Writing to Heal

"Fill your paper with the breathings of your heart." William Wordsworth.

Writing - journaling has been one of the best ways for me to deal with stuff. I couldn't tell anyone what happened, how I felt or how afraid I was or even what I wanted or needed - But I could write.

Writing helps free me. It takes me to that dark place deep inside myself that I've been too afraid to look at. The place that's held the fear, the shame, the pain, the memories.....The place I've spent years running from. Writing has helped pull from that place what I could never say.

To say meant owning it - Owning it meant it was real. I didn't want it to be real. But the shame kept me a prisoner....isolated and distant even from myself....

So I write.

In writing I own it. In writing it becomes real. In writing I look at the shame. I face the fear, the pain, the memories that have tormented me.

There are times I want to close my eyes and not wake up....the memories hurt- the shame too overwhelming....But God doesn't let me give up. He takes me to a place I've never been....a peaceful place. He sooths that part of me I try to hide, to push away, to pretend doesn't exist. He offers me His gentleness and whispers; it's ok now.

People in my life don't know where I've been. They see me as happy, fun, free. I don't know how I never told anyone about being held in that house for six months, desperate to get away. I don't know how I never told all those things I lived, the 14 year drug addiction, the years of battling an eating disorder and cutting myself, of being forced into situations that nearly broke me. It's like I've lived two lives. Side by side. Never free. Pretending. But I want to be free. I really want to be free.

My book is soon ready to be published. I'm afraid of people I work with, friends and neighbours knowing how awful things were and how much a fight it has been. Not telling though is being selfish. If God hadn't touched me the way He had - I wouldn't have lived. I owe Him.

Made a Difference

"Kindness is the language which the deaf can hear and the blind can see." Mark Twain

I woke up this morning really tired feeling irritable and negative. Then I read - www.offthebeatentrek.blogspot.com. RCUBE is an amazing lady who works as a nurse in a prison. Check out her blog. She is such an encourgement.

RCUBE's post today reminded me of when I was incarcerated and then placed on a locked psych ward. Staff have their own issues and sometimes they take it out on patients or prisoners. I hated being under their control and I hated feeling powerless. I wasn't a criminal. I was a drug addict. I never hurt anyone - only myself, but they made me feel like I was bad. Their controls, their authority made me hurt myself even more. It made me feel hopeless. It made me feel like my life was not worth anything. It made me want to give up.

But there were a couple of staff like RCUBE who showed kindness to me. They believed in me -they tried to help me. They made a difference in my life.

Jan, a nurse, knew I hated being locked up. Somehow she worked it out so that I could run errands off the ward or go with her to pick up supplies. She made it clear if I ran she would lose her job and I would end up there for a longer sentence. Her efforts made being locked up a bit bearable.

Lane, a social worker, believed in me. No matter how low I fell, no matter how many times I got in trouble - or hurt myself - she encouraged me to hang in - she showed me I was worth something. She went against what her manager told her and gave me her home phone number. She told me to call at the end of the day and talk to her mother until she got home. Both Lane and her mother empowered me with their support and kindness.

But what really made the difference for me was God. He showed me how much He valued me - His love never wavered no matter what I did or didn't do. He accepted me completely. The gentleness of His love changed me. It made me give up those things I was doing that were destroying myself.

And I think He brought those kind staff into my world to ultimately lead me to know Him. Because of Him - I want to be like RCUBE and Lane and Jan and so many others of you here - I want to show kindness and gentleness to others so they too can find freedom.

Fear

"You gain strength, courage and confidence by every experience in which you really stop to look fear in the face. You must do the thing which you think you cannot do." Eleanor Roosevelt

Fear. I hate it. Most of the time I don't even know why I am afraid.

Like these past few days. We we're getting ready to go away. I want to go. The place we picked is beautiful - it's up north in the mountains - a fun place with lakes, sports, cool shops, tons of fun. But I'm afraid to leave home. I'm driving myself crazy. Want to go - don't want to go - want to go - have to go. Kids are excited.

