I am struggling today. I feel lost in my own mind and I fear I may go mad if I do not connect with someone. I need desperately to get outside of my own head. It feels dangerous and crowded in here. I do anything, everything to distract myself, to be ok – but none of it is working today. I had this idea in my mind that I would go out to eat after work and sit and sip a nice coffee while I read and was totally at peace with myself and my surroundings… I would get lost in the moment and allow myself to relax in a public setting. I would dine alone with relish at the space – all the room for my own thoughts and ideas and creative urges… I brought along my journal and was READY. I was prepared for great inspiration and deep connecting to my heart. What I actually did was drive between 3 different restaurants in a fit of indecision for about half an hour before deciding to eat at a place I’ve never heard of just because it was getting late and I was verging on panic. So I parked and went inside. It was quiet, only a hand-full of other diners – that is, until I got there. Apparently the dinner rush came right behind me and the place transformed from a quiet haven to a bustling noisy nerve-jangling room full of voices and smells of food and bodies. Now, I know the place was not as full as my mind was making it out to be – but in my anxiety-filled state of mind it felt like a crowd pressing upon me… so no peace. I ate fast and got out of there. Next I figured I could at least go to the nearest coffee shop and pull up a chair and be politely ignored while I read or journal. I arrived at Starbucks (not exactly what I had in mind but I’m still learning my way around this town) and ordered with confidence and sat at a tall table in the tiny coffee shop. I read a chapter of my book (although, in retrospect, I cannot tell you what I read) and sipped my mocha. I made myself read slowly and to sip my drink with apparent relish… but I was not fooling myself. My heart raced, my palms were sweaty and I was hyper aware of every person in the room and through the corner of my eye kept tabs on the people around me. Will I ever get beyond this need to look over my shoulder? Will I ever not feel his eyes on me? Will I ever stop listening for his footsteps coming up behind me? Will I ever forget the feel of his rough hands, stubbled chin…the smell of his after-shave? Will I ever purge myself of this man? Will I ever be able to stay in the moment without escaping into the nearest distraction? Will I ever feel at home in my own skin again? Will I ever stop feeling like a disappointment, a failure? Will his voice ever leave my ears? What ifs plague me. What if he haunts me my entire life. What if I never get better? What if … what if …
Tag Archive: abuse
I feel like I am about to go completely crazy. Have you ever wanted something…wished so hard for it you thought your heart would break? I feel that way right now. I am longing for healing, longing for freedom, longing for wholeness… longing so deeply that I can scarcely breathe. I want to run away – start a new life somewhere far away where no one knows my name, where my past will not haunt me. I want to feel safe in my own skin again. I want to dream and dare. I am tired of that anxious feeling…that bees buzzing in my chest feeling…that sense of impending doom that pervades my life. I know that every day is not this bad. I know that I am healing steadily every day. I know that my life is better today than it has ever been and I know the best is yet to come. But despite all of that – I still have days like this… days when I cannot calm down… days when I feel so fragile – like my feelings are barely beneath the surface and the least unkind work, look, gesture will bring me to tears. I hate days like this…I hate feeling so vulnerable around perfect strangers. Sanity feels elusive on days like this. Like it is draining like sand from an hour glass… and I am running out of time.
To the person who refuses to get it
To the person who cannot see me through the mask of his own making
To the person who calls ME the monster
To the person who thinks this blog was written to hurt HIS family
You know who you are –
You Repel Me (to quote Sherlock)
You disappoint me.
You are not my judge – you are not my jury – you are not fit to judge me and you have no freaking idea what you are talking about. Don’t act all wounded and expect me to buy it. Don’t pretend righteous outrage and expect me to pity you or to cower before you. Don’t be surprised when I fight back. I’m not the person you knew. Don’t make the mistake of thinking that you know me or that you have ANY right to my life…. any right to know me, to speak to me or to comment on my life in any medium. You lost any right – any claim you may have had on my life – years ago. You think Dad is so wonderful? Where were you when he was talking about testifying on Eddie’s behalf as a character witness? You think Mom is a victim? How many times have you heard her stand up for herself but allow him to bull-doze over us? You think you know me? Think again. I am no going to go along with you and pretend our family was this happy family. I am not going to pretend that Dad saying “I’m sorry if I did anything to hurt you.” is an actual apology. I am not going to pretend that Mom playing the role of the weak wounded woman is going to move me in the face of the life I’ve lived through. You do not know me. You have no idea what I am capable of. You are not welcome here. You do not want to know my heart, my thoughts? Then don’t ever come back – don’t read another word. Just walk away – it’s what you are good at.
Forked tongue spits death
thinly disguised as kindness.
Poison heart spews bile.
How is it that you
are by him so deeply loved,
yet feel only hate?
We found this snake in our yard…he’s beautiful and harmless – unlike the subject of this poem
I’ve been gone from here for over a year… and it’s been a tumultuous year. I’ve been hunkered down in severe self-protection mode hiding from the world and afraid to put my heart back out there…but I cannot live this way. I was never meant to. I was meant to live a life of passion. An old therapist of mine once told me that when he met me two words immediately sprang to mind…. “Sleeping Giant” Well…this giant is waking up… and I refuse to remain in this state of fear. So look out, world… I’m awake and ready to stretch my legs once more.
