We have passed the middle of April already. How did that happen? I'm not really ready.
I know once Easter hits, then I have my birthday and mother's day and father's day and so on. Like any other year, I try to not think about it and I usually fail. But this year, it snuck up on me.
As I looked at the calendar to make dinner plans with another couple, I realized it's next week. Ugh! The dreaded day is next week.
The past few years haven't been so bad. I don't have family to celebrate my birthday, obviously. But, for the past 3-4 years, I've had groups of friends gather for dinner or coffee. It has helped to ease the birthday blow.
Sadly, I don't have that this year. Living for several months in seclusion and not being active on social media has left me with such a teeny, tiny social circle.
My husband, as much as I love him, is missing the creative birthday celebration gene.
So, my goal is to just get through the next nine days with as little wishing-I'd-never-been-born as possible. When next Friday comes, I will do my absolute best to not focus on the fact that nobody in my family acknowledges the day my life began. It will be hard, but I will try.
I can't promise this is the last I will have to say about it either. I have spent the past several months in a depression like I've never known. The lack of family, absent love from family....it all has potential to make life even more difficult to face.
It is far too easy to ask the same question every year. Why am I not worth being loved by the very people who created me?
Wednesday, April 17, 2013
Tuesday, April 16, 2013
I know who I am...
....but not many people do. In fact, only 2-3 people do know me.
Over the past several months, that has become painfully clear to me.
While there are several reasons why I have chosen to isolate myself, one of the most prevalent is that I am in hiding.
As a general rule, the general population doesn't really know me or what my life is like. Even those who know me better than most, really don't know what my life is like. I am not overlooking the fact that everyone has struggles. Struggling is not unique to just me. However, I do have a fairly uncommon diagnosis which makes my like very different from everyone around me.
My particular illness (not how I like to think of it, but medically speaking is an illness) is suspected to be found in less than 1% of the world's entire population. Statistics vary from .0001% to .999999%, with a majority of those going completely undiagnosed. It is safe to say that not very many people would have any clue what it is like to have or live with someone with my illness.
In fact, it is so uncommon that even those who know find it difficult to understand. Honestly, my husband struggles to understand and adapt. So of course there is fear that openly sharing with the general population could create some backlash of misunderstanding and ignorance.
But how much pain is it creating in me to keep who I am so hidden?
To know me, understand me and even walk through any of life with me, you really need to have some knowledge of my diagnosis and life. I have tried to have deeper relationships with people without them knowing, but it never works.
As cliche as it may sound, my diagnosis does not define me. However, it must be respected and accepted just as any other characteristic which makes me who I am. To purposely overlook this particular area of my life is to minimize my strength, intelligence and perseverance. These are things I have had to learn over the past three years to do within myself.
I know those close to me are fearful of me being hurt by the misunderstanding and ignorance. Yes, I know that can and will happen. But will it hurt more than the isolation?
It took me over 32 years to finally admit that I had been abused. It has taken even longer and very small, baby steps for me to share with anyone that I was not just abused as a child but the abuse lasted well into my 30's. I still cannot be positive that it has completely stopped.
The golden rule of abuse is to keep it hidden, locked away from the world. It is a rule instilled so deeply in you and enforced by even more abuse. A rule so steadfast within you that to finally break it even in the safest place possible feels like a shameful violation of everything you believe.
Right now, I am living by that same rule only in a very different way. I have no choice but to keep hidden who I am and what my life is like because of fear. There is a different reason for the fear, but it is fear just the same.
It is so frustrating to have to hide something so big in my life and often reduces me to abuse flashbacks.
This is one of my stumbling blocks for church too. My condition/illness/diagnosis (whatever you want to call it) causes me to act in somewhat obscure ways in large groups of people and especially in church.
For instance, I cannot go to an evening bible study or choir practice or most events where I would sit for extended periods of time. Why? Because the later the day gets, the harder it is for me to suppress the symptoms. Why is that a problem? Because the people sitting around me do not know what is happening and do not understand why I do not know who they are or why I disappear half way through.
That is just one example of many. All in a place where everyone should be able to come just as they are. Broken. Sick. A church should be a safe place to be who you are. I am sure that is true....for everybody but me. That is a painful reality that I live. I have to stay home when there might be a chance that others could see the real me.
This is just simply unfair to me!
Each time someone says to me they are praying for me because of my depression, I graciously thank them. Inside, I'm crying..."It's not just everyday depression!" It's not. It isn't JUST depression. It isn't JUST anxiety. It isn't JUST PTSD. It's not bipolar. I just want to say what IT is. I just want people to understand and accept me regardless of IT.
I want to be able to not live such an isolated life when IT is the driving force in all facets of my life.
I don't want to live ashamed of who I am any more. I want to be released from the golden rule. I want be free from fear. I need help.
Over the past several months, that has become painfully clear to me.
While there are several reasons why I have chosen to isolate myself, one of the most prevalent is that I am in hiding.
As a general rule, the general population doesn't really know me or what my life is like. Even those who know me better than most, really don't know what my life is like. I am not overlooking the fact that everyone has struggles. Struggling is not unique to just me. However, I do have a fairly uncommon diagnosis which makes my like very different from everyone around me.
My particular illness (not how I like to think of it, but medically speaking is an illness) is suspected to be found in less than 1% of the world's entire population. Statistics vary from .0001% to .999999%, with a majority of those going completely undiagnosed. It is safe to say that not very many people would have any clue what it is like to have or live with someone with my illness.
In fact, it is so uncommon that even those who know find it difficult to understand. Honestly, my husband struggles to understand and adapt. So of course there is fear that openly sharing with the general population could create some backlash of misunderstanding and ignorance.
But how much pain is it creating in me to keep who I am so hidden?
To know me, understand me and even walk through any of life with me, you really need to have some knowledge of my diagnosis and life. I have tried to have deeper relationships with people without them knowing, but it never works.
As cliche as it may sound, my diagnosis does not define me. However, it must be respected and accepted just as any other characteristic which makes me who I am. To purposely overlook this particular area of my life is to minimize my strength, intelligence and perseverance. These are things I have had to learn over the past three years to do within myself.
I know those close to me are fearful of me being hurt by the misunderstanding and ignorance. Yes, I know that can and will happen. But will it hurt more than the isolation?
It took me over 32 years to finally admit that I had been abused. It has taken even longer and very small, baby steps for me to share with anyone that I was not just abused as a child but the abuse lasted well into my 30's. I still cannot be positive that it has completely stopped.
The golden rule of abuse is to keep it hidden, locked away from the world. It is a rule instilled so deeply in you and enforced by even more abuse. A rule so steadfast within you that to finally break it even in the safest place possible feels like a shameful violation of everything you believe.
Right now, I am living by that same rule only in a very different way. I have no choice but to keep hidden who I am and what my life is like because of fear. There is a different reason for the fear, but it is fear just the same.
It is so frustrating to have to hide something so big in my life and often reduces me to abuse flashbacks.
This is one of my stumbling blocks for church too. My condition/illness/diagnosis (whatever you want to call it) causes me to act in somewhat obscure ways in large groups of people and especially in church.
For instance, I cannot go to an evening bible study or choir practice or most events where I would sit for extended periods of time. Why? Because the later the day gets, the harder it is for me to suppress the symptoms. Why is that a problem? Because the people sitting around me do not know what is happening and do not understand why I do not know who they are or why I disappear half way through.
That is just one example of many. All in a place where everyone should be able to come just as they are. Broken. Sick. A church should be a safe place to be who you are. I am sure that is true....for everybody but me. That is a painful reality that I live. I have to stay home when there might be a chance that others could see the real me.
This is just simply unfair to me!
Each time someone says to me they are praying for me because of my depression, I graciously thank them. Inside, I'm crying..."It's not just everyday depression!" It's not. It isn't JUST depression. It isn't JUST anxiety. It isn't JUST PTSD. It's not bipolar. I just want to say what IT is. I just want people to understand and accept me regardless of IT.
I want to be able to not live such an isolated life when IT is the driving force in all facets of my life.
I don't want to live ashamed of who I am any more. I want to be released from the golden rule. I want be free from fear. I need help.
Sunday, April 14, 2013
Pictures from Home
Facebook is a bittersweet place for me these days. I don't get on any social media much right now. I'm too tender for anything that comes across as judgemental or hateful or happy for that matter. There is something painful in seeing others happy while you are uncontrollably miserable.
I do follow one brother, sister-in-law, nephew, niece, a couple aunts and cousins on facebook. For the most part, it is my only connection to any of them. We don't talk on the phone, don't text or email. Honestly, we don't do much more than coexist in cyberspace with each other.
While I choose to lay out the good, bad and ugly of life on my blog, some of my family chooses to put it on facebook. Most of the ugly is a digressed pool of name-calling, public bawling-out mess with whomever they are upset with at the moment.
Occasionally, I catch a photo of one of my parents. That usually stirs up a much deserved negative response in me, naturally. Over the past month, I have caught several pictures of my dad holding/firing guns.
Wow. Even typing that out gives me chills.
That is an image that I just don't need to see or think about at all. Every time I have been near my dad with a gun in his hand, it has been pointed and fired at me.
More times than I can count or probably remember, I have had a gun pointed at me, held to my head, fired at me or been threatened and tortured. It absolutely leaves me breathless (and not in a good way) to see him holding.
A few weeks ago, I saw him standing over my niece with one in his hands. He was teaching her how to shoot, but the image was startling. As innocent as it must have looked to 99.99999% of the general population, it was disturbing.
To think, when I was my niece's age, I already had a healthy respect for guns used as weapons against me and would have not ever thought of shooting one for fun. By the time I was her age, I had a scar from a bullet grazing past my leg during a torture session.
As people debate the rights of gun owners, I find myself falling on both sides of the argument. As someone with a mental illness, I can tell you that I should not be allowed to own a gun. But, I want my husband, as my protector, to be able to own a gun.
The problem with every single law that could ever be passed is that people like my dad would legally be able to own a gun. Someone who shot at his own daughter. Someone who held a gun to a small child's head in order to force whatever kind of abuse on them. That is someone who should never be able to own a gun legally, but who would slip through every kind of law except a full ban (which I do not support).
I love being able to see pictures of my niece and nephew, but days like today leave me feeling sick, stuck and make my PTSD more real than I'd like.
I do follow one brother, sister-in-law, nephew, niece, a couple aunts and cousins on facebook. For the most part, it is my only connection to any of them. We don't talk on the phone, don't text or email. Honestly, we don't do much more than coexist in cyberspace with each other.
While I choose to lay out the good, bad and ugly of life on my blog, some of my family chooses to put it on facebook. Most of the ugly is a digressed pool of name-calling, public bawling-out mess with whomever they are upset with at the moment.
Occasionally, I catch a photo of one of my parents. That usually stirs up a much deserved negative response in me, naturally. Over the past month, I have caught several pictures of my dad holding/firing guns.
Wow. Even typing that out gives me chills.
That is an image that I just don't need to see or think about at all. Every time I have been near my dad with a gun in his hand, it has been pointed and fired at me.
More times than I can count or probably remember, I have had a gun pointed at me, held to my head, fired at me or been threatened and tortured. It absolutely leaves me breathless (and not in a good way) to see him holding.
A few weeks ago, I saw him standing over my niece with one in his hands. He was teaching her how to shoot, but the image was startling. As innocent as it must have looked to 99.99999% of the general population, it was disturbing.
To think, when I was my niece's age, I already had a healthy respect for guns used as weapons against me and would have not ever thought of shooting one for fun. By the time I was her age, I had a scar from a bullet grazing past my leg during a torture session.
As people debate the rights of gun owners, I find myself falling on both sides of the argument. As someone with a mental illness, I can tell you that I should not be allowed to own a gun. But, I want my husband, as my protector, to be able to own a gun.
The problem with every single law that could ever be passed is that people like my dad would legally be able to own a gun. Someone who shot at his own daughter. Someone who held a gun to a small child's head in order to force whatever kind of abuse on them. That is someone who should never be able to own a gun legally, but who would slip through every kind of law except a full ban (which I do not support).
