What's in a Name

"What's in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet."  William Shakespeare 

For those of you who've read my book or follow me on twitter and facebook, you know my real name isn't Sarah.

It's time to come clean...to own my name. When I started this blog...I needed the anonymity...a way to write without anyone knowing who I was. But now...it's okay to own my name..   

Rape and abuse do terrible things to people...it makes them move in the world in shame and fear. It makes them believe they're wrong and bad and damaged. It causes them to believe they're different and unworthy. At least that's what it did for me.  Shame crippled me. It made me believe I was worthless....and being seen terrified me. To be seen meant to be hurt again and again and again. I'm not afraid anymore. In speaking out...in speaking up.....so much of that shame has gone. 

My real name is Nikki. The meaning of my name is 'overcomer.....victorious.' And in Him....I am an overcomer. I am victorious. I kicked a 14 year drug habit, a serious eating disorder, self-injury - all  which stemmed from being physically and emotionally abused as a child and later kidnapped and raped. I learned to fight on the streets and I'm still that fighter except....I used to fight to survive.....now I'm fighting to help others find freedom too....to know if I can make it out of the darkness.....anyone can. 

I was told I could have a marginal life with professional intervention. I beat those odds. I did it with His help. My dgt. made a trailer of my book....to listen to it...you have to turn off the playlist on the sidebar. 

I am determined to use what I lived.....

A Witness

 
"....for the dead and the living, we must bear witness." Eli Wiesel 

A German publisher asked to review my book. They're considering translating it to sell in Germany. It's not a sure thing but I'm blown away that they're even considering it. A book store yesterday took 20 of my books and told me they want to help me find a distributor...and someone else is wanting to help me get my book out into a wider audience. I am blown away by all this....and by the kindness and support I've recieved. 

Funny how I never wanted anyone to know any of the stuff that happened or what I did to survive. Now I want to be a witness that freedom is possible....that there is a way out of darkness...of pain....and mostly from the shame that is like sticky paper - so hard to get out from under.  

I've stopped asking why....why I survived and others didn't. Why I lived...when others took their lives...or died by accident or lived but can't shake the depression or chronic pain or addiction to medications or food or something......

I want to stand up....be a witness....a witness that no matter what we lived...no matter what happened.....we can be free. What ever happened to us doesn't define who are are...or even who we become.

It's painful to remember...but I want to walk back into the darkness....into that silence....to that place that held so much shame from which I thought I would never be free - for the reason....of helping someone else find freedom. To give hope to not to give up....to never to give up....

And I want to show the power of His gentleness that broke through and gave me the freedom. When I close my eyes.....when I'm quiet.....and alone...the memories are right there....fighting so hard to survive....alone....not believing  I would ever be free....living so close to the edge....and to death....unable to look anyone in their eyes....or have them look into mine......ripping my arms, shooting up, throwing up...just to make it through a day......And then....just like that....He touched me. His gentle touch changed everything....gave me hope....and the courage to fight even harder...and to make it out of the darkness. And all I know....if I can make it out...anybody can.....

Seeing the Stars

"But I know somehow, that only when it is dark enough, can you see the stars." Martin Luther King, Jr.

I used to think....those things that happened would kill me. They cut so deep....and kept me living in hiding....like a fugitive....always on the run....not letting anyone get too close....too afraid to be found out...for the truth to be discovered....of what I had done....where I had been...what I had lived. 

Now though, I can see the stars. All that stuff that happened....that drove me crazy...that kept me locked in shame - that created so much pain..... and that I thought I would never be free from - has taught me to look up and see the stars.
Those things that almost killed me....has worked to make me strong. 

I want others who are still fighting the demons...to Know Hope...to know there is a way to break free...to come to the place where they too can look up when it's really dark and see the stars shining back....and know the darkness didn't consume them....

I wish those things had never happened. And I never want to go through them again.....but maybe they had a purpose....to tell others...that freedom is possible....that there is a way out.  Things aren't perfect...but it's ok. Maybe that's the difference....I just know looking back - He pulled me out from being so far down that somehow...I know....the rest will come. 

So if you're still fighting...and the darkness seems too great...hold on....never give up...and Know Hope...

