Giving Back

"Feel the fear and do it anyways." Susan Jeffers

I need to thank you guys. I got into a horrible slump - doubted everything I was working towards - After I posted, I was totally blown away by your responses. I am humbled by your support, your kindness and your encouragement. Thanks guys. Thank you so much.  I still have doubts...and fears....but I'm going forward. I'm hoping what I wrote...what I lived may make a difference for someone.....I want to make a difference. I want to reach back....I want to give hope to someone feeling like there's no way out. I still remember those feelings and thinking death was the only way to find peace...


I remember some of my friends who didn't survive the streets, the drugs, the pain....some took their own lives....others died accidently.  They didn't see a way out of the fight. They couldn't hold on. Sometimes I wonder why I survived and they didn't.
All I know  -  when He touched me....He made the difference. He didn't let me die.  I weighed less than  90 pounds -  my heart could have stopped; I used to walk on the top ledges of buildings thinking I was invincible. I could have fallen to my death. He didn't let me. Things happened - terrible things - things that taught me to hate....that hatred pushed me to fight back - to strike out.....That hatred became my strength. Many times I lay in the dark - unable to move - my body hurting so bad - feeling weak - desperate for a fix....thinking of ways to end it all....to let go and give in to the darkness. He wouldn't let me.

Arrested for drug possession, my social worker thought it would be easier for me to serve the time on a locked ward of a mental hospital than in prison. Her intentions were good, but I was terrified of the 'crazy' people - strange looking people who paced up and down the dingy hallways muttering to themselves, shaking their fists in the air, carrying on conversations with no one....Others did weird things like one guy who misinterpreted the Bible - 'if your eye offends you...pluck it out.' He did. Alone in his house, he cut his eye out of its socket - then drove himself to the hospital. And some of the staff used their power to humilate and hurt... I learned to hate even more in that place. But I also learned something else - something from the 'crazy' people - they taught me compassion. Their stories were sad. It wasn't their fault they were sick. I learned compassion from them. They taught me not to judge...to be kind....to look beyond the external.....

Courage - I never thought I had any. I thought I was a wimp, a chicken - hiding from the world, not wanting to be seen, running scared.
Courage - I think now I do have some - maybe I always did. Maybe my fighting, my push against those awful things was a sign of courage...I had always thought courage would feel different - strong, confident  - now though, I think you can be scared and not feel very brave and still have courage.

I really do want to make a difference - a difference for others - giving hope and maybe helping people trapped in the darkness find their way out.

He let me live. I want my life to reflect the kindness He gave me... I want Him to use what I lived - I want to give back.....

Thank-you

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

Whoa! When I woke up and read your comments the day after I posted - I kept thinking - where did these guys come from. Your support - your kindness - your words encouraged me. All day I held your comments - thinking about them. They made me strong. 

Thank-you. You guys are the best. The absolute best!

Darn that rejection. I hate that it made me sink so low but your words gave me the fight I needed to hit back.

This year so many things happened - things that made me believe God wanted me to write. Write about what I could never tell. As I wrote it hit me how bad things had been - how far down God had reached to pull me out -
 
I connected with the rapist's son - I connected with people who knew what happened -

And something else - I went back to that house where the rapist held me. I stood there  - shocked at how close the neighbour's homes were. How come no one heard? How come no one saw? How come no one came to help?

The six foot high fence that had wove around the property was gone. That gate I had somehow managed to climb over - in the middle of winter - in ankle deep snow - with no shoes, no boots, no coat......

  A man came out. The cleaner. I told him I had lived there once. Would he let me inside?  He said yes. He let me me go through every room, open every door - even take pictures.  I asked about a coach house with a room upstairs. He told me its been renovated. He led me to the back of the house. Brought me to that room. That room - where I had been dragged, held, banged on the door until my hands hurt - desperate to be free. 

I felt like a holocust survivor returning to the camps. It had happened. It was real. 

I survived. 

There is a strength in me - a fight - a determination. In the past I used drugs, threw up, cut myself. Today I am finding the courage to tell - to turn the light on for others to survive - for others to be free. 

Kindness in the Journey

"The greatest work that kindness does to others is that it makes them kind to themselves." Amelia Earhart

Your comments really touched me. I never thought of myself as being brave. I've been afraid to be real, to be seen. -

Many of you have gone through or are going through your own pain, your own trauma - yet you give me strength in mine. I hope I do the same for you. I want to.

I've lived as two people. One free - One not. Those things that happened - live inside me - Never telling anyone because I believed it was all my fault. I thought I deserved it. And I didn't think anyone would even believe me.

Writing - blogging has given me a voice. I need to tell - I want someone to know what happened.

For a long time I struggled to be strong. To not show weakness. I didn't realized being strong had become a weakness - a weakness because I couldn't let people see me. I couldn't let anyone get too close. Not telling created a wall of shame. I was afraid to be seen. I couldn't look anyone in their eyes - in case they saw - what I knew...that something was wrong with me - that I was bad.

I was loyal to those who hurt me. I never charged the rapist. I was afraid. Instead I used drugs. I threw up. I cut myself. - I never told.

One day God touched me. He took away the addiction to drugs. I still threw up. I still cut myself. I still couldn't tell. I told myself it wasn't so bad. And some days I wondered if any of it even happened.

I started writing. A year ago. And I connected to people. People who knew. I learned I could still charge him. I found out he had spent time in prison for rape. I talked to a court support worker. She told me how courts worked. It's hard. I may not win. He may not be convicted.

Somedays I feel strong. I think I can stand up and do what I need - most days though, I still hide.

If what I went through - what I know - how I survived can help one person - then maybe it had purpose. I'm trying to get the courage to tell - to speak what happened. I'm practising here - with you guys. Thank-you for letting me do this.