I love being able to see pictures of my niece and nephew, but days like today leave me feeling sick, stuck and make my PTSD more real than I'd like.
Tuesday, April 9, 2013
Deep Conversations
Most days go by without me craving much human interaction. I know, day after day after day of that would probably drive most normal people crazy. While they are extremely few, I do accept most every invitation to go out for lunch or grocery shopping. If I didn't have that interaction, I'd have none.
Today is a little different though. Since I woke up, I have been craving conversation. Like an overnight case of indigestion, it might pass....but maybe not. Maybe it is an stirring deep inside me that has felt dead for the past several months....but maybe not.
It is very unusual for me to crave conversation and to desire anything more than surface conversation at that. But, I am now. I want and need to have deep, thoughtful conversation. The kind where you sit down and talk about hard things for an hour. The kind that is thought-provoking and understanding. The kind that pushes you to want to put the darkness aside inside of grasp hold of it for dear life.
The phone rang earlier. It rarely does. Elbow deep in painting didn't stop me from answering. The content is irrelevant to this topic, but I realized something about myself. I can't have good conversation on the phone. Not that I didn't know that about myself, I did. This was a didn't perspective for me.
During my first week at the eye clinic many years ago, one of the doctors told me that I had a wonderful phone voice. He said that it was soft, calming and welcoming. (Not sure all of that was complimentary, looking back at it now.) He told me that if I would make a conscious effort to smile the minute I answered the phone, there wouldn't be anything I couldn't accomplish over the phone.
His theory was right. It didn't matter if it was business or personal, I found that smiling while I talked on the phone made me a more pleasant person even in the most difficult conversations. I cannot tell you how many times a hopeless situation was resolved and for really no obvious reason except my demeanor stayed positive and calm, which I blame on the smile. There was definitely truth in the smiling phone call being the happy phone call.
The problem is that it has become habit. I can literally be planted in the deepest, darkest emotional hole and answer the phone with a smile. A smile and happy voice doesn't ever lead to honest conversation for me. It's so hard for me to divulge any details of my own messiness anyway. With the happy, calm voice, the person on the other end would never have a clue of the despair I was feeling at that moment.
I think it is safe to say I am not craving a phone conversation. It is definitely a more personal conversation.
It is very hard for me to admit that I am craving that deep kind of conversation, especially one where I share anything personal about myself. So many times those kind of conversations lead to painful conclusions for me.
Let's face it, us humans...well we take a Bob the Builder approach to everything and want to fix all that we can. That is not what I want or need, but often what I get. So often I get books, suggestions that worked for someone else, scripture, or various other quick fixes for all my burdens. Don't get me wrong, every suggestion is worthy of consideration.
The problem is that most people want to throw whatever solution at the problem and run. I don't think I have ever had anyone bring a sincere suggestion to me and offer to wade through the mess with me. Some people don't even throw a solution at me, they just run. I don't blame them, I probably would too. My mess is massive most of the time. I get why I go it alone a lot.
Go it alone, I do. I do have a very persistent counselor who does her best. But right now, I'm craving a different set of ears. I'm craving a different perspective.
You would think that I could probably have that deep conversation with my husband, but you would be wrong. I am going to get painfully honest right now. I have said before, my husband works three jobs. He is not home much, rarely available physically. By the time he gets home at night, he is exhausted.
What I haven't shared with you is that on top of everything else right now, we are floundering as a couple too. That's just honest. I am not pointing a finger at him either.
My husband has his own issues and is obviously overworked. Most days I feel as though we are two single people who just live with each other. There is no conversation, deep or otherwise. Just because we don't have kids doesn't mean that we are any closer than any other couple.
We don't do "date" nights. Occasionally, we go to dinner. That is usually a time of sitting face to face, surfing on the cell phones, unable to have conversations because they all lead to arguments. Again, not pointing a finger at all but explaining that deep conversation isn't plentiful in this house.
I would seriously wish this craving away, except it is the only normal thing I've felt in months. It is the only healthy desire I've had. But, I am sure the hopelessness will soon wash it away as quickly as it came.
Today is a little different though. Since I woke up, I have been craving conversation. Like an overnight case of indigestion, it might pass....but maybe not. Maybe it is an stirring deep inside me that has felt dead for the past several months....but maybe not.
It is very unusual for me to crave conversation and to desire anything more than surface conversation at that. But, I am now. I want and need to have deep, thoughtful conversation. The kind where you sit down and talk about hard things for an hour. The kind that is thought-provoking and understanding. The kind that pushes you to want to put the darkness aside inside of grasp hold of it for dear life.
The phone rang earlier. It rarely does. Elbow deep in painting didn't stop me from answering. The content is irrelevant to this topic, but I realized something about myself. I can't have good conversation on the phone. Not that I didn't know that about myself, I did. This was a didn't perspective for me.
During my first week at the eye clinic many years ago, one of the doctors told me that I had a wonderful phone voice. He said that it was soft, calming and welcoming. (Not sure all of that was complimentary, looking back at it now.) He told me that if I would make a conscious effort to smile the minute I answered the phone, there wouldn't be anything I couldn't accomplish over the phone.
His theory was right. It didn't matter if it was business or personal, I found that smiling while I talked on the phone made me a more pleasant person even in the most difficult conversations. I cannot tell you how many times a hopeless situation was resolved and for really no obvious reason except my demeanor stayed positive and calm, which I blame on the smile. There was definitely truth in the smiling phone call being the happy phone call.
The problem is that it has become habit. I can literally be planted in the deepest, darkest emotional hole and answer the phone with a smile. A smile and happy voice doesn't ever lead to honest conversation for me. It's so hard for me to divulge any details of my own messiness anyway. With the happy, calm voice, the person on the other end would never have a clue of the despair I was feeling at that moment.
I think it is safe to say I am not craving a phone conversation. It is definitely a more personal conversation.
It is very hard for me to admit that I am craving that deep kind of conversation, especially one where I share anything personal about myself. So many times those kind of conversations lead to painful conclusions for me.
Let's face it, us humans...well we take a Bob the Builder approach to everything and want to fix all that we can. That is not what I want or need, but often what I get. So often I get books, suggestions that worked for someone else, scripture, or various other quick fixes for all my burdens. Don't get me wrong, every suggestion is worthy of consideration.
The problem is that most people want to throw whatever solution at the problem and run. I don't think I have ever had anyone bring a sincere suggestion to me and offer to wade through the mess with me. Some people don't even throw a solution at me, they just run. I don't blame them, I probably would too. My mess is massive most of the time. I get why I go it alone a lot.
Go it alone, I do. I do have a very persistent counselor who does her best. But right now, I'm craving a different set of ears. I'm craving a different perspective.
You would think that I could probably have that deep conversation with my husband, but you would be wrong. I am going to get painfully honest right now. I have said before, my husband works three jobs. He is not home much, rarely available physically. By the time he gets home at night, he is exhausted.
What I haven't shared with you is that on top of everything else right now, we are floundering as a couple too. That's just honest. I am not pointing a finger at him either.
My husband has his own issues and is obviously overworked. Most days I feel as though we are two single people who just live with each other. There is no conversation, deep or otherwise. Just because we don't have kids doesn't mean that we are any closer than any other couple.
We don't do "date" nights. Occasionally, we go to dinner. That is usually a time of sitting face to face, surfing on the cell phones, unable to have conversations because they all lead to arguments. Again, not pointing a finger at all but explaining that deep conversation isn't plentiful in this house.
I would seriously wish this craving away, except it is the only normal thing I've felt in months. It is the only healthy desire I've had. But, I am sure the hopelessness will soon wash it away as quickly as it came.
Sunday, April 7, 2013
Are YOU part of the problem or the solution?
“You know all that sympathy that you feel for an abused child who suffers without a good mom or dad to love and care for them? Well, they don't stay children forever. No one magically becomes an adult the day they turn eighteen. Some people grow up sooner, many grow up later. Some never really do. But just remember that some people in this world are older versions of those same kids we cry for.”
― Ashly Lorenzana
This isn't meant to be a post about abuse as much as informative thoughts and very specifically about expectations.
To be absolutely clear, I'm not sharing this for empathy but so that anyone who would like to know more can. I have found that it is difficult for those who did not grow up in abusive homes to understand some of the quirks of those who did.
If you could, think for a moment about a blind person. Having met a few blind people, I know that most of them do not want to be seen for their blindness but for who they are. However, their blindness does come with some merit and attention. To understand them, befriend them, you must have some knowledge of how they have adapted to the blindness. I would ask that you try to look at the following information as a better understanding of the adapting.
The quote above is so incredibly true, so true it hurts. There are things that happen in an abusive home which take years and years and years to change. For me, growing up only meant I had more years of challenges to overcome as my abuse continued far into my adult years.
There is a vast pool of issues or quirks I could pick apart and try to explain. Expectations seem to be one that keeps coming up for me. More specifically, unmet expectations continue to knock me over.
In my childhood, there were two kinds of expectations and neither were good. There was the known. I knew I was going to be abused. I would be tortured. I would be hungry and tired. I would not be loved.
Then there was the unknown. This is where glimpses of hope were dashed by unmet expectations. The excitement over a birthday or holiday, which ended in abuse. A promise of a gift or reprieve, only to be later tortured and humiliated. An idea that someone, teacher, social worker, police officer, would somehow read the obvious signs, something that never happened.
It was the unknown, unmet expectations that hurt the worst. When you are a kid having adults not follow through on what they should or could do solidifies an entire set of beliefs. You are not worth caring for. You are not worth protecting. You have no value. You deserve the worst. Nobody loves you. You are not wanted.
Those are strong messages. They are messages which will stay with you for years to come. I am convinced change only occurs when these messages are balanced with positive ones and a progression of met expectations (realistic of course). I would also like to point out that you do not have to be from a highly dysfunctional home for this to be true.
As an adult, I do believe there is a greater ability to offer grace and forgiveness in unmet expectations. But, have you ever considered how your actions may effect those who have not overcome those messages?
While this is not a jab at anyone in particular, I must say that I deal with this a lot. I will admit, it usually comes in small ways and most often when I am hurting or incredibly sensitive.
It comes in the form of someone saying they will call to check on me, but doesn't; says they will email me with information or to see how I'm doing, but doesn't; makes a promise to get more involved, but doesn't; says they will visit or help with basic things, but doesn't; makes a plan to be somewhere at a specific time, but cancels or is late.
Do you ever do those things? I do. Life gets busy or desire wanes and I fail to do what I have said I would. I do my best not to because I know the other side of it. When I do those things, I am usually apologetic. When you do those things, do you apologize? Do you ever consider how those things will be taken by the person on the other side? Do you do it so often that you don't consider the other person? Those are all questions to ponder, knowing we all do it. We do it by choice and by circumstance.
These things happen to me nearly everyday. I have matured enough to give grace where needed, but it is a struggle. I am being completely honest here. A couple people doing this in one day will kick up those old messages and send me straight into a spiral.
I have noticed the older I get, the less people are apologetic about anything. A friend once told me that if something happens completely out of your control, then you owe nobody an apology. I simply think this is false. When other people are involved, I think it is common courtesy to offer an apology. In these small things, I would offer another idea to consider. Circumstances may prevent you from following through with the small things in life, you and the next person and the next person. I would offer you the idea that perhaps you are just one of many people who've had to let the person down. Abusive background or not, I would always err on the side of common courtesy.
Maybe you know the person's background, maybe you don't. Maybe you know the messages the person is getting with a missed phone call or broken promise or canceled lunch, but maybe you don't.
I can tell you this is an area of difficulty for anyone from a dysfunctional home or abusive past. I am not asking you to change circumstances. I'm not the apology police here. What I am asking is for you to consider some of the people in your life (close and surface). Do you have an understanding of how they have adapted to what they learned as a child? What messages are you reinforcing in them with your actions or lack of?
The ability to change those messages lies in each one us. I challenge you to examine yourself. Do you reinforce the "You are loved" or "You are unwanted" in those around you?