Shortlisted

"If there's a book you really want to read but it hasn't been written yet, then you must write it." Toni Morrison

My book, In the Eye of Deception, has been shortlisted for a literary award. It blew me away when I found out. I had struggled so much to write....and to tell. When I first started writing...I never imaged publishing a book. I just needed to release what was inside me. I wrote every day and late into the nights. I wrote in the third person.

And I went running, everyday..in the woods....alone - Fighting what I knew inside.  I had to tell. I had to write the truth....to give hope to even one person...that nothing is impossible to overcome...and that Light can shine where darkness lived.

Guys, I 'm really sorry but I changed this post from the way I had it originally. I wasn't comfortable with how I wrote it.  Some of you had left comments.  Unfortunately all those comments disappeared too. I'm sorry.  But please know  I really appreciate everything you said and all your encouragement and support. You guys have helped me come through so much...

Breaking the Cycle

"Although the world is full of suffering, it is full also of the overcoming of it."  Helen Keller

People are always telling me..... they see me as being gentle. And those at work or friends who've read my story say....they don't know how I can be gentle when all I knew was violence. Their words shock me. I've never seen myself as being gentle....I've carried so much anger...so much hatred and lived as a fighter. 

Thoughts: The cycle of abuse can be broken. What happens to us doesn't define who we are...for a long time, though....I didn't believe that. I moved in the world as if it was my fault...as if there was something wrong with me and that I caused everything that happened. 

It's true that abuse changes you...it changes who you are....it changes who you become....and it changes how you move in the world. It creates shame...shame that makes you want to hide all the time....not wanting to be seen....leaving you with the belief that you're defective and have no right to exist. 

Abuse, violence.....messes up the wires in your head. It causes you to turn on yourself...to hate what and who you are; to hurt yourself with drugs, eating disorders or self-injury. And others start having control over your life....like professionals who think they know better what you need and perverts and predators who strangely sense the abuse that happened to you and see you as prey to them too....

Fighting to take my life back...to empower myself has been long and hard. Many times I wanted to give up...let go..give in. I'm glad now I didn't. And I needed His touch to help me stay alive. Sometimes I think of where I was....the things I did....the things done to me....and for a brief moment....I want to lash out and fight again. But I won't...Instead I go running...in the woods....alone....to hear His whisper....to know that maybe all that stuff had purpose....to help even one person hang on....and never give up the fight to come back to themselves and to be all they were meant to be. 

Kindness of Strangers

Goodness is the only investment that never fails. Henry David Thoreau

I always tell my kids...there are more good people than bad....and I tell them the story of the woman living in the city next to ours....

She was a waitress....all her life. She didn't earn alot of money....but somehow she managed to save $10,000. She dreamed of taking a trip when she retired...maybe a cruise. She never married....never had kids.  

One day, her boss asked if he could borrow the money...he would pay her back. He promised. She trusted him....lent him the money. He put it towards building a huge house in a rich part of town. A house larger than anyone needed. Time went by, he never gave the money back. Then two years, three...still nothing. The woman retired. She lived on a small pension. Her dreams of taking a trip...over. 

Somehow, a businessman heard about her story. Maybe from a customer at the diner. He went to see her. Gave her a cheque for $1000. The two sat, had tea in her small apartment. Every two months, he returned and gave her another $1000. He told her he would do that until she had her $10,000 in full. 

The media got a hold of the story. By that time, the businessman had paid her all the money her boss had taken from her....but he was still going back every two months to visit with her. The media asked why. His answer, We've become good friends.

The boss never apologized. He lives in one of the largest homes in the city. He has never repaid the woman a dime. 

This story makes me think of the people who reached out to me when I lived on the streets...those who gave me food, or a place to sleep or encouraged me to never give up.  The kindness of strangers! I've never forgotten them. And their kindness, their goodness has made me want to reach out to others who need to know.....there are more good people in the world than bad.

Burned Out Houses

"It’s only after we’ve lost everything that we’re free to do anything…Only after disaster can we be resurrected." Tyler Durden, Fight Club 1999

I used to be afraid when I'd see a house that had been destroyed by fire.  But as afraid as I was.... I'd stand frozen...staring...the fear playing in my head. I don't  know what that fear was....but something about it held me....made my heart stop.....gave me cold chills....and made me really really afraid......