What's wrong with me? This happens so often. Before we went to disney last January, I agonized about going for weeks. Everyone was excited but I had this overwhelming fear. I dreaded going. We went. It was great fun.

It's weird. I think I'm afraid to leave home. Fear is just as bad as shame. It cripples and it clouds my thinking.

I'm going in spite of the fear. I'm going because I know it's a good thing and I can't disappoint my girls.

Someone once told me fear is the opposite of faith. I think that's true. When I think of fear and faith, I think of them being similiar to a positive and negative magnet. When you try to bring them together they repel each other.

I can't live in fear and faith at the same time. I am so tired of being afriad. I choose faith. Even if my stomach is filled with crazy butterflies - I choose to trust. I choose to go.

Gifts in Life

Kind words can be short and easy to speak but their echos are truly endless." Mother Theresa

I was thirteen when my friend Tommy taught me how to play chess. I got good at it very quickly. I loved figuring out strategies. I loved winning. I loved beating him.

Playing chess helped me survive on the streets. It taught me how to use my wits. It taught me how to figure out strategies that kept me alive.

At the time, Tommy fought with me to sit still, to learn the game. I wanted to be outside. I hated being still. At first I thought the game was too boring. He was a thinker. Unlike me, he wanted to sit quiet and think. Today I am grateful to Tommy's patience and how he taught me something that became a gift in my life.

I never knew when I started blogging I would connect with some amazing people. You guys are a gift. I learn from you, from your struggles, from your comments - Thank you so much for being here, for each of you being who you are.

I read your blogs and am amazed at the courage, the strength, the kindness and the perservance you all have. I've gotten to know many of you, some more than others - I find myself thinking of you guys and praying for each of you.

And you have allowed me to have my voice, to say those things I've never able to say. I always felt alone in what happened. I couldn't let anyone in to this part of my world, the ugly part, the extreme self hate, the shame.......

You have listened, encouraged me and offered support. I want you to know how grateful I am for all of you. I want you to know how much I appreciate you. I think you guys are the absolute best. I think you guys are God's gift to me.

Body Image

"When you are a bear of very little brain, and you think of things,
you find sometimes that a thing which seemed very thinkish inside you, - is quite different when it gets out into the open and has other people looking at it." A.A. Milne

Today a co-worker told me I looked great and she loved the blouse I had on. I'm don't know why, but her words triggered shame in me. I cringed. I wanted to run. Get away. Everything inside me screamed hide....cover up....can't be seen. A voice in my head wanted to shout at her - don't look at me!

I hate that I'm still struggling with not wanting to be seen....not wanting anyone to look at me. It's still there....the shame. Body shame. I still believe - My body is bad - wrong....I still feel the danger.

My body has been my enemy for a long time. I've hated it. It betrayed me. Somewhere deep inside I still believe being female is not safe. I don't consciously think about it, but every now and then, like today at work....It shows me it's still there.

I still see vivid images of being trapped, held down, punched, raped...fighting, desperate to get away - powerless. Days turning into weeks. Weeks into months. No way out...Alone. No one knew. Couldn't tell. For a long time. Telling would make it real. Don't talk. Don't tell.

Sometimes the memories make me crazy. Sometimes I want to lash out at my body blaming it for everything that happened. I know in my head - my body wasn't to blame, but somewhere inside me that doesn't feel like the truth.

I watch my daughters moving freely in their bodies. They're connected to them. They're at home in them. It's strange to me. I want to be free in my body.

I don't like it when it rains too much. I can't run. I can't bike. Can't be outside. Running, alone, in the woods - pushing my body to its maximum...Getting on my bike - riding fast - straining the muscles in my legs until they hurt ....I feel connected. Out in nature - I feel free.

With God's help, I will make peace with my body. One day - like my daughters, I will come home to live without fear in my body.