― Ashly Lorenzana
This isn't meant to be a post about abuse as much as informative thoughts and very specifically about expectations.
To be absolutely clear, I'm not sharing this for empathy but so that anyone who would like to know more can. I have found that it is difficult for those who did not grow up in abusive homes to understand some of the quirks of those who did.
If you could, think for a moment about a blind person. Having met a few blind people, I know that most of them do not want to be seen for their blindness but for who they are. However, their blindness does come with some merit and attention. To understand them, befriend them, you must have some knowledge of how they have adapted to the blindness. I would ask that you try to look at the following information as a better understanding of the adapting.
The quote above is so incredibly true, so true it hurts. There are things that happen in an abusive home which take years and years and years to change. For me, growing up only meant I had more years of challenges to overcome as my abuse continued far into my adult years.
There is a vast pool of issues or quirks I could pick apart and try to explain. Expectations seem to be one that keeps coming up for me. More specifically, unmet expectations continue to knock me over.
In my childhood, there were two kinds of expectations and neither were good. There was the known. I knew I was going to be abused. I would be tortured. I would be hungry and tired. I would not be loved.
Then there was the unknown. This is where glimpses of hope were dashed by unmet expectations. The excitement over a birthday or holiday, which ended in abuse. A promise of a gift or reprieve, only to be later tortured and humiliated. An idea that someone, teacher, social worker, police officer, would somehow read the obvious signs, something that never happened.
It was the unknown, unmet expectations that hurt the worst. When you are a kid having adults not follow through on what they should or could do solidifies an entire set of beliefs. You are not worth caring for. You are not worth protecting. You have no value. You deserve the worst. Nobody loves you. You are not wanted.
Those are strong messages. They are messages which will stay with you for years to come. I am convinced change only occurs when these messages are balanced with positive ones and a progression of met expectations (realistic of course). I would also like to point out that you do not have to be from a highly dysfunctional home for this to be true.
As an adult, I do believe there is a greater ability to offer grace and forgiveness in unmet expectations. But, have you ever considered how your actions may effect those who have not overcome those messages?
While this is not a jab at anyone in particular, I must say that I deal with this a lot. I will admit, it usually comes in small ways and most often when I am hurting or incredibly sensitive.
It comes in the form of someone saying they will call to check on me, but doesn't; says they will email me with information or to see how I'm doing, but doesn't; makes a promise to get more involved, but doesn't; says they will visit or help with basic things, but doesn't; makes a plan to be somewhere at a specific time, but cancels or is late.
Do you ever do those things? I do. Life gets busy or desire wanes and I fail to do what I have said I would. I do my best not to because I know the other side of it. When I do those things, I am usually apologetic. When you do those things, do you apologize? Do you ever consider how those things will be taken by the person on the other side? Do you do it so often that you don't consider the other person? Those are all questions to ponder, knowing we all do it. We do it by choice and by circumstance.
These things happen to me nearly everyday. I have matured enough to give grace where needed, but it is a struggle. I am being completely honest here. A couple people doing this in one day will kick up those old messages and send me straight into a spiral.
I have noticed the older I get, the less people are apologetic about anything. A friend once told me that if something happens completely out of your control, then you owe nobody an apology. I simply think this is false. When other people are involved, I think it is common courtesy to offer an apology. In these small things, I would offer another idea to consider. Circumstances may prevent you from following through with the small things in life, you and the next person and the next person. I would offer you the idea that perhaps you are just one of many people who've had to let the person down. Abusive background or not, I would always err on the side of common courtesy.
Maybe you know the person's background, maybe you don't. Maybe you know the messages the person is getting with a missed phone call or broken promise or canceled lunch, but maybe you don't.
I can tell you this is an area of difficulty for anyone from a dysfunctional home or abusive past. I am not asking you to change circumstances. I'm not the apology police here. What I am asking is for you to consider some of the people in your life (close and surface). Do you have an understanding of how they have adapted to what they learned as a child? What messages are you reinforcing in them with your actions or lack of?
The ability to change those messages lies in each one us. I challenge you to examine yourself. Do you reinforce the "You are loved" or "You are unwanted" in those around you?
Sunday, March 31, 2013
Recluse
Since January, I've had my keys and have been able to drive. Of course, I haven't driven much because I don't leave the house that often. My freedom to drive has come to an end for now along with a huge realization.
I ran some necessary errands last week, but could feel my anxiety rising. To help dissipate some of the anxiety, I decided to head into a store and walk around. That was probably the first time I had been in a store by myself for over a month. I wasn't kidding when I said I rarely leave the house.
After picking up a couple items I headed to check out. By that time, I was on the verge of a full blown anxiety attack. My heart was racing. I couldn't breathe. My body was shaking and the walls of the store felt as though they were quickly closing in on me. I don't think I heard a word the lady said as I checked out. With sweat pouring off of me, I headed to the car.
Thankfully, I had a moment of clarity when I could call my husband and let him know what was happening. I don't remember much about the trip home, even though I talked to my husband most of the five minute drive.
Understandably, my husband nabbed my keys the minute he walked in the door. Being in that state driving can only be described as comparable to driving under the influence. I maybe upset about it, but I know it is best for everyone else that I not drive. Even though I have little to no regard for my own well-being right now, I'd hate it if I hurt anyone else.
My realization came after knowing how my anxiety went from high to hyper speed while I was in the store. I could not handle being alone in a store by myself. I know, it's irrational. My two months of not leaving the house much has pulled me into a social regression. I no longer just want to stay home, but I'm afraid to leave the house.
I used to be able to go just about anywhere with anyone and do just fine. Now, my anxiety spikes if I go to the store with a friend or hardware store with my husband. I don't even have to go, it spikes at the very thought. Truly, I think I'm becoming a recluse.
The sad part is that I have to rely on others to leave the house. I know getting through something like this is going to take exposure and learning that stores or crowds are nothing to fear. But, that just won't happen. So few people know the problems and the ones who do aren't insistent enough to bust through my fear and resistance.
I really don't need another problem to contend with right now, I have enough already!
I ran some necessary errands last week, but could feel my anxiety rising. To help dissipate some of the anxiety, I decided to head into a store and walk around. That was probably the first time I had been in a store by myself for over a month. I wasn't kidding when I said I rarely leave the house.
After picking up a couple items I headed to check out. By that time, I was on the verge of a full blown anxiety attack. My heart was racing. I couldn't breathe. My body was shaking and the walls of the store felt as though they were quickly closing in on me. I don't think I heard a word the lady said as I checked out. With sweat pouring off of me, I headed to the car.
Thankfully, I had a moment of clarity when I could call my husband and let him know what was happening. I don't remember much about the trip home, even though I talked to my husband most of the five minute drive.
Understandably, my husband nabbed my keys the minute he walked in the door. Being in that state driving can only be described as comparable to driving under the influence. I maybe upset about it, but I know it is best for everyone else that I not drive. Even though I have little to no regard for my own well-being right now, I'd hate it if I hurt anyone else.
My realization came after knowing how my anxiety went from high to hyper speed while I was in the store. I could not handle being alone in a store by myself. I know, it's irrational. My two months of not leaving the house much has pulled me into a social regression. I no longer just want to stay home, but I'm afraid to leave the house.
I used to be able to go just about anywhere with anyone and do just fine. Now, my anxiety spikes if I go to the store with a friend or hardware store with my husband. I don't even have to go, it spikes at the very thought. Truly, I think I'm becoming a recluse.
The sad part is that I have to rely on others to leave the house. I know getting through something like this is going to take exposure and learning that stores or crowds are nothing to fear. But, that just won't happen. So few people know the problems and the ones who do aren't insistent enough to bust through my fear and resistance.
I really don't need another problem to contend with right now, I have enough already!
Saturday, March 30, 2013
Easter
As I tried to bite at my husband through the phone this morning, I could feel the anger coursing through me. Yes, I was mad at him but he probably didn't quite deserve the nastiness that was spewing from me.
Believe it or not, January to March is usually a break for me from the emotional highs and lows. Easter is the beginning of a couple difficult months for me. Easter, Birthday, Mother's Day, Father's Day and various family summer holidays.
People are so quick to tell me to focus on Jesus during Easter. Not so easy. In fact, holidays like Easter are probably the most difficult time for me to do this. Probably what I know better than most is that I've only got 5 years of Jesus being something good as compared to 32 years of Jesus being something bad.
Many, many, many years ago, I survived a punishment for going to church on Easter Sunday that could have easily been the death of me.
I invite you to read the post I wrote last year. Easter Dress
I'll probably repost this every year until I am able to focus on Jesus throughout Easter instead of being thrown into flashbacks of that awful, dreadful ordeal.
Believe it or not, January to March is usually a break for me from the emotional highs and lows. Easter is the beginning of a couple difficult months for me. Easter, Birthday, Mother's Day, Father's Day and various family summer holidays.
People are so quick to tell me to focus on Jesus during Easter. Not so easy. In fact, holidays like Easter are probably the most difficult time for me to do this. Probably what I know better than most is that I've only got 5 years of Jesus being something good as compared to 32 years of Jesus being something bad.
Many, many, many years ago, I survived a punishment for going to church on Easter Sunday that could have easily been the death of me.
I invite you to read the post I wrote last year. Easter Dress
I'll probably repost this every year until I am able to focus on Jesus throughout Easter instead of being thrown into flashbacks of that awful, dreadful ordeal.
Wednesday, March 27, 2013
It can always be worse...
Regardless of how bad things get for me, I never overlook the fact that things could always be worse. However, I do find myself asking often how come they can't get better.
Adding insult to injury seems to be the theme of my life lately. That's not the theme of some self-made, self-sustained pity party, but truth.
Time is running out on the bathtub. As we discussed this last night, we had a couple other blows take us by surprise and give us a virtual kick in the gut.
I finally got our taxes done. Nobody likes doing taxes, I know I'm not alone in that. We do the cheapest possible filing, which just isn't cheap when you have a home and home business. Thanks to Obama's fancy tax breaks to stimulate the economy last year, our usual minimal refund is no more. I've never been so happy to just break even and not have to pay in to the IRS. But it was a shock to learn we'd not have our usual refund.
We also learned that one of the income resources we depend on each month is not coming in for March and probably not for April with no promise of back pay. Ouch! That's a serious chunk of our livelihood. A house payment and all utilities. Ugh!
I went to bed last night reminding myself...this could always be worse. This could always be worse. This. Could. Always. Be. Worse.
At 7:30 this morning I woke up to a loud crash coming from the bathroom. Tile falling off the wall and crashing to the bottom of the tub. It was taunting me. Those stinkin' tile continued to taunt me all through my shower. Pop off, shove them back against the wall and repeat.
Oh my goodness! I know it could be worse. But maybe, just maybe, if the environmental stuff would get just a tiny bit better then maybe I would get a tiny bit better.
Adding insult to injury seems to be the theme of my life lately. That's not the theme of some self-made, self-sustained pity party, but truth.
Time is running out on the bathtub. As we discussed this last night, we had a couple other blows take us by surprise and give us a virtual kick in the gut.
I finally got our taxes done. Nobody likes doing taxes, I know I'm not alone in that. We do the cheapest possible filing, which just isn't cheap when you have a home and home business. Thanks to Obama's fancy tax breaks to stimulate the economy last year, our usual minimal refund is no more. I've never been so happy to just break even and not have to pay in to the IRS. But it was a shock to learn we'd not have our usual refund.
We also learned that one of the income resources we depend on each month is not coming in for March and probably not for April with no promise of back pay. Ouch! That's a serious chunk of our livelihood. A house payment and all utilities. Ugh!
I went to bed last night reminding myself...this could always be worse. This could always be worse. This. Could. Always. Be. Worse.
At 7:30 this morning I woke up to a loud crash coming from the bathroom. Tile falling off the wall and crashing to the bottom of the tub. It was taunting me. Those stinkin' tile continued to taunt me all through my shower. Pop off, shove them back against the wall and repeat.
