"I have accepted fear as a part of life..... specifically the fear of change. I have gone ahead despite the pounding in my heart that says: turn back.... Erica Jong
I hate change. Even when it's good change.
We've moved to the new place. - I know I like it. I love the quiet, being surrounded by animals, woods and water - the neighbours are great. A few have warmly welcomed us, some even jumping in wanting to give us a hand.
Everything is different here - the layout of the rooms, the appliances, even the shower in the ensuite is on the opposite side to our old house. Things still need to be set up. Boxes are everywhere. I can't find some things I want. We still need to buy some furniture.
And I want to go running, but I don't know the woods around here. Where we were, I knew them really well and always felt safe but here I don't know the trails. I need to run. I need to run in the quiet of the woods. It calms me. It gives me a sense of safety. I don't know if these woods are as safe as the ones I ran in. I feel afraid. It's all so new.
Change. I hate it. Even when I know what I'm moving towards is better.
Why am I afraid? Something inside me just wants the familiar. And it's not like we've moved that far away from where we were. The day we moved, it was so hot, but I had to run. I went back to run in the familiar woods. I needed to quiet the fear inside me. I needed to hear God whisper, it's ok.
My heart tells me, trust. Don't be afraid. The little kid inside me feels like things are somewhat out of control. I think of some of the places I've been in my life. This is heaven compared to those places. I'm trying to breathe, to trust, to let go and know God never leads us where He knows we can't handle it. Maybe today I'll venture out in these woods.
Monday, June 29, 2009
Thursday, June 25, 2009
Reason To Tell
"The first question which the priest and the Levite asked: If I stop to help this man, what will happen to me?" But the good Samaritan reversed the question: If I do not stop to help this man, what will happen to him?" Martin Luther King, Jr.
I've decided to tell the truth of what happened, - all of it. Although I still sometimes wonder if it happened or if I am making something more of it than it really was - But the pictures in my head are vivid and clear. Pictures of living on the street, crouched in dark corners shooting up, trapped and held in a house for six months and raped, punched until my spleen ruptured and .......
The scars are still there. Vi sable scars that tell me it really did happen.
The shame I carried for so long, the shame that silenced me, kept me quiet - unable to talk, unable to tell - that shame is losing it's power.
I think maybe my story can help someone overcome their demons. Maybe, it can help even one person find freedom and peace.
For years I said nothing. I wanted to forget, except I never really forgot. The flashbacks, the panic attacks, the need to hurt myself.....all reminders of what took place.
When I started writing last year, I never imagined I would want to show anyone what I wrote. Now I can't imagine not.
A few months ago, I met a writer. She read the first three chapters of the book I'm writing. She said, "you need to tell what happened. Your story needs to be told." Now she's editing the whole thing. And God amazingly led me to someone else. Someone who has become a close friend, someone who has never gone through what I did but who keeps telling me my story needs to be told.
I want to tell. I struggle thinking about everyone in my life knowing the awful details but my desire to help give hope to someone in a situation I was in, compels me to pray, "God use what I lived. Give me courage to tell."
Friday, June 19, 2009
Willingness to Fly
""How does one become a butterfly, she asked pensively.You must want to fly so much, you're willing to give up being a caterpiller." Trina Paulus (Hope for the Flowers)
I am grateful. Really grateful. As I write and remember, I am filled with gratitude. So often I have to shake myself and ask, 'did it all really happen?' The years of living on the street, shoving needles in my arm, not allowing myself to eat, throwing up if I did and cutting myself until I couldn't stand the pain or until I bled.
Living with extreme shame, out of control rage and debilitating fear - and one day, just like that - God touched me and changed everything. He gave me purpose and hope. He helped me heal. He gave me freedom. Now I owe Him my life.
There is a story about ten lepers being healed. Only one came back to say thank-you. I don't want to be like the nine who showed no gratitude. I need to tell what happened - what God did because had He not touched me in the ways He did......
How do I tell people what I lived? How do I say all those horrible things that happened? It's easier to tell strangers but I struggle with telling people who are close to me - my friends and people at work - I don't want them to think differently about me. I don't want them to be disgusted.
It was bad. Really bad. How can I tell them? Sometimes I just want to blurt it out but I can't. The words are stuck inside me. Many of my friends know I'm writing a book. They don't know what I'm writing, but they know I' m writing.
I get lost in writing. I think in some way it validates what happened really took place. And it's a way for me to have my voice. I need to write. Writing has become like breathing for me. Seeing the words in print diminishes the shame and gives me strength.