I think in some way I related the burned out house to my broken life....that burned house....devestated by fire...people....families once living in it....fighting to survive...battling fear.....panic... Did someone die....having hope to get out but then losing their life trying to get free? The house that once been lived in.....with people...families....gone. My life...living on the streets - alone....broken....lost....fighting to hold on to hope....hope to make it out alive. 

Burnt out houses still scare me. They hold a fascination....some meaning....that life even after losing everything....goes on....maybe in different ways....surviving the fire of life....changes you....makes you move in the world different....gives you a heightened sense of danger that you didn't have before....but it also gives you something else....an amazing feeling of gratitude...that you survived....that you made it out alive.....

Strange....

"Leaving behind nights of terror and fear....I rise." Maya Angelou
 
My books have been selling...sold four yesterday...two more today. Sold almost 100 copies since it was released last month. And they're getting into bookstores. Four stores are carrying them now. 

It feels strange...strange to read people's comments...to know they're talking about me... Many have emailed...telling me what they think of the book....what they think of me....They're saying what no one ever said. You went through so much. Too much. This is amazing. You survived!  

At first their words shocked me. I had always thought it was normal, no big deal....not that bad. Maybe because I went through it alone...maybe because I never told anyone. No one ever knew. I didn't want anyone to know. I thought what happened was my fault. I thought I was bad, wrong, different...I thought I caused those things to happen in some weird way.

The words of kindness and affirmation that it was bad...are taking away that need in me to fight...to be on guard. I can feel something in me relaxing...softening...I don't want to fight anymore.

And something else - people are saying, If you can do it...I can too. My book is doing what I wanted. It's giving hope. It's pumping people to reach for their own freedom. That humbles me. I think He knew. He knew I would tell. He knew I would stand up. He knew I would give back. I feel scared and excited at the same time. I listen to Maya Angelou over and over...Her words 'and still I rise' empowering me...helping me know - I am becoming strong!

He is the core of my story. He is the One who broke chains when nothing else worked....I don't know how He did it....but He did. And if I can help just one person find freedom....find their way out of the darkness...than maybe everything I went through was all worth it.

Loyalty

"The trust of the innocent is the liar's most useful tool." Stephen King

His hook were his words....gentle, soothing...claiming love. I overlooked his rage, the beatings, the name calling.  He told me he loved me.....he told me I was the only one who understood him.....he said he  needed me. I was seven years old.

He poured out his heart...sharing things I didn't understand. And when he hurt me....using vulgar words or his fists....or locking me in the car for hours...I still believed he loved me....I didn't know any different and besides - he needed me. 

At eight....he beat me so bad I started cutting myself. I thought he was right - I believed I was worthless.  Nine...ten....eleven...at twelve I stole morphine trying to block out his rage and my fear....thirteen....fourteen I was shooting dope three and four times a day.

Loyalty.....I was loyal to him no matter what he did or how he treated me.  I tried to be what he wanted, to give him what I thought he needed. He spoke with kindness...tenderness but then in the same heartbeat he turned like someone possessed and I became the object of his hatred.

Loyalty - I knew more about what he liked, what he wanted, what he needed than what I did. I didn't exist near him. I couldn't. He couldn't handle that....so I disappeared. I went away. I got lost. I lived in my own world...

Loyalty....the rapist demanded loyalty just like my father. He said he loved me....that I couldn't live without him....and that God wanted me to be with him. Like my father, he hurt me and wouldn't let me go. I managed to get free...but I wasn't really free. Not for a long time....Not until I had falled so far down....not until I almost died - not until I felt His touch....and He showed me the power and truth of loyalty....

I learned I had trusted in lies, in deception. To trust from my heart instead of my head was too hard.  I screamed at Him to kill me...to let me go...but He wouldn't. 

I needed to learn to be loyal to myself.  I struggled with knowing simple things....like my favorite color or food or tv program. I had a hard time staying present or letting anyone get close and I couldn't stop hurting myself. He waited....with patience...with gentleness.

Loyalty - It's powerful. It determines the direction of life. 



 

Sisters

"A sister is both your mirror and your opposite." Elizabeth Fishel   

My sister and I were separated since we were kids. Our parents tried to turn us against each other and keep us apart. It worked. We lived our lives in different worlds...not knowing each other...not trusting the other.....
But the sister bond between us brought us together - strong and tight...in spite of what they did to keep us apart.