Oh my goodness! I know it could be worse. But maybe, just maybe, if the environmental stuff would get just a tiny bit better then maybe I would get a tiny bit better.
Tuesday, March 26, 2013
Car in the Garage
Sometimes it's hard to be completely honest and somethings are just easier than others to admit. Even as I've poured the darkest parts of my heart into words, there's been deeper darkness still. I think that hidden depth of despair is what I hold back.
Surely if anyone knew the deepest darkness, they'd lock me away and throw away the key. As hard as it might be, I'm going to share a part of that.
I had a moment of insane grief. When doesn't matter, but I turned the radio on just before pulling the car into the garage. Christian music was playing.
I instantly began thinking about how much I had once loved music and loved singing. Music was one of my few momentary escapes as a child. Music was where I developed enough confidence to get through high school.
As a child, I memorized happy songs that I sung to myself mentally as terrible things were happening to me. Chaos and pain were replaced at crucial moments as I sang to myself louder than everything around me.
During high school, a music teacher caught me singing to myself in a foyer when I thought nobody was listening. I was naturally soft spoken and kept to myself. Most people probably never heard a word from me. The teacher said singing was my voice and he said I had the "voice of an angel." It was his confidence in me which raised my own confidence. From there I sang in the school choir and even sang in front of crowds. In fact, I sang every chance I got.
With somewhat of a dashed confidence, I joined the church choir at the same time I joined the church. I faithfully made practices and happily sang on Sunday mornings for almost two years. But the whole time, my confidence and joy in singing was gradually being sucked away from me.
As time went on, each week became a struggle for me. The person sitting next to me was overly critical of my singing. I didn't sing loud enough. I didn't hit the right notes. One thing after another, she criticized me. She wore me down and broke me until I finally had to quit.
I've not really let anyone hear me sing since then either. In fact, the moment I open my mouth to sing along with music on the radio it's a fight to not hear her criticisms playing on repeat in my head.
I'm still not sure why she was so critical of me or why she went all out to suck the joy of singing away from me. She scared me away from the one place in the church where I wanted to be.
Singing made me happy, helped me cope, connected me to the church. I don't have that now and I think it adds to the darkness. That's a lot to lose. I grieve that loss and know that I can't recover from it.
The stolen joy, the overwhelming grief...that was all I could think about when I pulled my car in the garage and shut the door. The music was louder than the engine and my pain was greater than any sense of what I was doing.
I'm not sure how long I sat there, but it was obviously not long enough to do any permanent damage or I wouldn't be writing this now.
I have been told I am going through a major depressive episode. Yes, it would seem as though I am.
Surely if anyone knew the deepest darkness, they'd lock me away and throw away the key. As hard as it might be, I'm going to share a part of that.
I had a moment of insane grief. When doesn't matter, but I turned the radio on just before pulling the car into the garage. Christian music was playing.
I instantly began thinking about how much I had once loved music and loved singing. Music was one of my few momentary escapes as a child. Music was where I developed enough confidence to get through high school.
As a child, I memorized happy songs that I sung to myself mentally as terrible things were happening to me. Chaos and pain were replaced at crucial moments as I sang to myself louder than everything around me.
During high school, a music teacher caught me singing to myself in a foyer when I thought nobody was listening. I was naturally soft spoken and kept to myself. Most people probably never heard a word from me. The teacher said singing was my voice and he said I had the "voice of an angel." It was his confidence in me which raised my own confidence. From there I sang in the school choir and even sang in front of crowds. In fact, I sang every chance I got.
With somewhat of a dashed confidence, I joined the church choir at the same time I joined the church. I faithfully made practices and happily sang on Sunday mornings for almost two years. But the whole time, my confidence and joy in singing was gradually being sucked away from me.
As time went on, each week became a struggle for me. The person sitting next to me was overly critical of my singing. I didn't sing loud enough. I didn't hit the right notes. One thing after another, she criticized me. She wore me down and broke me until I finally had to quit.
I've not really let anyone hear me sing since then either. In fact, the moment I open my mouth to sing along with music on the radio it's a fight to not hear her criticisms playing on repeat in my head.
I'm still not sure why she was so critical of me or why she went all out to suck the joy of singing away from me. She scared me away from the one place in the church where I wanted to be.
Singing made me happy, helped me cope, connected me to the church. I don't have that now and I think it adds to the darkness. That's a lot to lose. I grieve that loss and know that I can't recover from it.
The stolen joy, the overwhelming grief...that was all I could think about when I pulled my car in the garage and shut the door. The music was louder than the engine and my pain was greater than any sense of what I was doing.
I'm not sure how long I sat there, but it was obviously not long enough to do any permanent damage or I wouldn't be writing this now.
I have been told I am going through a major depressive episode. Yes, it would seem as though I am.
Monday, March 25, 2013
Gymnast I Am Not
I sit here tonight in pain. Yes, the pain that continues to loom over me but also in physical pain. It almost seems unfair to have both at the same time.
My lower back pain is easily off the charts tonight and I'm barely able to bend over. Silly me, I had an opportunity to see the chiropractor and didn't. I took a friend to see him, but was so focused on her that I forgot about my own pain.
Someone asked me today if I had a back injury that caused my back problems. That was a harder question to answer than I realized.
How do you explain to someone in an honest way something that is so difficult?
I remember the day I found out that I would always have lower back problems. I was in my early 20's and had a work injury which led to a required x-ray of my back. The doctor asked me in all seriousness how long I had been away from the gym. He was insistent that I had previously been a gymnast.
Ha! With the exception of some failed cartwheels in junior high, this young lady was the furthest thing from graceful enough to pull off being a gymnast.
He explained to me that my lower back and pelvis were full of hairline fractures. At the time, he said he had only seen that many fractures in gymnasts who notoriously twist and flip their bodies in unnatural ways.
I am positive that my back was twisted and flipped in unnatural ways. Years and years and years of being beaten, kicked, pushed down stairs and tortured had left me with a permanent back injury.
At the time, I felt no pain from the fractures but he assured me I would eventually. So true that was. I've been treated by a chiropractor for 14 years. It takes little to no effort for my lower back to become twisted or my pelvis to slip, causing excruciating pain.
The older I have gotten, the more the back problems cause pain in my shoulders, legs and hips. It's hard to accept yet another thing that is forever changed because of my past. I'm overcome by anger at the thought. I think it's ok to be angry when you realize your past leaves you in so much physical and emotional pain that you can't move.
My lower back pain is easily off the charts tonight and I'm barely able to bend over. Silly me, I had an opportunity to see the chiropractor and didn't. I took a friend to see him, but was so focused on her that I forgot about my own pain.
Someone asked me today if I had a back injury that caused my back problems. That was a harder question to answer than I realized.
How do you explain to someone in an honest way something that is so difficult?
I remember the day I found out that I would always have lower back problems. I was in my early 20's and had a work injury which led to a required x-ray of my back. The doctor asked me in all seriousness how long I had been away from the gym. He was insistent that I had previously been a gymnast.
Ha! With the exception of some failed cartwheels in junior high, this young lady was the furthest thing from graceful enough to pull off being a gymnast.
He explained to me that my lower back and pelvis were full of hairline fractures. At the time, he said he had only seen that many fractures in gymnasts who notoriously twist and flip their bodies in unnatural ways.
I am positive that my back was twisted and flipped in unnatural ways. Years and years and years of being beaten, kicked, pushed down stairs and tortured had left me with a permanent back injury.
At the time, I felt no pain from the fractures but he assured me I would eventually. So true that was. I've been treated by a chiropractor for 14 years. It takes little to no effort for my lower back to become twisted or my pelvis to slip, causing excruciating pain.
The older I have gotten, the more the back problems cause pain in my shoulders, legs and hips. It's hard to accept yet another thing that is forever changed because of my past. I'm overcome by anger at the thought. I think it's ok to be angry when you realize your past leaves you in so much physical and emotional pain that you can't move.
Saturday, March 23, 2013
Help Wanted
Honestly, I do my best to find value in each day. Even if I fail, I try.
This week has left me wanting to find something that adds value to my life but also some income. Without belaboring the details of the past few years that you can find in the archives, I can tell you that we aren't thriving financially. We are flat. Our forced home remodel sucked our savings down to only emergency use. By emergency, I mean we can only touch it if my husband were to lose his job.
I haven't been able to work for over three years. I'm still not sure I am ready, but I think it's becoming necessary.
Sure, I've stayed busy volunteering at church for the majority of the past three years, but volunteering doesn't pay bills. It's so hard for me to wrap my head around the fact that I haven't contributed to our income for over three years.
With our remodel, we ran our funds before the bathroom was done. That has left us with a cracked/rusting tub, holes in the wall, rotten wood, leaking faucet, tiles popping off the wall and disgusting bleach speckled green carpet on the floor. Most of that has remained tolerable and functional.
The leaky faucet has caused the tiles to pop, the rotting wood and what looks to be the start of a mold problem. Unfortunately, the growing hole in the tub is leaking water onto our furnace and heater in the basement. My husband seems to remain calm about all of this, but I don't do so well. Water leaking onto electrical and gas appliances seems to be dangerous.
Regardless, we finally agreed that the leaking tub could no longer be put off. My husband is pretty handy to have around, but this job is just too much for him. So, we had a friend come in, give us a quote which was more than reasonable and were able to see what we were facing.
It was beyond difficult for us to know we just didn't have the extra funds to take care of this problem. It's a terrible position to be in and I hate it. Not only that, but I feel extremely guilty. Since I don't work, it could take months and months to save enough money to get the tub fixed. Ugh!
So, I've spent some time looking at the Help Wanted ads the past few days. You know, I didn't find a lot of jobs at all. Most of what I saw were retail full-time or hard manual labor. Not that I'm against hard manual labor, but I'm really not qualified for a variety of reasons. I'm also not sure I can work full-time.
I found nothing suitable to even apply for. Ideally, I would need to find something part-time, local, and without a lot of contact with strangers. I know that may seem like I'm being too particular, but I think I have to if I want to hold a job for longer than a week. When you have PTSD, a personality disorder and a three year gap in work experience, it doesn't make you that marketable.
There has to be an answer. I know it seems silly, but for reasons I don't want to go into I've prayed for two years that this bathroom would get finished. For reasons difficult for anyone to understand, it's difficult for me to have it look so terrible. I've prayed for short term jobs and a variety of other things and nothing has come. Now that it's more urgent to get some of it done, I question why the unanswered prayers.
In fact, I've been passed over for low paying jobs. My husband has been offered odd jobs that he has had to turn down, while I could have easily done them. I'm frustrated.
I'm sure I will continue to search the ads, hoping to find something. I hope it comes soon for both the financial part and for the added value in life.
This week has left me wanting to find something that adds value to my life but also some income. Without belaboring the details of the past few years that you can find in the archives, I can tell you that we aren't thriving financially. We are flat. Our forced home remodel sucked our savings down to only emergency use. By emergency, I mean we can only touch it if my husband were to lose his job.
I haven't been able to work for over three years. I'm still not sure I am ready, but I think it's becoming necessary.
Sure, I've stayed busy volunteering at church for the majority of the past three years, but volunteering doesn't pay bills. It's so hard for me to wrap my head around the fact that I haven't contributed to our income for over three years.
With our remodel, we ran our funds before the bathroom was done. That has left us with a cracked/rusting tub, holes in the wall, rotten wood, leaking faucet, tiles popping off the wall and disgusting bleach speckled green carpet on the floor. Most of that has remained tolerable and functional.
The leaky faucet has caused the tiles to pop, the rotting wood and what looks to be the start of a mold problem. Unfortunately, the growing hole in the tub is leaking water onto our furnace and heater in the basement. My husband seems to remain calm about all of this, but I don't do so well. Water leaking onto electrical and gas appliances seems to be dangerous.
Regardless, we finally agreed that the leaking tub could no longer be put off. My husband is pretty handy to have around, but this job is just too much for him. So, we had a friend come in, give us a quote which was more than reasonable and were able to see what we were facing.