My friend came for a hike in the woods with me the other day. As we walked the secluded trails, she asked if I ever get scared out there alone. I don't. I feel safe in the woods. That's where I hear God speak to me. That's where my heart gains courage. In the woods, in the beauty of nature, I never feel alone. God whispers to me there. He reminds me I am never alone anymore. He tells me everything will be ok. He reminds me He has purposes and plans for my life. He tells me not to be afraid.
I don't want to live like a caterpiller anymore. I want to fly. I want to tell. It will be my way of saying thank-you.
I am grateful. Really grateful. As I write and remember, I am filled with gratitude. So often I have to shake myself and ask, 'did it all really happen?' The years of living on the street, shoving needles in my arm, not allowing myself to eat, throwing up if I did and cutting myself until I couldn't stand the pain or until I bled.
Living with extreme shame, out of control rage and debilitating fear - and one day, just like that - God touched me and changed everything. He gave me purpose and hope. He helped me heal. He gave me freedom. Now I owe Him my life.
There is a story about ten lepers being healed. Only one came back to say thank-you. I don't want to be like the nine who showed no gratitude. I need to tell what happened - what God did because had He not touched me in the ways He did......
How do I tell people what I lived? How do I say all those horrible things that happened? It's easier to tell strangers but I struggle with telling people who are close to me - my friends and people at work - I don't want them to think differently about me. I don't want them to be disgusted.
It was bad. Really bad. How can I tell them? Sometimes I just want to blurt it out but I can't. The words are stuck inside me. Many of my friends know I'm writing a book. They don't know what I'm writing, but they know I' m writing.
I get lost in writing. I think in some way it validates what happened really took place. And it's a way for me to have my voice. I need to write. Writing has become like breathing for me. Seeing the words in print diminishes the shame and gives me strength.
My friend came for a hike in the woods with me the other day. As we walked the secluded trails, she asked if I ever get scared out there alone. I don't. I feel safe in the woods. That's where I hear God speak to me. That's where my heart gains courage. In the woods, in the beauty of nature, I never feel alone. God whispers to me there. He reminds me I am never alone anymore. He tells me everything will be ok. He reminds me He has purposes and plans for my life. He tells me not to be afraid.
I don't want to live like a caterpiller anymore. I want to fly. I want to tell. It will be my way of saying thank-you.
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
SPAM
"The right time to eat is: for a rich man when he is hungry, for a poor man when he has something to eat." Mexican Proverb
There was a time in my life I had little money, no power and few material things. I remember a friend introducing me to "spam." Not the internet spam. This was supposed to be food. I'm still not convinced it really was. It came in a rectangle tin can with a little key that opened it. Inside was a thick chunk of processed meat. It was so gross. My friend used to fry it, throw spices over it and he actually liked it. Me? It made me want to puke. The only thing I liked about spam was that little key.
I looked up spam on google and some of the meanings it gave were; Some Piece of Alien Material or Some Pink Aged Meat or Specially Prepared Awful Meat. I don't know what spam is but I don't ever want to eat it again.
Survival. - I did crazy things to survive. Like eating spam.
We are in the process of moving. It's a great house on the lakeshore in a beautiful neighbourhood and within a five minute walk to wooded trails.
I am completely overcome with all God has given me. He really is a Father to the fatherless. Since the first time He touched me, I have always felt the power of His gentleness. He has never pushed me into anything. He waits until I'm ready. I used to be so angry, wild and out of control. Sometimes I still feel that way inside especially when I'm afraid, but even in those times He's there. He understands.
I went running in the woods yesterday and found a baby deer - lying dead, it's face peaceful and still. It reminded me of innocent kids being abused and hurt for no reason. It reminded me of me as a child, shamed and hurt and rejected. I wanted to touch that deer, hold it and bring it back to life. Like God did for me. He gave me life when I had nothing, - when I was lost, when I was almost dead. Now I owe Him my life.
There was a time in my life I had little money, no power and few material things. I remember a friend introducing me to "spam." Not the internet spam. This was supposed to be food. I'm still not convinced it really was. It came in a rectangle tin can with a little key that opened it. Inside was a thick chunk of processed meat. It was so gross. My friend used to fry it, throw spices over it and he actually liked it. Me? It made me want to puke. The only thing I liked about spam was that little key.
I looked up spam on google and some of the meanings it gave were; Some Piece of Alien Material or Some Pink Aged Meat or Specially Prepared Awful Meat. I don't know what spam is but I don't ever want to eat it again.
Survival. - I did crazy things to survive. Like eating spam.
We are in the process of moving. It's a great house on the lakeshore in a beautiful neighbourhood and within a five minute walk to wooded trails.