Growing in the Rocks

"Where flowers bloom so does hope." Lady Bird Johnson

When I went to visit my sister in Israel, she took me to the top of this rocky mountain. Nothing was there - just rocks, stones, and gravel. But it was still beautiful. Maybe because it was so isolated and high. Standing there I felt like I could touch the sky.

We sat there - just the two of us - bathing in the soft wind, the warm sun and the peaceful quiet. Then she started talking, telling me how awful it was for us as kids. She talked about the beatings, the constant bullying, ridicule and name calling, being left alone - the fear, the shame, the terror. She said she was sorry she didn't protect me - that she wasn't there for me.

I was still in denial. I didn't believe it had been so bad. She told me how afraid she had been watching me slowly die from the drugs, the eating disorder - not understanding why I wouldn't or couldn't talk. She had run to her friends. I withdrew into myself trying to become invisible.

I'm not sure why we hadn't noticed them before, but there a few feet from us, two flowers, side by side were growing in the rocks. We were stunned. How could they grow in the middle of all that hardness? How could those two flowers survive and grow?

Somehow they had managed to grow without good soil or adequate rain. I looked at my sister. "We survived." My sister is older than me. And more emotional. She broke down and cried. I forced myself to be strong like I had done since I was a kid.

"It was so bad." She said. "How did we survive?"

I looked up at ths sky. I knew. I remember when my mother was dying. We lived in a tight Jewish area. I came home from school and was surprised to see a nun sitting with my mother. I think that woman prayed for us. I think God heard.

Thinking about those two flowers, I wonder if God put them there for us - to show us - even in the hard places He's there helping us to grow, helping us to be strong, keeping us safe. I need to believe that.

Moving Forward

"Live your life with greater courage, intensity and kindness." Oprah Winfrey

Whatever happened - whatever I survived - I want to use it to give hope to someone. Hope that life can turn around - that things can change - that addictions can be beat - that life can have purpose.

It never really dawned on me how bad things had been until I started writing and blogging. I stared at the words on the screen. I read and reread them. My own words - my own thougths shocked me. I had pushed it away - pretended it all hadn't happened. It hurt too much too remember. But when I started writing I couldn't stop. It's as if a damn had opened......

I want God to use what I lived - I want to help others. I don't want to think He freed me for nothing. Maybe if I can use what I survived, then all that horrible stuff wouldn't have been in vain.

I'm working on courage - courage to physically face someone and tell - I keep telling myself I am not what happened to me. I'm going to keep telling myself that until I believe it - until I have the courage - Meanwhile I want to reach out in kindness cause I know everyone is fighting some kind of battle.

I'll do Anything God

"Each has his past shut in him like the leaves of a book known to him by heart and his friends can only read the title." Virginia Woolf

I told God I would do anything for Him. I told Him there is nothing I wouldn't do. Nothing at all. He freed me. He broke the hold of all those things that were killing me. I almost died. Not once. Many times. But He wouldn't let me die.

I had a thing for heights. I used to shoot up and then climb to the rooftop of this building. I'd stand on the ledge with my arms out. I believed I could fly. I believed I wouldn't fall. I heard a voice telling me to jump. Telling me it's ok. Telling me I would soar. I wanted to trust that voice. I came so close to believing what it said. There was a cop who followed me. Who always seemed to be there on that rooftop. Many times he pulled me off that ledge. I would have jumped. I could have died. God didn't let me.

I'll do anything God. Anything you want.

Anything except tell the people in my world today how I lived, what I did, how bad things were, the drugs, the cutting, the abuse, the horrible mess I lived. Pride? Shame?

There was a fire. I dropped the match trying to heat up the dope. The flames engulfed the room. I was trapped. I should have died.

I'll do anything God. Anything you want.

The hospital told me they had never seen anyone so thin. I weighed less than eighty pounds. I was cold all the time. Freezing. Even in summer. My electrolytes were out of whack making my legs hurt. They said my heart would stop. It never did. He wouldn't let it.

