know yogurt AND a string cheese.  Or apples AND peanut butter.  I hate doing it.  But I love him.  I hate that I made that promise.  It is hard to keep.  And it keeps me in the present instead of letting me check out so I am very aware of the pain.  I want to check out.  I do not like feeling this! Right now if feels like the pain will never go away, that I will be forever trapped in the sea of overwhelming emotions.  I have a great man beside me encouraging me to feel,  to do the work it takes to get better.

I hate food!  I know I am not eating enough but I am keeping my promise and eating SOMETHING. I'm grateful for Hubby who wants me to get better not just get over it.  I'm grateful for the friend who knew I needed a break and took me out for girl time yesterday while her husband watched the kids.  I'm grateful for the friend who talked with me on the phone for 2 hours last night.  I grateful for people holding my arms up right now because I really am tired of fighting and don't know that I could make it without them.  I'm tired.  I'm tired of having to fight.  I just want to lay down and give up but I have people who love me enough to not let me.

rambling to figure it out

I'm going to babble.  It may be coherent, maybe not.  I counted calories again this morning.  Haven't allowed myself to do that in a very long time.  I hate my body.  I hate the curves that make my body desirable to men.  I am very aware of my breasts today.  Today I long for the body I had a year ago in which my breasts had nearly disappeared.  I am painfully aware of my body in every aspect today.  I have hips, thighs and breasts.  I have a stomach that, in my opinion, is no longer flat.  Maybe my definition of flat is concave.

I want my Hubby to not worry about me, therefore I want to fake it.  I want to eat enough for him to not question or worry.  I don't want to eat a thing.  I slightly miss the hospital today.  I could sleep and cry and not have to take care of anyone else.  I didn't have to cook or think about food.  Someone else was taking care of my needs and no one touched me or needed me. 

I love the innocence of my children.  And I feel resentful that I didn't have that.  My children live in a world of safety.  Simply being near me after a bad day still makes their world right again.  I am so grateful that they are innocent, that they love life and that they want to be with me.  When I was their age I was screaming into a pillow that I hated my mom.  I wish I had the security of just being near someone making my troubles melt away. 

I feel very lonely and isolated right now.  I want to be loved and feel unlovable at the same time.  I want to be held and yet don't want to be touched, even in the slightest way.  I want to belong and yet feel like I will always be the window shopper watching through the glass as everyone else has a great time buying beautiful dresses.

The ache in my soul runs deep today.  It feels like a fault line in my heart, it could be fine for centuries but then one day, out of the blue, it causes a devastating earthquake.

how to say I don't care without actually saying it

My mom called yesterday.  My Grandma's 90th birthday is coming up and my mom and aunt and uncles are wanting to throw her a big party.  My mom wants me and my sister in law and my cousin to plan the food.  But I don't want to.  Mom talked about how great it would be if I could make it to the party (it is in St. Louis).  But I don't want to go. 

I don't have warm grandmotherly memories with my Grandma.  She was mean to me.  I don't have warm memories of my extended family.  The person who abused me would be at the party and I don't have any desire to see him now that I am an adult and don't have to.    Earlier this year when my mom brought up the party the first time, my hubby said no way in hell I'd be going.  My therapist also said no way in hell I'd be going.  Now it is getting closer and I have to figure out how to set a boundary with my mom and inform her I have no intentions of going.

How do I say I don't care about the party without actually saying it?  My mom is so excited.  My mom thinks everything is just fine and dandy because if you don't acknowledge a problem then it never existed.  I no longer harbor feelings of hatred toward my family but I do still feel uncomfortable around most of them. 

My mom is going to make me pay emotionally for missing the party.  But as I told Hubby, either way I lose so I might as well lose in the way that will be easier for me to deal with and have the least effect on my immediate family.  I refuse to go and look my abuser in the face and pretend that nothing ever happened.  I refuse to put myself through that kind of hell.  I refuse to put my husband and kids through the hell it would cause for them.  I refuse. 

My mom is going to blow a gasket when I can no longer side step the issue and must finally tell her that I am not going.  I am going to emotionally pay for this.  But as I said, if I go I will pay an even higher emotional toll.  I'm staying home, not because I am a bad daughter or granddaughter, but because it is what is best for me and my family.

love/hate abusive relationship

I have spent most of my life in an abusive relationship with anorexia.  I have tried to cover up the marks she leaves when she hurts me.  I lie and make excuses for her.  I get angry when she steals from me but readily forgive her when she makes me feel good again.  Even when I decided I had had enough and broke away, I ended up taking her back when she looked kind and comforting.  I have let her abuse me long enough.