The two of us are different - I'm the youngest...a thinker - practical - cautious trusting people. My sister runs on her emotions...She cracks me up with her crazy adventures that always end in a cry for help. Impusive with money, she buys whatever she wants....never looks at prices. Me? I don't spend....I wait...I can't make up my mind. I never know what I want....what I like....I calculate the cost and often talk myself out of buying something. I'm physical...a runner...restless...always moving. She's a couch potato. As a kid...living with chaoes and abuse....she reached out to others....found support...found safe places to fall. I pulled inside myself...trying hard to be invisible.

But there are similiarities. She too believed she had no right to exist. And she hurt herself. Not like me....in different ways. She became addicted to food. Eating became her comfort. People didn't notice her pain. Overeating and weight issues were more acceptable than shooting dope...than throwing up...than looking emaciated....She laughed on the outside...hurt on the inside. And she recently told me she took burning hot showers that sounds similiar to my cutting myself. 

I never believed what happened in our house was bad. I didn't think it was a big deal. I acutally thought it was normal...that something was wrong with me for all the beatings and name calling. But my sister forced me to look at the truth.....forced me to see the impact it had.

Connecting with her has helped me heal...espeically from some of the shame. She knew the truth. I guessed at it. She confirmed what was in my head....I thought I had made it up. 

Recently she's been telling me she's sorry...sorry for not being there to help me...sorry for leaving me with him...for watching me fall so far down with no one to help.  She tells me I'm a miracle....her inspiration. I think she is too. 

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.

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.

Hunger for Love and Acceptance

"Hunger is not only for a piece of bread, but for love. Homelessness is not only not having a home, but for being rejected and unwanted." Mother Theresa

For years I walked around with a profound sense of homesickness, an inner ache, a desperate yearning to go home. I felt it deep inside my gut and for years, I couldn't shake that twisting knotting in the pit of my stomach. Nothing took it away, - not relationships, not material things, not drugs, - nothing. I think now it was a hunger, a ravenous hunger for love and acceptance.

Everything I had been taught, told me I was nothing, worthless, bad. Images constantly rolled over in my head of my father spitting at me when he was in his rages, calling me names - garbage, retarded, worthless, - picking up furniture and throwing it at me, punching and slapping me and telling me it hurt him more than it hurt me; .....my mother beating me with a stick, teasing me, telling me I was stupid, an idiot, I couldn't talk right, walk right, breath right....I often wondered what was wrong with me that they hated me so much.

I wandered the streets, shooting dope, sometimes three and four times a day. I didn't care. My friend who I shot up kept telling me I wasn't shooting to get high, I was shooting to kill myself. He was right. I believed I had no right to exist.

One day I was in a fire. It was my fault. I accidently dropped the lit match I used to heat up the dope. My dog saved me. She grabbed me with her teeth and pulled me onto the balcony. A cop who had been looking out for me, heard what happened and came to see me at the hospital. He bought me clothes and when I was discharged, rented a place for us to move into together. He tried to help me. He told me over and over he loved me but I couldn't feel it. I didn't understand what he was saying. The amount of self-loathing I had was stronger than his love.

While I was with him, I was pulled into the rapist's house. He held me there for six months. He told me he loved me but he wouldn't let me go. And he hurt me. He hurt me really badly. Somehow I survived. I don't know how but I did. I never told anyone what happened or where I had been. I thought I deserved it. I thought it was my fault.

Then God touched me; cut through the pain, broke the chains holding me so tight. He took away the drug addiction but not the deep ache inside. That didn't go away. I couldn't let people get close. They would see what I knew, - they would see how worthless I was.

God never gave up on me. His love was so gentle. Some days I didn't care if He killed me. On those days when I felt wild, out of control, - when I ripped razor blades down my arms, or punched my head to make the memories stop, or held my head over the toilet throwing up over and over and over because I didn't believe I had the right to eat or live, - He was there, beside me, waiting. He never let me go. He waited. He stayed. Some days, I begged Him to kill me, to let me go but He didn't. He waited patiently. He waited until I was ready.

I live with gratitude, - gratitude that God didn't listen to me, that He let me live, that somehow He freed me.

I owe my life to Him. He broke through the emptiness and the pain and helped me to feel His love. I feel it. I feel it all the time. That feeling of homesickness is gone. That sense I'm worthless, garbage, - gone.

