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.

Hope

"If you lose hope, somehow you lose the vitality that keeps life moving, you lose that courage to be, that quality that helps you go on in spite of it all. And so today I still have a dream." Martin Luther King, Jr.

We were about the same age. Both of us stuck on a locked pysch ward. Me - to serve out my sentence for drug possession; her - I don't know. They said she was an attention seeker. She didn't look any different than anyone else, but one morning, she poured lighter fluid over her body and lit a match. Her shrill screams, the smell of burning flesh and the sight of the flames engulfing her terrified me. Once medically stable, they threw her in an isolation room. I didn't get that. Why did they punish her? It was a pretty desperate act just to get attention. Why couldn't they just give her the attention?

They didn't know I had been raped or beaten. They didn't know I had been told so many times I deserved nothing and called horrible names. All they knew is I couldn't stop hurting myself, or shooting dope or throwing up. So they pumped me full of pills or tied me to the bed like an animal. What they did was instill more hate inside me. And all that hate made me hurt myself even more.

You can't force anyone to stop self-destructive behaviour. Stopping comes only from feeling safe, feeling accepted, feeling cared about.

It's like the story of the sun and the wind. They had an arguement to see who was stronger - who could make the man take off his coat. The wind blew and tried to force the coat from the man, but only when the sun shone it's warmth, did the man remove his jacket.

The warmth of God's touch cut through my pain, my hate, my fear. It didn't happen all at once. It took time. Time for me to feel safe. Time for me to trust. First, He broke the hold of the drug addiciton. I stopped shooting dope but I still wouldn't eat and I cut myself all the time. I used to scream at God, You want to kill me? Then go ahead. Do it. I don't care. Do it already! I dare you to kill me. In the gentleness of His love, He overlooked my attitude.

Hope. I want to reach out in gentleness like God did for me. Maybe what I lived can give hope to others who live in the dark.

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.