I am angry with what anorexia has stolen from me.  Today is my best friend acquaintance's birthday.  I miss her something fierce.  I wish that anorexia had not come between us.  I wish we could bridge the ever growing gap between us and that things could be back to the way they were.  I wish she could see the progress I've made in trying to break the cycle of abuse from my eating disorder. 

Today was my preschoolers last day of school and tomorrow is my other kids last day of school.  I am sad to see this year come to a close, more so than usual.  As this year ends, I realize how much of it I missed because I had to take care of me.  Battling anorexia forced me to focus on me and gave me little time to enjoy 2nd grade, kindergarten and preschool.  I feel like I have missed a year of my kids lives and time is something we cannot have back.

I'm tired of anorexia abusing me.  I'm tired of trying to defend her.  I'm tired of her stealing from me.  I'm also tired of fighting to leave her.  It is just like any other abusive relationship and I cannot change her.

the same question, AGAIN

I've got something on my mind.  There is a question I have been asked many times over the last 8 months that is really starting to bother me.  The last person to ask me this question was genuinely trying to understand but just couldn't and so kept asking it over and over again.  I'm going to try to explain.  Maybe it will never make sense but I have to try because I am getting more and more hurt and angry every time it is asked.  So here goes........

Quick background to this question/story.  When I was 17 I had a job in fast food and had a creep for a boss.  Let's just call him "Fred" for the purposes of story telling.  Fred ended up molesting me and trying to force me to have sex with him.  It started with him reaching his arm a little closer than necessary across me to get something.  Then it was untying my apron strings and then smacking my butt with a towel when he would walk past.  Before long he was following me into the walk in freezer and putting his hand up my shirt or down my pants.  I was already scared to go in the freezer anyway but knowing he would follow me and completely shut the door and then make disgusting comments and touch me, made my fear escalate.

There was a lot of inappropriateness that went on but I think I've given enough info for you to get the gist.  One day one of my friends at work asked when I became a home wrecker.  He told me Fred was married and his wife had just delivered their 2nd baby a few days earlier.  I was overcome by shame.  I confronted him and finally quit my job just to get away from his way too many hands.

So the question so many people feel  the need to ask, "Why did you allow it to go on?  Were you just pleased to have the attentions of an older man?"  Let me answer that as politely as I can.

NO, I HATED HIS ATTENTIONS.  I CRINGED EVERYTIME HE CAME NEAR ME.  I WISH HE HAD NEVER TAKEN AN INTEREST IN ME!

There is a certain amount of blame that people want to place and since they don't understand why I didn't say no to him, then it must be because I enjoyed to some degree the physical attention he showed me.  I realize that I may explain it and those same people will still not understand and will continue to think that I just wanted to say I could hook a man twice my age.  It is possible that it may never make sense to someone who has not walked through my life, but I have to try.  I'm tired of feeling like others view it as completely my fault, that I'm just the slutty girl they saw me as in high school.


If you have been reading my blog for any length of time, you know that I endured many years of violent sexual abuse as a child.  I wasn't allowed to say no, otherwise I got hurt.  I wasn't allowed to talk about it because no one really believed that it could be happening.  I came to accept it as my life and as my normal.  Sex wasn't supposed to be fun and enjoyable.  Sex meant finding my happy place and enduring so that the physical hurt was to a minimum.  I learned to believe that sexual performance was my only worth.  Obviously I wasn't worth protecting or nurturing so sex must have been why I was created, created to fill another's need.


I acted out on that feeling quite a bit in my high school years.  I allowed a lot of guys to do a lot of things that I never wanted them to do but somehow while it made me feel dirty, it at the same time made me feel valuable.  The world of sexual abuse leaves a wretched dichotomy of emotions.  So because of that, I can see why some have asked me about my part in the relationship with Fred.  But I have to say with all honesty, I hated him and I hated his touch.  I never felt valuable when he touched me.  It reminded me of the abuse days, it wasn't something I solicited, it was something thrust on me.  


I actually had a huge crush on one of my other co-workers and Fred's behavior towards me sent unwanted messages to the boy that I did want touching me.  I didn't know how to tell him no though.  He was bigger than me, older than me and in a position of authority over me.  I turned off my brain when he started molesting and found my mental safe spot.  I never encouraged his affections.  I was never flattered by his affections.  The last time I saw him, his affections turned violent as well, by slamming me into a car.

No, I never felt flattered by his attention.  I often felt confused and terrified.  The last person who asked me that question added even more salt to the wound.  He asked, "But why didn't you stop him?  You knew pre-marital sex was wrong.  You heard it in youth group and Bible class (I went to a small private school).  You knew God didn't approve so why did you keep allowing this to go on?"   The answer I wished I would have had when I was talking to this person came to me later that night.