I'll do anything God. Anything you want.

When I run I have courage. When I run I know He is running with me. I'm not alone. He gives me this incredible strength. He empowers me. When I run and feel His presence I know I can do anything. Will do anything. Even tell.

I owe Him. I want to tell but I'm afaid to. One day, I won't be afraid.

I'll do anything God. I promise. One day. I'll find the courage.

The Power of Nature

"The best remedy for those who are afraid, lonely or unhappy is to go outside, somewhere where they can be quiet, alone with the heavens, nature and God. Because only then does one feel that all is as it should be and that God wishes to see people happy, amidst the simple beauty of nature." Anne Frank

I don't do good when I'm around people too much. I crave alone time. When I'm around too many people too much of the time, my mind goes into frantic mode. I stop listening. I stop being present. I daydream about the woods, the mountains, the water. I envsion the birds - the deer and I can even smell the sweetness of the earth. The pull to be outside is so strong. In nature - in the woods - I feel safe. I feel free.

I think nature has to be God's gift to us. If I wasn't so scared of the dark, I would probably live in the forest, up on a mountain somewhere.

I spent a lot of time locked up - My father used to lock me in his car in the worse part of the city for hours by myself. I was terrified. I prayed he would come back and get me. He always did. As a kid I spent hours hiding in a closet, under the balcony or in the basement, holding my breath, afraid to move - terrified, listening, waiting - like an animal being stalked.

The rapist held me for six months. In the cold, in winter, in the snow - with no shoes, no coat - I escaped. I climbed over a six foot high gate to freedom. When I couldn't stop throwing up, cutting myself, shooting dope - they locked me on a psych ward. Threatened to keep me locked up until I stopped the destructive behaviour.

Confined. Trapped. I hate those feelings. Maybe that's why I love being outside. There I hear God's whisper in my heart. I feel His gentle touch. I feel His strength.

Update on blogger needing prayer

"Help your brother's boat across and your own will reach the shore" Hindu Proverb

I never thought writing this blog would really affect anyone. I wrote because I needed to write - I needed to tell without being seen - Then that blogger reached out to me, told me how dark her world is - reminded me of that hopeless and dark place that I somehow had survived from - I thought of friends who hadn't survived - friends who took their own lives, too overwhelmed with the pain. And then I asked for prayer for her and the kindness of your response showed me the power of the blog. You guys are the abolute best.

I knew you would pray. I knew you guys would come through and you did. Thank you.

Update: I asked if she would be willing for others from my blog to contact her to offer help or to possibly direct her somewhere in her area for help. She said yes. She lives in Pennsylvania. If anyone wants to contact her please contact my blog and I will give her the info.

A blogger needs Prayer

"I do believe we're all connected...I do believe in the power of prayer...I do believe in taking care of each other" Harry Fierstein

Hey guys, I need to ask you something.

Someone has been emailing me who is hurting really badly. She's nineteen and a victim of physical and sexual abuse. She believes she deserves everything that happened to her and wants to just cut and hurt herself. She made an appointment with a counselor but cancelled it. She really needs help. She's alone and scared and sees only darkness.

I asked if I can post here asking for prayer for her. She said yes. Thanks

Being Different

"Be who you are and say what you feel because those who mind don't matter and those who matter don't mind." Dr. Seuss

I always wanted to be like everyone else. I didn't want to be different. But I felt different. I felt like I was on the outside looking in. I think child abuse does that. It changes who you are. It changes how you move in the world and it changes how you think about yourself.

When God touched me, I started watching and copying others - how they talked, how they lived and what they did. I got really good at doing that, but then I began feeling like I wasn't real - that I wasn't being me.