I am completely overcome with all God has given me. He really is a Father to the fatherless. Since the first time He touched me, I have always felt the power of His gentleness. He has never pushed me into anything. He waits until I'm ready. I used to be so angry, wild and out of control. Sometimes I still feel that way inside especially when I'm afraid, but even in those times He's there. He understands.
I went running in the woods yesterday and found a baby deer - lying dead, it's face peaceful and still. It reminded me of innocent kids being abused and hurt for no reason. It reminded me of me as a child, shamed and hurt and rejected. I wanted to touch that deer, hold it and bring it back to life. Like God did for me. He gave me life when I had nothing, - when I was lost, when I was almost dead. Now I owe Him my life.
Friday, June 12, 2009
Braver than you Think
"Promise me you'll always remember; you're braver than you believe, and stronger than you seem and smarter than you think." A.A.Milne - Christopher Robin to Pooh
I remember being really stoned. My eyes had gone all weird and I couldn't focus. I felt off balance, dizzy and separate from myself. Almost like I was on the outside looking in. I was having problems walking. I had no idea where I was, how I got there or how to get out and go home. I remember falling, crashing into a wall and hitting my head. Some old lady popped out and started screaming at me. I had no idea what she was saying. Then the sound of sirens and the ambulance....... Life was a constant crisis. Constant chaos.
I kept saying I wanted it all to stop. I wanted it to be normal. I didn't want to do the drugs. At least that's what I said and even as I said it, I was shooting up and ripping my arms open with razor blades and jagged rocks. Even as I said it, I threw up if I ate even a small bite of something. In my mind, I wasn't allowed to be free. I wasn't worthy. No amount of wanting or needing made a difference. No threats from any authority could bring about the freedom I said I wanted.
I needed to stay high. I needed to hurt myself. I needed to throw up. I needed to not feel or think. Especially to not think. The images of what happened tortured me. Anything to numb out from feeling the terror, the shame, the pain - I needed that more. And then God touched me. He broke through the torment in my head, in my soul - He took away the 14 year drug addiction. The memories though, the pain and shame and feelings of extreme worthlessness - they were still there. I continued to throw up and hurt myself. I still needed to numb out.
I felt guilty. I wondered if God would kill me because I was destroying myself. I screamed at Him to do it already. I dared Him to take my life, but He wouldn't. Years went by. I lived two lives. I looked ok. People thought I was fun, happy, Christian. I wasn't. When people said, God is in control, I knew my life was completely out of control.
I started writing. Then running. In the woods, alone - He whispered to me. 'Face the pain. Don't run from it.' I never wanted to face it. I never wanted to admit it. I couldn't. To admit it meant it happened. I didn't want to believe it happened. But it did.
All I know - God is my strength - my anchor for freedom. The one thing in my life that gives me the courage to do what I otherwise can't. He brought me to the point of being ready to confront what I never could. He allowed me to use the cutting, the throwing up, the hiding to stay alive. Cause that's what it did. It kept me alive. It helped me survive until I was ready to face what happened.
All I know -is in His presence, I feel at peace. In the woods I feel His gentle touch and hear His whispers of comfort and there I gain the courage to come home and not use things that hurt me.
I want to make a difference. I want what I lived to help someone else find their freedom. Maybe that's why God let me live.
I remember being really stoned. My eyes had gone all weird and I couldn't focus. I felt off balance, dizzy and separate from myself. Almost like I was on the outside looking in. I was having problems walking. I had no idea where I was, how I got there or how to get out and go home. I remember falling, crashing into a wall and hitting my head. Some old lady popped out and started screaming at me. I had no idea what she was saying. Then the sound of sirens and the ambulance....... Life was a constant crisis. Constant chaos.
I kept saying I wanted it all to stop. I wanted it to be normal. I didn't want to do the drugs. At least that's what I said and even as I said it, I was shooting up and ripping my arms open with razor blades and jagged rocks. Even as I said it, I threw up if I ate even a small bite of something. In my mind, I wasn't allowed to be free. I wasn't worthy. No amount of wanting or needing made a difference. No threats from any authority could bring about the freedom I said I wanted.
I needed to stay high. I needed to hurt myself. I needed to throw up. I needed to not feel or think. Especially to not think. The images of what happened tortured me. Anything to numb out from feeling the terror, the shame, the pain - I needed that more. And then God touched me. He broke through the torment in my head, in my soul - He took away the 14 year drug addiction. The memories though, the pain and shame and feelings of extreme worthlessness - they were still there. I continued to throw up and hurt myself. I still needed to numb out.