I want to help other people find freedom. I want them to know what I found out, that there is hope and there is freedom and God's love can break through anything and redeem it. Most of my friends have no idea what I lived. I don't want them to know but something inside me is compelling me to tell, - I think it's my love for God, my gratitude to Him. I need to tell.

"The soul is healing by being with children." Fyodor Dostoyevsky

My kids are the absolute best. In some weird way, they have helped me heal from the pain of the past.

When I had my oldest, I was terrified I would hurt her and do to her what was done to me. While she slept, I locked myself in the bathroom, turned off the light and in the dark, knelt down on the floor. I begged God to help me not to hurt her. I was terrified. I heard those who were abused, abuse their children. I spent hours in that bathroom, on the floor, begging God to help me never to harm my child. I pleaded with Him to teach me how to be a good mother. I didn't know how. I didn't know what I was supposed to do. All I knew was this innocent little creature depended on me to give her what she needed. I felt so overwhelmed, so afraid.

On days I felt exhausted and impatient, when the building tension inside me needed a release, I cut myself, or threw up, - the only ways I knew to be strong and not fall apart.

I became aware of the power I had over this child. She was so small, so vulnerable, so trusting - I watched her grow, each year of her life more awesome than the previous. It amazed me to see how freely she moved in her body, how easily she laughed and chatted, how safe she felt in her world. I prayed over and over, "God, don't let me ever take that away from her."

Watching her, I saw me as a child; - terrified - hiding, afraid, hating everything about who and what I was. Hating my body, - believing it was my enemy; Unable to speak, - my words caught in my throat; anxious, on guard, - always petrified of getting hurt.

With each stage of her life, I saw myself,- at eight hiding under the balcony, in dark corners biting my arms, slicing deep gashes on my skin, shooting dope into my arms, refusing to eat, living on edge, trying desperately to avoid getting caught, getting hurt.

Then something strange and wonderful happened. I learned to play. I don't know exactly when or how, I just did. All this energy inside me wanted to come out in positive ways. I took my kids into the woods and together we felt the power of nature. The deer came out and the blueherons and my kids went nuts. I went nuts with them. We climbed to the top of the mountains and then we chased each other all the way down to the bottom. I took them to hideouts, and neat secret places that became our places to dream, to talk, to laugh, to bond.

I have never called my kids names, or hurt them. When I'm having a bad day and become irritable and impatient, I apologize to them, letting them know it's me and not them. Since they were little, I have told them I am the luckiest mom in the world to have been blessed with the greatest kids ever.


Teachers, friends and neighbours tell me all the time how amazing they are, how good, and kind and wonderful. God had heard me. He helped me learn how to be a good mom. Yesterday my teenage daughter told me I rock, that I'm her best friend, that she loves me to the moon and back a gazillion times.

My kids have no idea what I lived. I used to think if they did know, they would hate me. I don't think that anymore. I think maybe they would be proud of their mom for having survived and overcome what I have. One day, I'll tell them. For today, I just want to build courage and strength in them and to make sure they know they are completely accepted and respected for who they are.

"Love is not a feeling. It's a behaviour." Oprah Winfrey

'I love you,' my father said. Then he beat me and called me filthy names. 'I love you,' my father said. Then he locked me alone in the car for hours in the worst part of town. 'I love you,' my father said. Then he shoved his fist in my face and forced me to eat even when I kept throwing up. 'I love you,' my father said. Then he held me down on the bed.......

'I love you,' the rapist said. Then he punched me so hard, my spleen ruptured. 'I love you,' the rapist said. Then he held me down and did what he wanted. 'I love you,' the rapist said. Then he locked me in a cold dark room and wouldn't let me go.

'I love you,' God said. Then He patiently waited until I was ready to trust Him. 'I love you,' God said. Then He broke the hold of the drug addiction. 'I love you,' God said. Then He calmed my anger and hatred. 'I love you,' God said. Then He healed my heart with His gentle touch. 'I love you,' God said. Then He freed me from the shame and fear.