It was beyond difficult for us to know we just didn't have the extra funds to take care of this problem. It's a terrible position to be in and I hate it. Not only that, but I feel extremely guilty. Since I don't work, it could take months and months to save enough money to get the tub fixed. Ugh!
So, I've spent some time looking at the Help Wanted ads the past few days. You know, I didn't find a lot of jobs at all. Most of what I saw were retail full-time or hard manual labor. Not that I'm against hard manual labor, but I'm really not qualified for a variety of reasons. I'm also not sure I can work full-time.
I found nothing suitable to even apply for. Ideally, I would need to find something part-time, local, and without a lot of contact with strangers. I know that may seem like I'm being too particular, but I think I have to if I want to hold a job for longer than a week. When you have PTSD, a personality disorder and a three year gap in work experience, it doesn't make you that marketable.
There has to be an answer. I know it seems silly, but for reasons I don't want to go into I've prayed for two years that this bathroom would get finished. For reasons difficult for anyone to understand, it's difficult for me to have it look so terrible. I've prayed for short term jobs and a variety of other things and nothing has come. Now that it's more urgent to get some of it done, I question why the unanswered prayers.
In fact, I've been passed over for low paying jobs. My husband has been offered odd jobs that he has had to turn down, while I could have easily done them. I'm frustrated.
I'm sure I will continue to search the ads, hoping to find something. I hope it comes soon for both the financial part and for the added value in life.
Friday, March 22, 2013
Two Days
And just like that...she's gone.
My niece was picked up by her family last night. That two days went so fast. Too fast.
I thought I had until Sunday, but plans change like that. We had a good time. Since my husband works so many hours, it was her and I most of the two days.
My heart is sad for how attention craved she is. Her hesitancy to react or relax makes me heart sick.
When I got up this morning, there was nobody to feed and nobody to plan my day with. It was a startling reminder how little value my everyday life has and how few reasons I have to get out of bed.
I can't think of anything I am more ambivalent about than having my little brother and his family last night.
The short 45 minutes of visiting was wonderful. Conversation, awkward silence. It was all fine with me. There's nothing I wanted more than to just keep them all there with me. I want to sink in the precious moments of just having them all close to me.
It was sad, difficult. The avoidance of any deep conversation stings. I want them to care about me and yet the reality is they don't. These are people who share my same struggle to love others or show affection of any kind. There is a distance between them and me, one that is so obvious and so painful.
With so little contact with each and an inability to develop more than surface relationship, we are all strangers to each other. Nothing that resembles family and yet, eerily familiar as only we know it.
What I wouldn't give to go back 12-13 years to hold those tiny, innocent little babies who had not yet been changed by the world they live in today.
I'm so thankful for the short two days. My niece left a beautifully, bright heart sun catcher behind. It hangs in the kitchen proudly, while I do my best to look at it with only fond memories of her two days here.
Watching them all leave seemed so final. I felt that way the last time I saw them this summer. This is only the third time I've seen them in six years. Of course it feels final. I never know when or if I will see them again.
I never know what kind of crazy will creep into their lives. I never know what kind of crazy will creep into my life. I certainly don't know what plans God has in this. I never know how long this crazy life will last.
My niece was picked up by her family last night. That two days went so fast. Too fast.
I thought I had until Sunday, but plans change like that. We had a good time. Since my husband works so many hours, it was her and I most of the two days.
My heart is sad for how attention craved she is. Her hesitancy to react or relax makes me heart sick.
When I got up this morning, there was nobody to feed and nobody to plan my day with. It was a startling reminder how little value my everyday life has and how few reasons I have to get out of bed.
I can't think of anything I am more ambivalent about than having my little brother and his family last night.
The short 45 minutes of visiting was wonderful. Conversation, awkward silence. It was all fine with me. There's nothing I wanted more than to just keep them all there with me. I want to sink in the precious moments of just having them all close to me.
It was sad, difficult. The avoidance of any deep conversation stings. I want them to care about me and yet the reality is they don't. These are people who share my same struggle to love others or show affection of any kind. There is a distance between them and me, one that is so obvious and so painful.
With so little contact with each and an inability to develop more than surface relationship, we are all strangers to each other. Nothing that resembles family and yet, eerily familiar as only we know it.
What I wouldn't give to go back 12-13 years to hold those tiny, innocent little babies who had not yet been changed by the world they live in today.
I'm so thankful for the short two days. My niece left a beautifully, bright heart sun catcher behind. It hangs in the kitchen proudly, while I do my best to look at it with only fond memories of her two days here.
Watching them all leave seemed so final. I felt that way the last time I saw them this summer. This is only the third time I've seen them in six years. Of course it feels final. I never know when or if I will see them again.
I never know what kind of crazy will creep into their lives. I never know what kind of crazy will creep into my life. I certainly don't know what plans God has in this. I never know how long this crazy life will last.
Wednesday, March 20, 2013
Giggles
Not mine, but I hear giggles. My 12 year old niece sits on the floor giggling and bantering back and forth with my husband.
A last-minute plan to have her for a few days of her spring break brings a short reprieve to my season of darkness.
This is the first time in a couple months there has been laughter and smiles in our house. Oh, how that has been missed.
There's a whole lot of additional pain that comes with having my niece here and I'm doing my best to slide that onto the back burner for now. There will be time to feel those very real heartaches once she is back home.
We spent the day doing busy things. Craft store. Grocery store. Salon. We did a months worth of errands all in one day.
I feel absolutely guilty and a little vindication. The anxiety, depression, darkness...it's still there. I feel terrible that my mood keeps me from giving 100% to her while she is here. This is only the 3rd time I've gotten to spend time with her in 6 years. It's terrible that I don't feel up being the fun-loving aunt she wants and deserves.
For anyone who believes depression and anxiety can somehow be overcome by an act or willing it away, I'm living proof you cannot. It's not something I have a choice in and this is proof. Of all times, I would choose right now to escape from it in healthy ways and I cannot.
I'm learning that when you have someone staying with you, it's even harder to hide the pain. It's gut-wrenching to hear the concerned voice of a 12 year-old asking if you are ok when you know the pain is written all over your face and there is no place to hide.
I'm trying, trying so hard. I'm trying to let the giggles penetrate the cover of darkness.
A last-minute plan to have her for a few days of her spring break brings a short reprieve to my season of darkness.
This is the first time in a couple months there has been laughter and smiles in our house. Oh, how that has been missed.
There's a whole lot of additional pain that comes with having my niece here and I'm doing my best to slide that onto the back burner for now. There will be time to feel those very real heartaches once she is back home.
We spent the day doing busy things. Craft store. Grocery store. Salon. We did a months worth of errands all in one day.
I feel absolutely guilty and a little vindication. The anxiety, depression, darkness...it's still there. I feel terrible that my mood keeps me from giving 100% to her while she is here. This is only the 3rd time I've gotten to spend time with her in 6 years. It's terrible that I don't feel up being the fun-loving aunt she wants and deserves.
For anyone who believes depression and anxiety can somehow be overcome by an act or willing it away, I'm living proof you cannot. It's not something I have a choice in and this is proof. Of all times, I would choose right now to escape from it in healthy ways and I cannot.
I'm learning that when you have someone staying with you, it's even harder to hide the pain. It's gut-wrenching to hear the concerned voice of a 12 year-old asking if you are ok when you know the pain is written all over your face and there is no place to hide.
I'm trying, trying so hard. I'm trying to let the giggles penetrate the cover of darkness.
Monday, March 18, 2013
Expectations
As you might imagine, I'm searching right now. Soul searching. Trying to find a connection. Looking at the bare basics. Doing my best to reconnect myself back to something good and positive.
I am on the run. Running from church, the people of the church and God. And, I'm dangerously close to slipping away from most of it.
Recently, I've been more honest about the hurt I've experienced within the church. Keep in mind that with all I've shared, it is still only a minuscule amount of the hurt I've experienced there. But there was a time, long before the hurting began, when I loved going to church.
Let me back up a little bit further. In the summer of 2007, the pastor preached a series on Proverbs. That series spoke to me very deeply. It was the driving force behind the meeting with the pastor that ultimately led to my profession of faith in his office.
Ok, let me back up even further and set the stage a little bit for you. Walking into the church early in 2007, I had no point of reference. This was my first real church experiences as an adult. I had no expectations. I didn't expect people to be a certain way. I had no preconceived idea of what the church body was to be like.
Outside of that, I really had no desire to make friends. I had one friend and that was just fine by me. At times, that was even too much. I wasn't a people person and didn't care if people liked me. I wasn't socially developed enough to believe that relationships were important outside of marriage. It was my default. Not getting involved with people kept me from getting hurt and kept me from having to go through the ups and downs of human connection.
If you can imagine, most of those things have completely been flipped in me. Completely changed. And, where did those changes come from? How did I learn what to expect from the church? Where did I come up with the idea that relationships were good and befriending other Christians was right and good?
Honestly, I got it from being at church. Listening intently to every sermon and bible study the best I could. It was the leaders and teachers of the church who taught me what to expect from the church body. Don't get me wrong, they taught me about grace and forgiveness too. But the majority of my experiences have been contradictory to what I was taught. That's just hard.
So to make sure I wasn't wrong, didn't misunderstand what I heard, I got access to that series which initially drew me into the church.
Today I listened to the sermon on Friendship. There was so much information there. Some I remembered well and other information that was a harsh reminder.
I needed to hear it. In fact, I wish everyone could hear it. There's so much truth that I wish so many people could be reminded of now. It all seems so simple and yet simple seems to escape people.
I'm sure I'll be listening to it again, as well as the others in the series. If the mood ever strikes, it would be worth sitting down and making notes over...it's a sermon worthy of a complete blogpost alone.
One quote from the pastor stuck with me.
"If anyone on the face of this planet is going to known as a friendly person, it ought to be someone who is filled with the spirit of Jesus Christ. There's no excuse for Christians to have the sour disposition, the attitudes, the actions that are not loving. We are the ones who should be friendly."
The past year I've struggled to see this within the church body outside of Sunday morning service when everyone has on their best church smile and casually and quite surfacely greets one another with a handshake, hug or hello.
Please know, that this doesn't apply to everyone. But it certainly applies to more Christians than it should. That breaks my heart. It. Hurts. Me. Deeply.
I am on the run. Running from church, the people of the church and God. And, I'm dangerously close to slipping away from most of it.
Recently, I've been more honest about the hurt I've experienced within the church. Keep in mind that with all I've shared, it is still only a minuscule amount of the hurt I've experienced there. But there was a time, long before the hurting began, when I loved going to church.
Let me back up a little bit further. In the summer of 2007, the pastor preached a series on Proverbs. That series spoke to me very deeply. It was the driving force behind the meeting with the pastor that ultimately led to my profession of faith in his office.
Ok, let me back up even further and set the stage a little bit for you. Walking into the church early in 2007, I had no point of reference. This was my first real church experiences as an adult. I had no expectations. I didn't expect people to be a certain way. I had no preconceived idea of what the church body was to be like.
Outside of that, I really had no desire to make friends. I had one friend and that was just fine by me. At times, that was even too much. I wasn't a people person and didn't care if people liked me. I wasn't socially developed enough to believe that relationships were important outside of marriage. It was my default. Not getting involved with people kept me from getting hurt and kept me from having to go through the ups and downs of human connection.
If you can imagine, most of those things have completely been flipped in me. Completely changed. And, where did those changes come from? How did I learn what to expect from the church? Where did I come up with the idea that relationships were good and befriending other Christians was right and good?
Honestly, I got it from being at church. Listening intently to every sermon and bible study the best I could. It was the leaders and teachers of the church who taught me what to expect from the church body. Don't get me wrong, they taught me about grace and forgiveness too. But the majority of my experiences have been contradictory to what I was taught. That's just hard.
So to make sure I wasn't wrong, didn't misunderstand what I heard, I got access to that series which initially drew me into the church.
Today I listened to the sermon on Friendship. There was so much information there. Some I remembered well and other information that was a harsh reminder.
I needed to hear it. In fact, I wish everyone could hear it. There's so much truth that I wish so many people could be reminded of now. It all seems so simple and yet simple seems to escape people.