If I say the sun is square and the grass is purple, does that make it so?  Just because someone says something to be true doesn't mean it is.  People once said the world to be flat.  Once it was said that tomatoes were poisonous.  Just because someone has preached something at you your whole life, doesn't mean that you know it to be truth.  I may have heard the words that pre-marital sex was bad but what I internalized was "Sex is bad and you experienced sex from a young child, so therefore you must also be bad."  Too often the problem with the church's message about sex, is that it leaves those of us who did experience it in a way other than how it was intended, discarded and feeling like we are dirty.  There is no room for second chances in the world I grew up in.

Yes, I allowed and encouraged a lot of touching with guys in my late high school years.  No, Fred was NOT someone who I encouraged or enjoyed, just someone I allowed.  I think I may scream if another person asks me if I allowed it because I was flattered.  I allowed a lot of things to happen to my body because I never knew it was MY body and I could protect it.  I allowed a lot of hurt in my life because I never learned that my body was beautiful and worth waiting for.  I allowed a lot of touches that should have never happened because I didn't know that it wasn't normal because it was my normal.

the little girl

Once upon a time........

There was a beautiful little girl.  She was the joy in her mamma's life and the light in her daddy's eyes.  Someone tried to steal her beauty though.  Someone was curious.  Someone thought she would make a good test subject.  Someone took her innocence.  She started to look at the world through jaded eyes.  Then someone else hurt her.  Someone told her she could never be beautiful unless she did ugly things.  The little girl did those ugly things but never found the beauty and value she searched for.  She began to think beauty was only a fairy tale.  The beauty she was born with was still within her, but she didn't realize it.  Someone told her that her beauty had been stolen and she believed them.  So much else had been stolen that it seemed obvious that beauty had been as well.  She cried herself to sleep often wishing she could be beautiful again.

She grew up, and continued to believe that the beauty born in her had left her as a child.  She continued to search for it but it still remained elusive.  Eventually she came to the conclusion that the beauty was not missing but rather that it had died.  If beauty is dead, she needs not to search for it.  It cannot be resurrected.  She hurt herself in unspeakable ways hoping to dull the pain of beauty's death.  When death refused to take her too, she decided that punishing herself must be what was required of her.  Torturous days of no food or sleep took their toll.  She became weak and pale.  She became the ugliness that she already saw.  She burned her skin and drank her fears.  She proved to herself that beauty was not achievable and was never returning.

Someone told the girl they loved her.  Someone held her tightly.  Someone told her she was pretty.  And just as she began to smile again, that someone hurt her too.  Someone told her she wasn't good enough and never would be.  Someone told her she was fat and ugly.  Someone told her she could never measure up.  Someone else stole what wasn't theirs to have.  Someone used her.  Someone abused her.  Someone made her cry.  Someone convinced her she was still not worth loving.

As the years passed, a new someone told her they loved her.  He told her she was beautiful, though she thought he was lying.  He insisted there was beauty born within.  He insisted that the beauty had not been killed off but had been hiding behind a fort afraid to resurface.  He told her he loved her and then he set out to prove his words.  He gently beckoned her beauty to come back out.  He made beauty safe.  He never stole the beauty away again, he never abused her heart.  He saw the beauty in the midst of her self hatred and self abuse.  He saw the beauty when she was convinced it had long ago died.  He truly did love her and took the time to win her heart.  Then he took the time to prove he would protect that heart and the beauty within.

He was the someone who showed her that not every man had evil intentions.  He was the one who loved her back to beautiful.  He was the one who showed her how much God must love her and how beautiful she was to God.  He was the one who made her heart sing and the one she wanted to love for eternity.  He is still the one who tells her she is beautiful, even when she thinks he is lying.  He is still the one to love her even when she is self abusing.  He is the one who believes in true beauty and somehow sees it in her.  He is the one who helped her to trust again.  He is the one who showed her how to believe that beauty is not just a fairy tale.