Just because someone claims they love you, doesn't mean they really do. I think the wires in my head got all mixed up when I was a kid. I thought what happened was normal, that everyone lived on edge, fighting to avoid getting beaten, living like someone in a war zone, in chaos, tension and confusion. I believed whatever happened was because something was wrong with me. I didn't know what was being done was wrong. I didn't know they had no right to do what they did. All I knew was it made me crazy. It made me want to punish myself in ways that nearly killed me. It pushed me over the edge, making me act impulsively, full of anger and not caring what happened.

But then I learned love doesn't hurt. I learned it's patient, kind and forgiving. I learned it's not jealous or full of pride or resentful or rude or demanding of its own way.

I never knew. No one had told me or showed me the truth about love. I figured it out as I went, but I had figured it out all wrong. Then God touched me and He showed me. He brought safe people into my life, but I resisted them, pushing them away, still needing to hide, afraid of getting hurt, not trusting. It took so long. But then I got it.

When love is real, not only does it not hurt, but it's like a balm that feels soothing on the inside and brings amazing healing and relief. I learned love doesn't keep a list of wrongs, so I chose to forgive and move forward. I want to shine so others can feel the touch of love from me. I want my life to reflect the truth of what love really is and find healing and freedom in their lives.

Comfortable With Yourself

"The worse loneliness is not to be comfortable with yourself." Mark Twain

For too long I walked around feeling as if I weren't attached to myself, almost as if I was outside my body walking beside it rather then actually being in it. Being separate and not a part of who I was, was a totally weird sensation. It's almost like floating through the world; - not being grounded.

My body wasn't safe. I felt like it betrayed me. It allowed all the abuse, - the beatings, the kidnap and the rape to happen. In my mind, just being seen and having a female body caused the violence. It was my enemy. I fought with myself, trying to force the fear and terror to go away - I fought against myself to be strong, but I was afraid, so afraid I couldn't stand it. The fear forced me to pull more and more into myself and away from reality.

As a kid, I willed myself to disappear until I couldn't feel anything. I lived in my head, in fantasies that took me to another place, a safe place. A place where no one could hurt me. But even that stopped working at some point. I needed to find something stronger, more effective that lifted me out of the pain and shame and fear. So I cut myself, ripped open my skin, injected my body full of dope and forced myself to throw up even if I ate one small bite of something. I told myself, I wasn't allowed to exist. I had been told over and over I deserved nothing, I was garbage, worthless, ungrateful. I believed it. Words are so powerful. I lived on those words, falling deeper and deeper into a dark hole that became harder and harder to get out of.

And then, He touched me. He pulled me up and out of that pit of hell. In a hospital emergency room, where I lay under oxygen - the damage I had done to my body extensive - He touched me. He redeemed me. He breathed life into me. I felt it. I knew something supernatural had happened. It was powerful. So powerful I stopped using the drugs. Right from that moment. Fourteen years of shooting up, three and four times a day,- Gone - Over - because of His touch.

I don't know why He chose to free me. Why me? I'm no more special than anyone else. I thought of friends who died, friends who took their own lives or accidentally overdosed, - why me? Why did He let me live? I don't understand but I am determined now to to look back, as painful as it is, for one purpose, - to reach out and help someone else caught in their own cycle of torment. There is hope. There is freedom - For me, I found it in Him. When nothing else worked, He did. He touched me. He changed me. He turned the light of His love on. The darkness left. The fear went. Now I live with tremendous joy and gratitude.

Overcoming Hatred

"Hatred can be overcome only by love." Mahatma Ghandi

For years I walked around with so much hate and anger in me. I hated what my parents did to me. I hated the way they shamed me, beat me, made me feel less than human. And I hated the system that claimed they could help me. They were like my parents,- shaming, punishing, bullying.

I was arrested for drug possession. My social worker convinced the judge to let me do the time on a locked pysch ward instead of prison. Being on that ward,- that place of misery pushed me further into myself and broke me even more. Their methods of forcing me to conform were brutal. The chemical and physical restrains took away any shred of dignity I may have had. My brain became dull from the medications, the fight in me subdued, but the hatred grew. Hatred for them, for me, and for everyone who had hurt me.

One time they strapped me to a bed by my arms and legs for some minor infraction. They kept me there for two days like a chained animal, allowing me up only to go to the washroom. At mealtimes, they wouldn't untie my arms. A staff came in to feed me. Humiliated; I refused to eat. I hated them. I despised them. My anger grew. I wanted to hurt them, punish them in some way like they were doing to me.