I'm sure I'll be listening to it again, as well as the others in the series. If the mood ever strikes, it would be worth sitting down and making notes over...it's a sermon worthy of a complete blogpost alone.
One quote from the pastor stuck with me.
"If anyone on the face of this planet is going to known as a friendly person, it ought to be someone who is filled with the spirit of Jesus Christ. There's no excuse for Christians to have the sour disposition, the attitudes, the actions that are not loving. We are the ones who should be friendly."
The past year I've struggled to see this within the church body outside of Sunday morning service when everyone has on their best church smile and casually and quite surfacely greets one another with a handshake, hug or hello.
Please know, that this doesn't apply to everyone. But it certainly applies to more Christians than it should. That breaks my heart. It. Hurts. Me. Deeply.
Sunday, March 17, 2013
I would have been...
How can it have only been three days since I visited this page? It feels like it's been weeks. Several, slow, dark weeks.
My husband made it back home last week only to work all weekend. I made it through the week and just barely. I don't think anyone wants to even know literally how "barely" it was.
I wish I could report an upswing for me. I wish I could say the darkest of days are behind me. Unfortunately, the only change is the realization that nobody can help me at this point. That's not the depression speaking, but me speaking out of the reality of my own brokenness.
As I desperately search for an end, I've spent a lot of time considering what I've lost or never had. Not arrogantly, I can say "I would have been a good mom."
I don't need to go into the history of why I'm not, but it's another thing stolen from me that I desperately wanted. It's a big thing that would have added so much value to my life and which often leads to my devaluation of my life.
This morning, I gave one of the dogs a bath. As I did, I sang to him.
Scrub-a-dub-dub, I got my Gizzy in the tub.
Scrub-a-dub-dee, I am going to get him all clean.
Scrub-a-dub-doo, He's gonna smell like new.
Scrub-a-dub-dub, I'm washing my Gizzy in the tub.
I'm no poet. I found that singing to whatever dog I have in the tub tends to calm them. They are all good in the tub, but would rather not be there. I sing to my dog. That's right, I sing to my dog in the tub. Scrubbing the leaves out of their tails and dirt off their noses, I sing to them.
Since I don't have kids, I don't ever get asked to watch children...even when I offer. However, I really can take care of a child. I babysat kids for over 10 years and they were all different ages.
Thinking about the way I care for the dogs and the little things I do to show them love, I can't help but think I would have gone above and beyond that for a child. I know I would have.
I always hear parents say they just want better for their kids than they had as a child. I think I would have been the same way. I probably would have gone overboard to do just that.
I'll never know though. I can't say I wouldn't have made mistakes, cause I know I would have. But I would have made an awesome mom and I'm said that I'll never the opportunity to prove it.
My husband made it back home last week only to work all weekend. I made it through the week and just barely. I don't think anyone wants to even know literally how "barely" it was.
I wish I could report an upswing for me. I wish I could say the darkest of days are behind me. Unfortunately, the only change is the realization that nobody can help me at this point. That's not the depression speaking, but me speaking out of the reality of my own brokenness.
As I desperately search for an end, I've spent a lot of time considering what I've lost or never had. Not arrogantly, I can say "I would have been a good mom."
I don't need to go into the history of why I'm not, but it's another thing stolen from me that I desperately wanted. It's a big thing that would have added so much value to my life and which often leads to my devaluation of my life.
This morning, I gave one of the dogs a bath. As I did, I sang to him.
Scrub-a-dub-dub, I got my Gizzy in the tub.
Scrub-a-dub-dee, I am going to get him all clean.
Scrub-a-dub-doo, He's gonna smell like new.
Scrub-a-dub-dub, I'm washing my Gizzy in the tub.
I'm no poet. I found that singing to whatever dog I have in the tub tends to calm them. They are all good in the tub, but would rather not be there. I sing to my dog. That's right, I sing to my dog in the tub. Scrubbing the leaves out of their tails and dirt off their noses, I sing to them.
Since I don't have kids, I don't ever get asked to watch children...even when I offer. However, I really can take care of a child. I babysat kids for over 10 years and they were all different ages.
Thinking about the way I care for the dogs and the little things I do to show them love, I can't help but think I would have gone above and beyond that for a child. I know I would have.
I always hear parents say they just want better for their kids than they had as a child. I think I would have been the same way. I probably would have gone overboard to do just that.
I'll never know though. I can't say I wouldn't have made mistakes, cause I know I would have. But I would have made an awesome mom and I'm said that I'll never the opportunity to prove it.
Thursday, March 14, 2013
Need You Now
Unlike most of the past three months, I actually left the house a couple times and had a couple conversations with people. Not because of them, but because of me and this season of my life, it was difficult. Everything in me wanted to curled up on my bed and forgo any and all human contact. It was my unhealthy default, still is right now.
But I got hit with a question today from someone who knows me well. We know what the pros are to everyone knowing who I am (all the issues that keep me contained, bring me down), but what are the cons? It was a simple answer. I don't care. Honestly, I've got nothing to lose at this point.
I don't promote this blog. I don't post links publicly and rarely tell anyone about it. If you read this blog, chances are you are one of the 3-5 people I told about it or you found it by chance. Either way, I write without fear of who reads this. I speak from the heart, even when it's dark.
As I was reading a friend's blog tonight, I noticed that she linked this blog to her post. Not that it's guaranteed, but that definitely increases the chances people who don't know me well or even those who think they do but really don't could end up here. She promotes her blog posts and it's out there for the world to see with the click of a button. That struck a moment of fear deep within me until I remembered....I have nothing to lose.
On my way to grab dinner tonight, this was on my mind. I'm not ashamed of anything I've written. I've not written anything that was meant to purposely hurt or anger anyone. Since I continue to write not to an audience but for myself, I considered how I would describe my blog to someone if asked. Honestly, the song "Cry Out to Jesus" popped into my head. It is an unedited cry out of the darkness sometimes.
Even though I've listened to Christian music so rarely in the past 18 months, I could hear it in my head and recall every word. I turned on the radio thinking how awesome it would be if that song were on any of the stations or on any of the six CDs in the car. No, it wasn't. But I heard a song I've never heard before now.
Through a process of using Shazaam, Youtube and a lyrics site, I know it was Need You Now by Plumb. I also think I found a new anthem of my life.
I don't think this is some new, life changing revolution in my life. In fact, I don't even think it pushes me back toward God any more. But I can hear it in the song. I can hear my life, my pain. It replicates the many nights of cry out to God, crying out to anyone. It encapsulates my fear that I won't hear God's voice above the noise. It spells out how difficult each step is to take alone. It counts the number of times it has taken strength beyond mine own or even others just to keep me breathing. It is beautiful because it says what I feel....I get so tired of barely holding on.
I'm barely holding on...
That's just reality. I'm barely holding on and holding on alone. I have to because 99% of the world surrounding me has no clue what the story is. Even those who hear my cries or see my pain, don't know. Don't understand. Don't know the driving force of the darkness.
Well, everybody's got a story to tell
And everybody's got a wound to be healed
I want to believe there's beauty here
'Cause oh I get so tired of holding on
I can't let go, I can't move on
I want to believe there's meaning here
Chorus:
How many times have you heard me cry out
"God please take this"?
How many times have you given me strength to
Just keep breathing?
Oh, I need you
God, I need you now.
Standing on a road I didn't plan
Wondering how I got to where I am
I'm trying to hear that still small voice
I'm trying to hear above the noise
Chorus:
How many times have you heard me cry out
"God please take this"?
How many times have you given me strength to
Just keep breathing?
Oh, I need you
God, I need you now.
Oh I walk, Oh I walk through the shadows
And I, I am so afraid
Please stay, please stay right beside me
With every single step I take
How many times have you heard me cry out?
And how many times have you given me strength?
Chorus:
How many times have you heard me cry out
"God please take this"?
How many times have you given me strength to
Just keep breathing?
Oh, I need you
God, I need you now.
I need you now
Oh, I need you
God, I need you now
I need you now
I need you now
But I got hit with a question today from someone who knows me well. We know what the pros are to everyone knowing who I am (all the issues that keep me contained, bring me down), but what are the cons? It was a simple answer. I don't care. Honestly, I've got nothing to lose at this point.
I don't promote this blog. I don't post links publicly and rarely tell anyone about it. If you read this blog, chances are you are one of the 3-5 people I told about it or you found it by chance. Either way, I write without fear of who reads this. I speak from the heart, even when it's dark.
As I was reading a friend's blog tonight, I noticed that she linked this blog to her post. Not that it's guaranteed, but that definitely increases the chances people who don't know me well or even those who think they do but really don't could end up here. She promotes her blog posts and it's out there for the world to see with the click of a button. That struck a moment of fear deep within me until I remembered....I have nothing to lose.
On my way to grab dinner tonight, this was on my mind. I'm not ashamed of anything I've written. I've not written anything that was meant to purposely hurt or anger anyone. Since I continue to write not to an audience but for myself, I considered how I would describe my blog to someone if asked. Honestly, the song "Cry Out to Jesus" popped into my head. It is an unedited cry out of the darkness sometimes.
Even though I've listened to Christian music so rarely in the past 18 months, I could hear it in my head and recall every word. I turned on the radio thinking how awesome it would be if that song were on any of the stations or on any of the six CDs in the car. No, it wasn't. But I heard a song I've never heard before now.
Through a process of using Shazaam, Youtube and a lyrics site, I know it was Need You Now by Plumb. I also think I found a new anthem of my life.
I don't think this is some new, life changing revolution in my life. In fact, I don't even think it pushes me back toward God any more. But I can hear it in the song. I can hear my life, my pain. It replicates the many nights of cry out to God, crying out to anyone. It encapsulates my fear that I won't hear God's voice above the noise. It spells out how difficult each step is to take alone. It counts the number of times it has taken strength beyond mine own or even others just to keep me breathing. It is beautiful because it says what I feel....I get so tired of barely holding on.
I'm barely holding on...
That's just reality. I'm barely holding on and holding on alone. I have to because 99% of the world surrounding me has no clue what the story is. Even those who hear my cries or see my pain, don't know. Don't understand. Don't know the driving force of the darkness.
Well, everybody's got a story to tell
And everybody's got a wound to be healed
I want to believe there's beauty here
'Cause oh I get so tired of holding on
I can't let go, I can't move on
I want to believe there's meaning here
Chorus:
How many times have you heard me cry out
"God please take this"?
How many times have you given me strength to
Just keep breathing?
Oh, I need you
God, I need you now.
Standing on a road I didn't plan
Wondering how I got to where I am
I'm trying to hear that still small voice
I'm trying to hear above the noise
Chorus:
How many times have you heard me cry out
"God please take this"?
How many times have you given me strength to
Just keep breathing?
Oh, I need you
God, I need you now.
Oh I walk, Oh I walk through the shadows
And I, I am so afraid
Please stay, please stay right beside me
With every single step I take
How many times have you heard me cry out?
And how many times have you given me strength?
Chorus:
How many times have you heard me cry out
"God please take this"?
How many times have you given me strength to
Just keep breathing?
Oh, I need you
God, I need you now.
I need you now
Oh, I need you
God, I need you now
I need you now
I need you now
Tuesday, March 12, 2013
Wish I had...
Ugh...this fog won't lift. I can't crawl out of the pit. Regardless of the analogy you can most identify with, it just hasn't happened for me yet.
It's not that uncommon for me to go through a period of 3-4 days of deep depression and anxiety every few months or so. I don't even remember the last time I went through 3-4 weeks of it with no signs of it stopping.
I had lunch with a dear friend today who isn't afraid to talk about depression and anxity. She asked me a question that I hadn't really thought about. What brought this on? What was the trigger?
Honestly, I don't know that I can pinpoint it this time. Sometimes I can, this time I can't. There's been no biological changes and no environmental changes in the past month. There are a few changes that go back to December and January, but nothing that I can look at and just know.