My daughters are different from each other. My oldest is a tree hugger. She cares about the earth, recycles everything and sees the good in everyone. She's cautious when trying new things, but once she decides on something, she's in with both feet. My younger one is always up for adventure. She's daring, spontaneous, laughes from her toes up and always knows what she wants. She's a definite leader. I love their differences. It makes life interesting and exciting.

When I had my youngest, I asked my oldest if she was jealous of the baby. In her five year old wisdom, she said, "she is the best she is and I am the best I am." That kid is totally smart. And right on. I learned something about me from her that day. I don't need to copy anyone else. I need to learn to simply be me.

That's been really hard though. I had spent most of my time trying to figure out what the abusers thought, what they wanted and how they felt. I had became so in tune to their moods and needs - working really hard to keep them happy and calm and to not go crazy. I didn't exist. There was no me. I became what they needed.

I don't want to be someone else anymore. I want to be me, even if it means being different.

Forgiveness

"Peace is not possible without forgiveness" Naomi Drew

When God touched me I knew I had to forgive those people who hurt me. I thought it wouldn't be so hard to forgive my parents. I forgave them a gizillion times. No matter what they said, no matter what they did - no matter how awful they treated me - I forgave them. At least I thought I had forgiven them. I think now I just minimized the things they did and made excuses for them.

I thought of the judges, the police, the "professionals" who locked me up, over medicated me, tied me down - did what they wanted. I hated them even more than I hated my parents. I forgave them. Then I thought of what they did and I hated them again. When I remembered the things they did, I wanted to hurt myself. Take the anger and hatred out on me. The hatred made me crazy. I didn't want to hold onto the hate so I forgave them again and again and again. I"m still doing that.

The rapist was even harder to forgive. He hadn't just hurt me. I found out he had hurt kids. Somehow I could forgive him for what he did to me but not for what he did to the kids. When I heard that his son killed himself and what he had done to the boy - I hated him. I wanted to see him punished. And I hated the boy's mother for not protecting him. I didn't want to forgive. I'm working on it.

The hardest to forgive though was myself. I hated me more than I hated everyone else. I hated myself so much I wanted to destroy me. That's why for a long time I couldn't stop hurting myself. Even sometimes now when I'm tired, frustrated or impatient about something - I want to hurt myself. I won't though. I run instead. Or write. The intensity of the feelings overwhelms me.

Forgiveness isn't so easy. I remember how much God forgave me. When He did, the peace and joy I felt were amazing. Like being released from prison. Walking free. Forgiveness. I want to keep on trying to make forgiveness a way of living because I want peace in my life. And I want others to know peace too.

Shame

"Shame is worse than death" Russian Proverb

When I went to therapy I couldn't talk. I couldn't stand for the therapist to even look at me. Shame - it was unbearable. Painful. Extremely uncomfortable. I hated to be seen. In my mind, to be seen meant to be hurt, raped, beaten. Even when there was no threat of danger, I felt it. Shame had become a part of me. I couldn't shake it.

The therapist - in her wisdom and kindness suggested we turn off the lights. In the dark - with no eyes looking at me I could relax a bit. When she tried to talk to me with the lights on - everything inside me screamed - Don't look at me!

I couldn't do it. It was insane. So she talked with her back facing me. I couldn't stand being looked at. I felt hideous, repulsive, different. Shame made me feel 'bad, unacceptable, wrong.' Shame - it is worse than death. It feels like death. It feels like having no control. It makes me sick inside. It makes me want to puke.

The therapist said - shame is when we feel like there is something inherently wrong with who we are. I believed there was something wrong with me. I believed I was bad, wrong, different. I felt unworthy. I believed I had no right to exist. No right to life.

I don't know how He did it, but somehow God broke through the layers of shame. I couldn't feel love before but I felt His love, His acceptance and mostly His gentleness. I don't need to hide so much anymore, although I still get antsy when I'm with people too long.

Yesterday I went running in the mountains where I used to live. In the quietness of the woods, in the power of nature - I hear His voice whispering in my spirit - He is my hope for freedom from shame.