Once upon a time, there was a very scared woman.  She almost lost it all, simply because she forgot how to be beautiful.  She got lost in the idea that she could never be that beautiful little girl again and forgot that she is now a beautiful woman.  She so wants to be beautiful and is terrified of being beautiful at the same time.  Some days she hates her body and harms it.  Some days she gives herself grace.  Most days she still thinks beauty is just barely eluding her.  She doesn't understand how that man can love her and tell her she is beautiful.  Doesn't he see what she has done?  And yet he daily assures her that he does indeed see beauty.  She struggles to see it and wonders if there will ever come a day when she can see her own beauty not just that of those around her.  She is ready for her own happily ever after!

dot to dot pictures

If only you could actually hear the big sigh that I just let out.  I had another "aha" moment today.  I connected the dots again to find I'm not crazy about the picture they draw.  BUT at least I know what the picture is and can finally work with it.  So if you have followed me from the beginning, you know that my struggle began when I was 14.  At that point in time it was a body image, want to be what someone else wants me to be, supreme insecurity issue.  I was 17 when things got really bad.  There was something significant going on in my life then, something that triggered me.  I was being sexually molested by my boss at work.  He would follow me into the freezer and talk dirty and fondle me.  He was disgusting but because he was my boss I didn't know how to make it stop and I was scared.  The only way out that I could see was to leave my job and I did.

I know I have shared some of this in an early blog but for the sake of new readers, I'm going to condense it and tell it again.  The day I came in to pick up my last check, this manager was there.  He followed me out to the parking lot and started making lewd comments.  I kept walking.  He forced me to turn around, violently kissed me and then slammed me against the car.  As my mind was racing looking for a way out, he started to grope me again.  When I started to cry, he informed me that I shouldn't be crying because I obviously liked his attention because my body physically responded to him.  I was so incredibly furious with my body and felt like it had betrayed me.  How could my mind so forcefully reject what he was doing but my body still react to his touch?  I was disgusted with my own body.

Now fast forward a bunch of years later to me as a grown woman sitting in a mental hospital.  While in the hospital, I was required to speak with a therapist.  The therapist who I happened to be paired with was a very right vs. wrong, abrupt, older man.  He was actually quite a jerk, to be honest.  I answered his questions.  I told him my history.  I told him about this situation.  And being a dumbass, he asked me what I meant by my body responded.  Really?  He's older, he wore a wedding ring, and yet doesn't know in what ways a woman's body could respond to a man's touch???????  So in my most annoyed and sarcastic tone, I bluntly looked at him and crudely  informed him of what had happened.  The response infuriated me.  He informed me that I should not have felt guilty for that response.  It is an "autonomic response" that I had no control over so therefore I should not feel shame or guilt for having such a response.  What kind of therapist tells their patient that their feelings weren't valid?  Who tells you how you should feel? 

Ok, another rabbit trail to lead to my "aha moment".  About a year ago, I realized (rather suddenly and surprisingly) that I had allowed some of my intimate moments with my husband to be highly influenced by this intense need to be in control of my body.  So, at that point I wasn't acting out with my eating disorder but I was still acting out and needing an obsessive amount of control over my own body.

Today I saw my chiropractor.  He does acupuncture as well as adjustments.  When he was about to start the acupuncture, I asked him if his little magic needles could cure anything.  I asked if there were points that would stimulate appetite. He originally said he would do a few to help with food cravings.  No, no, no, I don't need to get rid of cravings, I need to gain a few!  He told me that was quite a bit more difficult because the body's automatic response is to desire food especially when under stress.  It is what my body should naturally do for itself.

Have you connected the dots?  All three of those stories have to do with automatic physical responses.  I was so traumatized by my body responding against my will all those years ago that I have fought it since to maintain a high level of control that my body "cannot" (be allowed to) have an automatic/autonomic response.  If my body acts on its own, I lose control and it could hurt me again.  I fight tooth and nail against anything my body may want to do that doesn't first have my permission.  Being hungry is just one more thing that I don't allow until it is on my terms.  Somewhere deep inside I think I am wondering, "But what happens if my body betrays me again?"

expletive not deleted

I need to be in the car taking my son to school but I was just overcome by such powerful emotions that I had to take a second to breathe.  First let me tell you that if swearing offends you, skip this post because I am going to write it as I just said it to myself.  Last night my mom cornered me to talk about generational curses again.  She started talking about shame and disgrace towards women.  I started shutting down, smiling and nodding.  This morning in the shower my mind replayed her saying that.  And this rush of words came tumbling out of my mouth....

You have no idea what shame and disgrace is.  Shame and disgrace is being violently fucked over and over as a child.  Shame and disgrace is living in constant terror of someone who should be safe.  Shame and disgrace is an asshole threatening you that he will tie you up naked on the swing set and leave you there if you don't comply with his disgusting demands.  Shame and disgrace is taking a double portion, in front of a girl younger than I, to protect her from his hands.  Don't talk to me about shame and disgrace.

I am shaking with rage.  These emotions are almost overpowering.  And all I can think is, "How DARE she talk to me like she thinks she understands when she doesn't even KNOW most of it!?!"