There are a couple things that constantly eat at me, even though I don't think they could be deemed the "one" thing. Even those things seem like a moving target as somedays bring an onslot of emotion over some topics while other days remain flat.
I've definitely felt spiritually discouraged and a bit flatlined for probably a lot longer than 3-4 weeks. There's a lot I could say about that and will consider for another post. But I have been dwelling on one facet of this.
In back posts, you can find a lot of info about why I would need to cut communication with a majority of my family. They are an unhealthy unit of people where I had no hope of ever developing anything healthy. Regardless of how it happened, it needed to happen. The church, God, all reasons I learned quickly I needed to cut ties with them.
Two facts you might recall from earlier posts...
My parents are atheists. Actually, I'm not even sure that is correct. Put simply, they are against anything Christ related and believe the highest power lies in themselves.
The last time I spoke to my mom was in a phone conversation where I told her I was going to be baptized. She hung up on me and I've not heard from her since.
My baptism was so repulsive to them, that they shut me out. My committment to God was enough for them to turn their backs on me. There was no ceremonious explanation of how they were no allowed to be an unhealthy resource in my life. I wasn't given the chance to walk away from them. I didn't get to taper contact with them, lessening the blow of loss.
It's really difficult to not look at this as ultimately a sacrifice for Christ, church.
If I'd shut off contact, it would be fair to say I sacrificed the relationship for my own good. If that doesn't make sense to you, then you probably haven't read enough about the evil which resides inside my family.
Maybe because it was something done to me and not by my choice, I still have a difficult time with it. I know this is going to sound completely off the wall to some of my more conservative friends, but I think I understand what it's like when a child is shunned by a parent for being gay.
I chose something so hated by my parents that they turned their backs on me, shunned me. I didn't tell them I was gay or a drug addict or hooker or any number of terrible things. I became a Christian. My own mom decided I was no longer worth having so much as a phone conversation with because of the choice I made.
When I feel so discouraged with church and spiritually flat, I start to get this resentment in my gut. Regardless of the level of dysfunction, my family is my family. The only one I have. When I fight these ugly battles all alone, I wonder if the sacrifice was worth it. I hate that feeling.
When I have nobody and I want a family, I constantly question whether it was worth it. I know, most people are going to say eternal life makes it all worth it. In times like this, that doesn't seem to matter.
Days like today make me wish I had a mom to call and talk to. I want to cry on her shoulder and have her assurance that this will all get better. I wish I had a mom I could pour out the darkness of my heart to and would love me anyway. Don't get me wrong, my mom would have never done that anyway. But, I still wish I had it.
No, not having a mom isn't the reason for the season I am in right now. Yes, not having a mom definitely makes the struggle bigger and harder.
It's not that uncommon for me to go through a period of 3-4 days of deep depression and anxiety every few months or so. I don't even remember the last time I went through 3-4 weeks of it with no signs of it stopping.
I had lunch with a dear friend today who isn't afraid to talk about depression and anxity. She asked me a question that I hadn't really thought about. What brought this on? What was the trigger?
Honestly, I don't know that I can pinpoint it this time. Sometimes I can, this time I can't. There's been no biological changes and no environmental changes in the past month. There are a few changes that go back to December and January, but nothing that I can look at and just know.
There are a couple things that constantly eat at me, even though I don't think they could be deemed the "one" thing. Even those things seem like a moving target as somedays bring an onslot of emotion over some topics while other days remain flat.
I've definitely felt spiritually discouraged and a bit flatlined for probably a lot longer than 3-4 weeks. There's a lot I could say about that and will consider for another post. But I have been dwelling on one facet of this.
In back posts, you can find a lot of info about why I would need to cut communication with a majority of my family. They are an unhealthy unit of people where I had no hope of ever developing anything healthy. Regardless of how it happened, it needed to happen. The church, God, all reasons I learned quickly I needed to cut ties with them.
Two facts you might recall from earlier posts...
My parents are atheists. Actually, I'm not even sure that is correct. Put simply, they are against anything Christ related and believe the highest power lies in themselves.
The last time I spoke to my mom was in a phone conversation where I told her I was going to be baptized. She hung up on me and I've not heard from her since.
My baptism was so repulsive to them, that they shut me out. My committment to God was enough for them to turn their backs on me. There was no ceremonious explanation of how they were no allowed to be an unhealthy resource in my life. I wasn't given the chance to walk away from them. I didn't get to taper contact with them, lessening the blow of loss.
It's really difficult to not look at this as ultimately a sacrifice for Christ, church.
If I'd shut off contact, it would be fair to say I sacrificed the relationship for my own good. If that doesn't make sense to you, then you probably haven't read enough about the evil which resides inside my family.
Maybe because it was something done to me and not by my choice, I still have a difficult time with it. I know this is going to sound completely off the wall to some of my more conservative friends, but I think I understand what it's like when a child is shunned by a parent for being gay.
I chose something so hated by my parents that they turned their backs on me, shunned me. I didn't tell them I was gay or a drug addict or hooker or any number of terrible things. I became a Christian. My own mom decided I was no longer worth having so much as a phone conversation with because of the choice I made.
When I feel so discouraged with church and spiritually flat, I start to get this resentment in my gut. Regardless of the level of dysfunction, my family is my family. The only one I have. When I fight these ugly battles all alone, I wonder if the sacrifice was worth it. I hate that feeling.
When I have nobody and I want a family, I constantly question whether it was worth it. I know, most people are going to say eternal life makes it all worth it. In times like this, that doesn't seem to matter.
Days like today make me wish I had a mom to call and talk to. I want to cry on her shoulder and have her assurance that this will all get better. I wish I had a mom I could pour out the darkness of my heart to and would love me anyway. Don't get me wrong, my mom would have never done that anyway. But, I still wish I had it.
No, not having a mom isn't the reason for the season I am in right now. Yes, not having a mom definitely makes the struggle bigger and harder.
Sunday, March 10, 2013
Unstable Freedom
For most of the past three years, I've had often short and depressive periods of time that were largely brought on by my lack of freedom.
My ability to drive was held under lock and key with only a couple exceptions of being allowed to "give it a try." I had to rely on someone for everything I needed.
There was rarely a time when someone didn't know where I was or what I was doing. I had a very routine life. Four days a week, I volunteered at church. The other three days I was always with someone. There was little time not under the watchful of someone. There were also no, and I repeat..NO, nights spent completely alone at home.
What a change the past few months has thrust upon me. I didn't ask for it, didn't have to make threats to get it. All the freedom I'd been wanting fell into my lap and much to my surprise.
I was given my keys and car back a few days before vacation. It was such a shock, I found myself driving around with no good reason just because I could.
My husband's work schedule has forced him into traveling more often than he has in the past seven years. It started in 2012 with a couple 2-3 days trips and has expanded into traveling once a month for 4-5 days at a time.
I can't believe I'm going to say this, but I don't like it. Those things that I fought against so mightily the past three years are also the things which have kept me the most stable.
Routine is a huge point of stability for me. Without it, I go through the day without feeling much purpose in my life. It's amazing how a routine creates this sense of purpose and gives you a reason to get out of bed. I haven't been able to hold a job previously because of my issues, but volunteering at the church was an ideal alternative. Sadly and for reasons I won't go into, that just got to be an unhealthy place for me leaving me with no other option than to take a break. I have a small house with three small dogs and a limited budget. There's not much to do that gives me purpose or keeps me in a routine.
It's a little unsettling that nobody really knows where I'm at or what I'm doing for 12-16 hours of the day. If you know/knew the full extent of my issues, you'd understand that statement. Sure, occasionally my husband will text or call to check on me, but is far from consistent. I do have one person who 4-5 days a week will call, text or come by to check on me. She's fairly busy and can't always do it, but I know tries with best intentions.
There's little accountability for me. I know, it probably sounds like I need a babysitter. I don't. But, have you ever lost a good portion of your day or ended up in places not knowing how you got there? Have you ever gone three days and not remembered anything about them, your only recollection is what people share with you after? Yes? No? Those are normal things for me. See why accountability would be such a huge thing in my life? Are you starting to understand why not having anyone know where I'm at or what I'm doing would be a little unnerving for me?
To add to the jumbled up life I'm living these days, my husband is traveling...again. That's right. The past few weeks have been a fight to remain just OK during the day so that I can have a tiny bit of respite while he is home at night. Even if my husband is sleeping, I still get some peace that I am safe and protected (most of the time).
With him leaving tomorrow for another trip, I'm not overly thrilled for what that means for me. Long, sleepless nights to heap exhaustion on my already fragile emotional state. There's nothing I can do about it either. I can't change what already is and he has to go. To keep his job, he must go.
Will I stare mindlessly at the wall in my bedroom all hours of the day this week? I don't know. I know if I don't find some purpose in life, I probably will.
I heard on the news the past few days about several older couples who have committed murder/suicide. I know for a lot of people that seems awful and sad. I think I understand. I do believe there comes a time in life when you feel as though there is no purpose for you beyond that moment. A point in time when it seems as though your purpose for living has already been fulfilled and there is nothing ahead of you. We don't know the future, but it seems fairly bleak. I do wonder if they'd been given a glimpse of what was to come, would they follow through or re-evaluate.
My ability to drive was held under lock and key with only a couple exceptions of being allowed to "give it a try." I had to rely on someone for everything I needed.
There was rarely a time when someone didn't know where I was or what I was doing. I had a very routine life. Four days a week, I volunteered at church. The other three days I was always with someone. There was little time not under the watchful of someone. There were also no, and I repeat..NO, nights spent completely alone at home.
What a change the past few months has thrust upon me. I didn't ask for it, didn't have to make threats to get it. All the freedom I'd been wanting fell into my lap and much to my surprise.
I was given my keys and car back a few days before vacation. It was such a shock, I found myself driving around with no good reason just because I could.
My husband's work schedule has forced him into traveling more often than he has in the past seven years. It started in 2012 with a couple 2-3 days trips and has expanded into traveling once a month for 4-5 days at a time.
I can't believe I'm going to say this, but I don't like it. Those things that I fought against so mightily the past three years are also the things which have kept me the most stable.
Routine is a huge point of stability for me. Without it, I go through the day without feeling much purpose in my life. It's amazing how a routine creates this sense of purpose and gives you a reason to get out of bed. I haven't been able to hold a job previously because of my issues, but volunteering at the church was an ideal alternative. Sadly and for reasons I won't go into, that just got to be an unhealthy place for me leaving me with no other option than to take a break. I have a small house with three small dogs and a limited budget. There's not much to do that gives me purpose or keeps me in a routine.
It's a little unsettling that nobody really knows where I'm at or what I'm doing for 12-16 hours of the day. If you know/knew the full extent of my issues, you'd understand that statement. Sure, occasionally my husband will text or call to check on me, but is far from consistent. I do have one person who 4-5 days a week will call, text or come by to check on me. She's fairly busy and can't always do it, but I know tries with best intentions.
There's little accountability for me. I know, it probably sounds like I need a babysitter. I don't. But, have you ever lost a good portion of your day or ended up in places not knowing how you got there? Have you ever gone three days and not remembered anything about them, your only recollection is what people share with you after? Yes? No? Those are normal things for me. See why accountability would be such a huge thing in my life? Are you starting to understand why not having anyone know where I'm at or what I'm doing would be a little unnerving for me?
To add to the jumbled up life I'm living these days, my husband is traveling...again. That's right. The past few weeks have been a fight to remain just OK during the day so that I can have a tiny bit of respite while he is home at night. Even if my husband is sleeping, I still get some peace that I am safe and protected (most of the time).
With him leaving tomorrow for another trip, I'm not overly thrilled for what that means for me. Long, sleepless nights to heap exhaustion on my already fragile emotional state. There's nothing I can do about it either. I can't change what already is and he has to go. To keep his job, he must go.
Will I stare mindlessly at the wall in my bedroom all hours of the day this week? I don't know. I know if I don't find some purpose in life, I probably will.