Instead, I cut into my flesh, trying to rip myself apart, desperate to pull out the bad, the part of me everyone kept telling me was horrible and wrong. Scars formed on my body, but I didn't care, because they were already in my heart and soul and mind.

Hatred and anger became a way of life. It drove me. It fueled the fight in me. I turned on myself with a vengeance. My arms were full of bruises and marks from biting myself and cutting my skin open. The blood oozing out was my salvation, the thing that released the building tension inside me. My blood, a proof of life, that I was still alive.

Blood? That's what finally turned my life around. The blood. His blood. The blood He shed for me so I wouldn't have to hurt myself anymore. Like me, He too was beaten, shamed, ridiculed. He never opened his mouth. He never fought back. That amazed me. How could He not? They laughed at Him, mocked Him, and He said nothing, nothing except, "Father, forgive them...."

Hearing that, my anger began to subside. Thoughts of revenge slowly became thoughts of forgiveness. It's hard to forgive, to let go of the brutality of what some people did - but to not forgive is worse.

I want my life to reflect His love. He loved me when I couldn't love myself. He loved me when I was wild, out of control and bent on self-destruction. I don't fully get how He did that, but I am so grateful for the gentleness of His love that broke the chains that kept me stuck.

Friends

"If I don't have friends, I ain't got nothing." Billi Holiday

I'm overwhelmed. Tonight my friend, Debbie called. Her voice in a panic. Begged me to come over and to hurry. I went. I wasn't prepared for the surprise party she had thrown for me. Even my sister and her husband drove the eight hours to come. They all chipped in and bought me the mountain bike I wanted. It had all the bells and whistles.

I wanted to run. I wanted to hide. I didn't want the attention. I didn't want the focus on me. I, who have spent a lifetime hiding, not wanting to be seen. Here were about thirty of my friends focusing on me. My first thought - I don't deserve this.

Later that night, after everyone left, Debbie told me, 'I would do anything for you. God brought me into your life because He wants to heal you completely.'

I met Debbie online. In a writers critique group. She read an excerpt of my book. I didn't tell her my real name. She emailed me and said she lives twenty minutes away. She wanted to talk. I panicked. I gave her my number. She called. I told her my real name. She wanted to meet. I couldn't. She knew too much. We emailed. We talked on the phone. She asked if I would ever meet her. Three months later, we finally met - In the park. Over the next few months she read more of my story. She wanted to know details. I couldn't talk. I hesitated. My words faltered. I started a sentence, then stopped. She encouraged me. Then begged me to come over to her place. We sat opposite each other, I unable to have her look at me. The shame was too great. She respected my need and talked with her face turned away from me. Over the next few months, we got close. Really close. We talked everyday. I told her things I had never told anyone. Things that happened. Horrible things. She said it made her care about me even more. She said our friendship to her is like David and Jonathon in the Bible.

My daughter told me on the drive home from the party, "Mom, you have some great friends." I do. I really do. I have been afraid of letting them get too close, afraid they would see the shame, afraid they would know my past and hate me. So I kept them at a distance.

My friends are awesome people. Each one of them. I still don't know how God did it. Took me out of a lifestyle of hopelessness and misery and brought me into one of love, friendship and family. The Bible says God came to set the captives free. It's true. He really did.

Telling the Truth

"We know the truth, not only by the reason, but by the heart." Blasie Pascal

For years, I refused to tell the truth of what happened, even to myself. For some reason, I was afraid to admit it, to believe it took place. My body knew though. The shame and fear lived inside me. It made me sick. It made me want to hurt myself, throw up, hide. And my body hurt in weird ways. I walked around feeling like puking all the time. My head itched from a rash that refused to go away and I had terrible migraines that forced me to spend even more time alone in darkness.

Truth - how could I not know or admit the awfulness of what took place? I minimized, I said it wasn't so bad. I said the abusers were only doing the best they could, that they didn't mean to do what they did. But I couldn't look anyone in their eyes. I knew if they saw into mine, they would see how bad and awful I was. They would hate me and be disgusted, so I hid. The shame tormented me. For years I tried to dance around it. I pretended what happened didn't really take place or it wasn't that bad.