I took this photograph of a Blue Morpho this year….broken and beautiful still
Shaking inside I wake – afraid
and I stare into the darkness
wondering if you lie awake at night
and think about me….
Do you ever wonder if
you could have done better? Or
do you rest easy in your shroud of self-
righteousness and assume you are god?
Here is my heart…. take it
eat it…throw it away… break
it in two… love it… hate it…
just stop refusing to SEE it.
It is hard for me when I think about how Eddie’s abuse affected me. I hate that his actions have had such an influence over my life. It has tainted how I view people. It has made it nearly impossible to trust anyone – even myself. I feel isolated much of the time – afraid that if people really knew me they wouldn’t want anything to do with me. Because of what Eddie did I feel dirty and broken inside and that is not fair. I feel like I am always waiting for the other shoe to drop – waiting to be abandoned and forgotten. I grew up feeling invisible – I became the perfect chameleon, it’s how I survived.
I am still affected by his abuse today – I am so broken and so afraid. I cannot function in a healthy relationship without constant guidance and reassurance. I am afraid to have sex because I dont’ want my marriage tainted by Eddie’s touches. I don’t want to think of his hands touching me when I should be enjoying my husband’s caress. Because of the abuse I suffered as a child I feel powerless and tainted and worthless. My life is still affected in so many areas. I struggle in my marriage because I am unable to accept and trust love and affection. I am affected in my job because I struggle to find my voice. I am affected in my relationship with my family because I am still so afraid of them and I still feel crazy around them – crazy and so small.
One strength I developed because of the abuse is empathy. I truly have a heart for the suffering. I have a strongly developed sixth sense about people and their intentions. It has helped me survive. I developed a tender and caring heart and a strong desire to fight for the weak. I developed and artistic eye and a desire to make the world beautiful. I developed a rich imagination and a poet’s heart. I escaped into words, books and dreams. I found a way to wring pleasure out of almost any small thing – whether it is a gift or just the sight of a butterfly. I am a strong woman. I had to be to survive my childhood. I locked myself away inside the warehouse of my mind and kept myself save in there between the dusty shelves. If I survived this I can do anything. I WILL make it out of this. I WILL get better. I will heal. I am worth fighting for. I can do this.
Father, I thank you for the strength You gave me to overcome my past. I invite you into my heart, into my healing, into my broken places and into my marriage. Come, Jesus. Make the broken whole again…
Excerpt from The Courage to Heal pg xxiv ~” Time will dull the pain, but deep healing doesn’t happen uness you consciously choose it”~
John Eldridge says in his book Wild at Heart that “A wound unfelt is a wound unhealed.” So I have to ask myself – how do I feel? How has living with this abuse made me feel…? Following along in the first chapter of Courage I have journaled the following:
How abuse affected my self esteem:
I feel…..
- Bad, dirty, ashamed
- Like there’s something wrong with me
- Like if people really knew me they would leave me
- Like I hate myself
- Immobilized by fear/can’t get motivated
- Unable to protect myself
- Self destructive
I don’t know how to….
- Identify my own needs
- Feel good
- Nurture myself
- Trust myself
- Recognize my own interests/talents/goals (my heart)
I feel like I can’t accomplish what I set out to do
I feel like I can’t move on with my life.
I feel compelled to be perfect
I feel like I am missing large parts of my childhood…
How this abuse has affected my body:
I have a hard time:
- Appreciating and accepting my body
- Feeling at home in my own skin
- Being fully present in my body
- experiencing a full rang of feelings in my body.
- experiencing my body as a unified whole.
I have:
- Hurt myself ~abused my body
- Used alcohol and drugs
- Had an eating disorder
- Had a physical illness connected to my abuse
- Felt as though I sometimes leave my body.
Sometimes I:
- Am not always aware of the messages my body gives me (hunger, fear, tiredness…)
- Mistrust my body
- Feel numb or disconnected from physical sensations
- Startle easily and have a hard time calming down
- Am unable to relax and feel physically safe.
Relating to intimacy – Sometimes I:
- Find it difficult to: trust people, make close friends, create/maintain healthy relationships, give or receive nurturing, be affectionate, say no/set appropriate boundaries.
- I feel I don’t deserve love
- I am afraid of people
- I feel alienated/isolated
- I rarely feel connected to self/others
- I don’t know how to trust
- I feel betrayed and taken advantage of
- I shut down, get nervous, panic when people get too close
- I cling to people I care about
- I expect people to leave me.
It is hard to take an honest look at my life – to survey the damage like I am taking inventory. I don’t exactly know how to feel about all of this…mosty I look over the different aspects of my life and kind of nod to myself and think…”Well this explains a lot.”
Please bear with me dear readers. I am by far not through this journey yet.
Peace be with you.
It feels like a dream … I am walking through a field hoping to find some wild-flowers to make a bouquet… there is mist everywhere and it hangs so heavy I cannot see the ground. As the sun comes out and the mist clears I find that I am not in a meadow at all – but a battle-ground – bodies mutilated all around my feet… every face is my own… The only daisies here are resting on the closed eyes of the dead and my bare feet are wet not with dew but with blood.
captivatingbitter 