I felt guilty. I wondered if God would kill me because I was destroying myself. I screamed at Him to do it already. I dared Him to take my life, but He wouldn't. Years went by. I lived two lives. I looked ok. People thought I was fun, happy, Christian. I wasn't. When people said, God is in control, I knew my life was completely out of control.
I started writing. Then running. In the woods, alone - He whispered to me. 'Face the pain. Don't run from it.' I never wanted to face it. I never wanted to admit it. I couldn't. To admit it meant it happened. I didn't want to believe it happened. But it did.
All I know - God is my strength - my anchor for freedom. The one thing in my life that gives me the courage to do what I otherwise can't. He brought me to the point of being ready to confront what I never could. He allowed me to use the cutting, the throwing up, the hiding to stay alive. Cause that's what it did. It kept me alive. It helped me survive until I was ready to face what happened.
All I know -is in His presence, I feel at peace. In the woods I feel His gentle touch and hear His whispers of comfort and there I gain the courage to come home and not use things that hurt me.
I want to make a difference. I want what I lived to help someone else find their freedom. Maybe that's why God let me live.
Saturday, June 6, 2009
Hope and Dignity
"I was confused. You cleared my mind. I sold my soul. You bought it back for me and held me up and gave me dignity. You gave me hope when I was at the end and turned my lies back into truth again. You even called me friend." Anne Murray
I am overwhelmed with God's love. He reached out to me and in His gentle way, freed me from the awefulness of living on the street, fighting to survive and using my body as a target for all the rage and hatred I had for the people who hurt me. I often wonder why me. Why did He touch me and let me live? I should have died like so many of the people I knew, - like my friend, Sue. One night, she turned on Anne Murray's song, Snowbird, letting it play over and over while she swallowed a ton of pills. She was dead in the morning, - the song still playing, "But now I feel such emptiness within, for the the thing I want in life's the thing I can't win. Spread your tiny wings and fly away."
Someone once told me, the best revenge is to live my life happy and successful. It's been a fight, a struggle, a war. So many times, I wanted to do what Sue had done, let go, give up, "spread my wings and fly away," but God put a fight in me, a determination to live.
All those beatings, being kidnapped and raped, the crazy, terrifying street life, the drugs, the throwing up, the incarceration in jail, confined in a psych hopsital - somehow God used all that to make me strong. He didn't let me die. He wouldn't let me go even when I begged Him to kill me. He "bought my soul back and gave me dignity." He touched me, broke the chains and set me free, when nothing else worked.
Why me? Why not Sue? I had other friends who took their lives, or accidently died from overdosing or because of being so stoned and doing something weird. I used to climb to the top of buildings and stand on the edge with my arms out not caring that I could have fallen to my death. I thought I was invincible. Other times I just wanted to dare life to let me go.
I owe Him my life. The gratitude I feel makes me want to help people like Sue, to give them hope and let them know, if I can do it, they can too. With God, nothing is impossible. I have discovered, there is no darkness so black, no valley so low, He can not redeem it for his glory.
I am alive today because of Him, because of His touch on my life.
I am overwhelmed with God's love. He reached out to me and in His gentle way, freed me from the awefulness of living on the street, fighting to survive and using my body as a target for all the rage and hatred I had for the people who hurt me. I often wonder why me. Why did He touch me and let me live? I should have died like so many of the people I knew, - like my friend, Sue. One night, she turned on Anne Murray's song, Snowbird, letting it play over and over while she swallowed a ton of pills. She was dead in the morning, - the song still playing, "But now I feel such emptiness within, for the the thing I want in life's the thing I can't win. Spread your tiny wings and fly away."
Someone once told me, the best revenge is to live my life happy and successful. It's been a fight, a struggle, a war. So many times, I wanted to do what Sue had done, let go, give up, "spread my wings and fly away," but God put a fight in me, a determination to live.
All those beatings, being kidnapped and raped, the crazy, terrifying street life, the drugs, the throwing up, the incarceration in jail, confined in a psych hopsital - somehow God used all that to make me strong. He didn't let me die. He wouldn't let me go even when I begged Him to kill me. He "bought my soul back and gave me dignity." He touched me, broke the chains and set me free, when nothing else worked.
Why me? Why not Sue? I had other friends who took their lives, or accidently died from overdosing or because of being so stoned and doing something weird. I used to climb to the top of buildings and stand on the edge with my arms out not caring that I could have fallen to my death. I thought I was invincible. Other times I just wanted to dare life to let me go.
I owe Him my life. The gratitude I feel makes me want to help people like Sue, to give them hope and let them know, if I can do it, they can too. With God, nothing is impossible. I have discovered, there is no darkness so black, no valley so low, He can not redeem it for his glory.
I am alive today because of Him, because of His touch on my life.
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