Then someone told me the rapist's son killed himself. I learned of the brutality of what was done to him. It reminded me of what had been done to me, how I fought to get away from him with no one to help me. I survived. That boy didn't. And something in me knew I needed to tell. No one protected that boy. No one helped him. My sister returned from overseas. She called me everyday telling me the abuse was horrific that we suffered as children.

It felt like God was giving my head a good shake. When I was a child being beaten and bullied, I lived in a make believe world. I told myself if I were good, very good, my parents would stop hurting me. I told myself if I helped them, they would love me. I tried really hard to be what they wanted, to give them whatever they needed. I became really good at reading them, focusing all my attention on being there for them. The problem, - in doing that, I cut myself off from me. I became lost and it took years to find my way back.

Every time they punched or slapped me, threw something at me that left my body in pain and with big black bruises, every verbal assault that told me how bad, stupid and wrong I was, every fist in my face forcing me to eat even while I threw up,-in my child's mind, I believed they were good people. It was me. I was bad, wrong, undeserving. I defended them, stood up for them if anyone said bad things against them.

God waited until I could talk. He waited until I was strong enough. He waited until He knew I would tell. Last year, when that boy committed suicide and I knew no one had helped him, I promised God I would tell the truth. If telling what I went through can help someone so they don't have to live years lost in darkness, - then I want to do that.

At first telling the truth hurt. I felt like I was falling apart. I retreated into the woods. I spent most of my time running through the forest, hiding in its safety. There God comforted me. He told me its ok now to tell the truth. It's ok to admit what happened. I felt His presence. I heard the gentle whisper of His love. I came home after running and wrote. I struggling in writing. I didn't want to say everything. God nudged me. I saw that boy in my mind taking his life. I wrote the truth.

Funny thing about speaking the truth. My body felt better. The migraines have gone. That rash on my head, isn't there anymore. I feel lighter, better, freer. Someone once said, if we don't scream, our bodies will. Someone else said, "and you will know the truth and the truth will set you free."

The Art of Breathing

"Breathe DEEP!" The Snuggly Fabric Softener Bear

For years I walked around holding my breath. I was pertrified of being hurt so I learned to hold myself rigid, on guard, on edge... waiting.

I spent hours hiding - crouching in the dark, in a corner in the basement, under the balcony, in the closet - staying very still, quiet - not breathing.... I needed to hear, to be aware of every sound, to be ready. If I was ready, I could take it, I could handle whatever happened. I waited for hours like an animal being stalked by its prey. The waiting made me sick. My head hurt, I threw up. I bit my arms until they bled... to force myself to stay vigilant, to stay strong.

I grew up and continued to hold my breath. I lived on the edge. Reckless, wild. Life hurt. It hurt really bad.

A few years after God touched me, I went to see a Christian counselor. She looked at me and said, "you're not breathing. You're holding your breath. Breathe! Let go!" Her words made me afraid. To let go meant to trust that I would be safe. I went home after seeing her and threw up and cut my arms. I couldn't let go. I couldn't trust. Experience taught me the world was not safe. To let my guard down meant I might not survive.

Time passed. I continued to see that counselor. She kept telling me it's ok now to breathe. In the quietness of my house, in the darkness, alone - I let go. I let myself breathe. I survived. I went back to see her and told her. She asked me to show her, right there in her office - to breathe with her. To trust. I did.

I know God led me to that counselor. He used her to bring me out of a place that I had gotten lost in. She taught me to trust. She helped me feel safe, something I had never known before.... Safety. Feeling safe... helped me to breathe again.

From the moment God touched me, I trusted Him. How could I not? He cut the chains that wrapped around me, choking the life from me. He freed me. He took away the drug addiction. He took away the needles, the dope ...the highs that made me crazy and the lows that made me suicidal. They held me a prisoner for fourteen years, shooting up three and four times a day. He broke their hold over me so I trusted Him. He led me to others like that counselor. He wanted to help me learn to feel safe in the world. He wanted to help me learn to breathe again.

I was 12 when I started the drugs. By 14 I was shooting up. Life was dark. Ugly. The police, the courts, social workers sent me to jail, to hospitals, to rehab. Nothing worked. Only God. He did what nothing else could. He broke the hold of darkness and taught me to breathe, taught me to feel safe, helped me connect first to Him, then to myself, then to others.