Pleasure

"I sometimes wonder whether all pleasures are not joy." C.S. Lewis. 

 I hate cooking. I don' t know how to throw things together to make something great. I eat simple....usually the same things everyday. I grew up not having anyone help me.....teach me....show me how to experience 'normal' eating....or even sharing mealtimes together. And I lived on the streets...runnning, hiding....eating whatever and whenever I could. 

Tonight I bought one of those taco packages because the kids have been bugging me for them. I wouldn't eat it. I didn't like the smell of the taco or of the meat. But the kids went crazy....trying it all kinds of ways, grating cheese....then melting the cheese....my youngest loving the flavour of the meat...both running back and forth into the kitchen to heat up more tacos or get more toppings....squealing with laughter....chattering happily. 

I ate yogurt....mixed with cereal and blueberries...watching them...fascinated with their delight.  There was something about the way they handled the food....their joy....their laughter...experimenting with the different things set out on the table....it all made me feel strange. 

I didn't know what that strangeness was....I thought...maybe I'm still carrying that belief I have no right to 'touch' life....or experience it in ways that bring pleasure. 

"Pleasure." That's it.....living life with pleasure. I don't know how. How do I let go and enjoy an experience.  All I know is how to focus on a goal....a cause....a fight....a struggle that needs to be overcome. 

Pleasure....it sounds foreign....But I want it. I want to experience its freedom....and have the joy I saw in my children. I don't know if there's a step, a transition...a way to attain it...a level that I have no idea how to reach. 

Pleasure....simple pleasure...joy....a new concept to me... a new goal...something I never thought of....never considered....I've been a fighter...fighting my way through life.  

Letting go...trusting the process of life....I wonder if that's it....if that's what I've been afraid to do. Feeling completely safe enough to let go and simply enjoy....

The Voice of the Heart

"Words are the voice of the heart." Confucius

I thought I was bad, wrong, unworthy of anything good....Over and over my parents called me garbage, idiot, stupid. They told me I was worthless and deserved nothing. They ridiculed everything about me - the way I walked - the way I talked - and what I did. I believed what they said. Their words became the voice of my heart. I lived them. I ran on them.

The power of their words led me into situations that almost killed me. The power of their words took me down a path of self-destruction. They became ingrained in my spirit. They became a part of who I was. I couldn't shake them.

I didn't know they were lies. I had heard them so often I accepted them as truth.

I think words have energy - a power in them that can lift beyond what I think I'm capable of or they can bring me to down to the lowest edge of life.

My parent's words took me deep into darkness - drugs, eating disorder, self-harm. They led me into dangerous situations - situations like being held and raped. Their words became the fuel for my self-hatred, the fuel that drove me to descend deeper and deeper into pain.

Somehow though, God broke through the darkness. I learned the words my parents had told me were lies. Lies that had become so cemented inside me I couldn't shake free of them. Even though I knew they were lies they continued to gnaw at me, tearing at me inside until I had to rip my arms or throw up to relieve their pull to tear me down.

Those words have been the hardest to fight - the hardest to overcome.

Words - I want to be careful to use my words to speak kindness, gentleness and peace. I want to be careful to use my words to empower others and to never tear down anyone or make them feel less than who they are.

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.

Pride

"Pride makes us artificial and humility makes us real." Thomas Merton

In spite of all the drugs I did and the many times I had my head bashed against a wall, I went back to school - to university. Got on the dean's honor list. I thought they made a mistake. I thought I didn't deserved it. I thought if they realized they had given it to me they would take it back.

I struggled to talk in school. I couldn't stand up in front of the class. I couldn't even stand up at my seat or even answer a question. I was afraid of being seen - afraid of being noticed. If I opened my mouth everyone would know that I had no idea what I was saying, that I didn't make any sense.

I couldn't stand up and talk, but I could write. When I write I don't have to prove myself. I don't have to convince anyone of anything. I don't have to stumble and falter and look stupid. No one's looking at me. No one's judging me. When I write, I'm free.

I've always felt like a fraud. I always thought, if people knew........... so I pretended what happened never did. I pushed everything down and copied other people, how they acted, moved and talked. I did all the 'normal' things everyone else did. Then I came home and threw up and cut my arms forcing myself to be strong. Continuing to live a lie.

I never wanted to tell anyone in my life where I came from. Hardly anyone knows. It was so bad that I've been afraid of what people would think of me. Pride. I think I have a lot of pride. Bad pride. The kind that keeps you from living the way God wants. Funny thing about pretending - it keeps you in a cycle of shame - hiding from the world and even from yourself. Somehow I had convinced myself what happened wasn't so bad.

A friend of mine knows I've been writing. She told me last night she can't wait to read my book. I told her I don't know if I want her to see it. She said, It won't change the way I think of you. But I'm not so sure. Pride. I've always worried what people will think of me if I tell them all the stuff that happened. Pride. I want to be real. I don't want to pretend anymore.

My book will be published soon. People will know. They'll know the truth. My friend told me yesterday her church is considering having me speak. She's on the women's committee and she told them about me. She gave them my blog and a copy of the radio program I did. Everyone will know.

When I'm alone I feel God. I feel his presence. His gentle touch. I can't live in silence anymore. I owe that to Him. Maybe I owe it to me too. And if my telling helps just one person find peace and freedom, then the shame of telling versus that of staying quiet is worth it.

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."

"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.

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."