I heard on the news the past few days about several older couples who have committed murder/suicide. I know for a lot of people that seems awful and sad. I think I understand. I do believe there comes a time in life when you feel as though there is no purpose for you beyond that moment. A point in time when it seems as though your purpose for living has already been fulfilled and there is nothing ahead of you. We don't know the future, but it seems fairly bleak. I do wonder if they'd been given a glimpse of what was to come, would they follow through or re-evaluate.
Friday, March 8, 2013
Anxiety
Chances are if you've ever thrown out the Philippians 4:6 verse to someone as a help for anxiety, then you've probably never truly struggled with anxiety.
Nobody, and I repeat NOBODY, chooses to have anxiety and NOBODY enjoys it. Everyone I've ever talked to would agree that anxiety is a terrible affliction that they wish away the moment it begins to set in.
I cannot take medication for anxiety. The last anxiety med I tried made me drowsy for days and days. Other meds caused much worse side effects. So, I am completely unmedicated for my anxiety. Anxiety is by no means the worst issue I deal with, but it is one of the more acute things which sideline me from being able to live a productive life.
That's not an exaggeration. If other issues hadn't knocked me on my butt recently, anxiety would have. It's out of control.
For me, my anxiety manifests in constant worry and fret over something small which grows until it literally stops me from functioning.
On a normal morning, I can wake up and feel great. A thought about the day or innocuous pain in my side or muscle cramp in my shoulder or any number of other things can creep into my head for just a moment. That can and often does start the constantly worry, which leads to the anxiety.
I wish it weren't so.
Since I've been laying on the bed all day, everyday, I have been experiencing neck and shoulder pain. It's consumed my thinking most of the day. I've tried to ignore it and busy myself with other things, but I can't stop my mind from spinning. I know, it's irrational at times but can't be stopped.
I've taken aspirin as directed for heart attacks. I've taken my blood pressure and pulse multiple times. I've been through the checklist of things I discussed with the doctor last week. I've been on WebMD and gone through every possible symptom I have at the moment. And, even though I've self-diagnosed myself with nothing of any major consequence, my mind still won't stop.
Crazy, maybe. It's just anxiety. I know, I've been here before. I've paced the house from one end to the other. I've been on my knees praying. As my body fights to be still while stuck in a fidgety mess, I can tell you that there is no easy fix for true anxiety.
It's probably as hard to explain as it to understand. My husband struggles to understand. Of course, he does. For someone who's never been through it, it is impossible to know. Even I can admit if I weren't there at the moment, I would even struggle to understand why someone would have an irrational fear of being with people so exacerbated that they can't leave their home.
On occasion, I've been able to diffuse my anxiety through talking with someone. Since ceasing counseling and therapy, that hasn't been an option. My husband being at home part of the evening is a bit of a buffer. Honestly, I still end up sitting and chewing mindlessly on my shirt while I try to calm myself. I know, gross and bizarre, but it works sometimes when anxiety has worn me down.
While I've had anxiety most of my life, it's certainly never affected my life the way it does now. I hate it and don't want it. I don't enjoy it. I barely think I'll survive it while I'm in repeated cycles of it. I'd much rather spend my day doing something else besides going to the brink of an anxiety attack and back.
I know I'll probably never live a life without anxiety, but I'd like to at least live a life with a little less of it.
Nobody, and I repeat NOBODY, chooses to have anxiety and NOBODY enjoys it. Everyone I've ever talked to would agree that anxiety is a terrible affliction that they wish away the moment it begins to set in.
I cannot take medication for anxiety. The last anxiety med I tried made me drowsy for days and days. Other meds caused much worse side effects. So, I am completely unmedicated for my anxiety. Anxiety is by no means the worst issue I deal with, but it is one of the more acute things which sideline me from being able to live a productive life.
That's not an exaggeration. If other issues hadn't knocked me on my butt recently, anxiety would have. It's out of control.
For me, my anxiety manifests in constant worry and fret over something small which grows until it literally stops me from functioning.
On a normal morning, I can wake up and feel great. A thought about the day or innocuous pain in my side or muscle cramp in my shoulder or any number of other things can creep into my head for just a moment. That can and often does start the constantly worry, which leads to the anxiety.
I wish it weren't so.
Since I've been laying on the bed all day, everyday, I have been experiencing neck and shoulder pain. It's consumed my thinking most of the day. I've tried to ignore it and busy myself with other things, but I can't stop my mind from spinning. I know, it's irrational at times but can't be stopped.
I've taken aspirin as directed for heart attacks. I've taken my blood pressure and pulse multiple times. I've been through the checklist of things I discussed with the doctor last week. I've been on WebMD and gone through every possible symptom I have at the moment. And, even though I've self-diagnosed myself with nothing of any major consequence, my mind still won't stop.
Crazy, maybe. It's just anxiety. I know, I've been here before. I've paced the house from one end to the other. I've been on my knees praying. As my body fights to be still while stuck in a fidgety mess, I can tell you that there is no easy fix for true anxiety.
It's probably as hard to explain as it to understand. My husband struggles to understand. Of course, he does. For someone who's never been through it, it is impossible to know. Even I can admit if I weren't there at the moment, I would even struggle to understand why someone would have an irrational fear of being with people so exacerbated that they can't leave their home.
On occasion, I've been able to diffuse my anxiety through talking with someone. Since ceasing counseling and therapy, that hasn't been an option. My husband being at home part of the evening is a bit of a buffer. Honestly, I still end up sitting and chewing mindlessly on my shirt while I try to calm myself. I know, gross and bizarre, but it works sometimes when anxiety has worn me down.
While I've had anxiety most of my life, it's certainly never affected my life the way it does now. I hate it and don't want it. I don't enjoy it. I barely think I'll survive it while I'm in repeated cycles of it. I'd much rather spend my day doing something else besides going to the brink of an anxiety attack and back.
I know I'll probably never live a life without anxiety, but I'd like to at least live a life with a little less of it.
Wednesday, March 6, 2013
Real Pain
Not that it would ever be any other way, but I must warn you that I'm about to get very real. And, it's going to be a touchy subject that most people don't like to talk about.
Painful Church Experiences
Preface: If I survive this season I am in right now, this is one of those posts I want to have as a reference. I know that this is an area where God will or won't. If I don't fall completely away from God and church, this will be one of the areas where I will undeniably be filled with praise. It's also worth saying that the odds just don't seem in my favor right now.
Let me tell you about the first three years of my time in church. I was there. If the doors were open, I was there. If there was an event, I was there. I didn't miss a Sunday School class, sermon, meal, or bible study.
It wasn't always easy. I was incredibly quiet and struggled to make any meaningful relationships outside of a couple staff members. People weren't overly welcoming, but I continued to just show up. Sure, I left disappointed a lot. It was hard to see small groups of people standing around after church or bible study talking and being friendly only to walk silently to the car with my husband.
Even though I had a tough time understanding the bible study or sermons, I continued to try. I took in very little and for reasons I couldn't understand at the time. Later on, I'd learn what the issues were and why bible intake was/is so difficult. In all fairness, I was one of so very few new Christians trying to understand material which was so far above me. A strength of this particular church is teaching deep, biblical truth. A weakness is teaching deep biblical truth with the assumption that everyone has at least a basic understanding of the bible. Regardless, I continued to be present.
Things started to unravel slowly for me near the end of my third year when my first Sunday School class changed. The teacher went to another class, along with many of the members. After giving the class a try, as well as several others, I finally gave up.
During this time, I also found myself rolling from one toxic friendship to another. Some of it was your typical women not playing nice together. Looking back, I think this was the point I learned that professing to be a Christian doesn't mean anything to some people and "I'm only human" or "I'm just a sinner" is the go to excuse for bad behavior inside the church. (I know, that one is going to sting a little for some people.)
There were a handful of relationships that were outside your typical squabble. In each of them, I think the person was incredibly broken and chose to prey on someone they saw as weaker or less than.
I had the confidant who took it upon herself to publicly humiliate me with details of personal trauma I had shared with her. Another was just straight up crazy and took pieces of my past and shared them with others as her own. Another confided in me that she was cheating on her spouse, tried to get me to lie for her and then turned on me when I let her know I could not be a part of her sin. Each of these could be a blog post all of there because there was certainly more crazy surrounding the relationship. Oddly enough, none of them are in this church any longer.
Then there was the mother of all toxic relationships.
In the fourth year of being at the church, a mental illness diagnosis would rock my world. At that time, I had a few relationships but only one close friendship. Through the next 18 months, this person would do her best to position herself as my one and only friend. She became so enmeshed in my life that I couldn't see the relationship as toxic.
I can't go into a lot of detail because heaven forbid she read this and get upset (even though I've not mentioned names). So nobody thinks it's one of those "gosh everybody gets hurt by somebody, so maybe you should just get over it already," I'll give you a little more info.
When the relationship finally ended, it took other people to end it. In one day, this person went from being what I thought was my best friend to being an abuser. I know, abuser is a strong statement. Anyone who knowingly uses some one's mental illness to their advantage and for their own pleasure, they are an abuser. (in my opinion)
What this person did was beyond comprehensible. I'm not even sure it was legal. I'm not sure it's legal to force someone to go or stay somewhere they don't want to be. I'm not sure it's legal to use fear as a means of getting away with things that are blatantly wrong. For nearly three years, I've struggled to understand why and how and what all she did. The relationship ended in a way that did not make a final conversation possible.
Let me just share with you that the relationship ending when and how it did was absolutely right. I had people step in and take care of the situation the best way they knew how. Please know that I am appreciative of that. I alone could not have removed myself.
Some of the wrong doing, the horrible abuse of trust, was done inside the church. Again, I can't go into details. But, I can tell you that there are many rooms in the church that I cannot step foot in because it is still too painful and elicit flashbacks.
I'm sure without more detail, it's difficult to understand why this one relationship would cause such a struggle for me with church or the people in it. But, it has. Today, it still causes me to withdraw and be afraid to get close to anyone. It probably makes no sense to you how that can cause me to let myself be vulnerable one more with anyone.
This person used my illness (by the way, I hate referring to it that way) to take advantage of me. Understandably, I think there was/is a hesitancy by everyone involved to share my diagnosis with anyone else. In fact in nearly two years, I can't say that there have been more than a couple additional people who I've been able to share this with. Some people know a little, but not the diagnosis. I understand, everyone involved wants to protect me and others.
But that has put me on complete lock down. To know me, understand me or be able to help me at all, you'd have to know the extent of my issues. To be of any good at all, you'd have to know my diagnosis. Without that info, I'm constantly hiding who I really am. When I'm in the deepest, darkest struggles, I can't even walk out of my house.
Do you see where this is going?
Toxic relationships and fear of trusting anyone has made church difficult. Having to withhold who I am or what my life is really like has made church nearly unbearable, especially in the tough times.
Church is where you should be able to go and be yourself. You shouldn't have to fear people. You should be able to share openly the struggles of your life.
I'm falling apart here. My husband is a mess. Our lives are a web of depression, anxiety and loneliness. I'm barely surviving each day and often pray there's not another one.
There's so little help, so few who know the depths of our pit. YES, we look good when we have chance encounters with people. (I'm well trained in making misery look good so nobody see the truth.) But things are NOT ok. I'm NOT ok. I don't have what I need to make it through this alone. As much as I appreciate the one or two people who do know, they aren't even enough to help me get through this time.
Painful Church Experiences
Preface: If I survive this season I am in right now, this is one of those posts I want to have as a reference. I know that this is an area where God will or won't. If I don't fall completely away from God and church, this will be one of the areas where I will undeniably be filled with praise. It's also worth saying that the odds just don't seem in my favor right now.
Let me tell you about the first three years of my time in church. I was there. If the doors were open, I was there. If there was an event, I was there. I didn't miss a Sunday School class, sermon, meal, or bible study.
It wasn't always easy. I was incredibly quiet and struggled to make any meaningful relationships outside of a couple staff members. People weren't overly welcoming, but I continued to just show up. Sure, I left disappointed a lot. It was hard to see small groups of people standing around after church or bible study talking and being friendly only to walk silently to the car with my husband.
Even though I had a tough time understanding the bible study or sermons, I continued to try. I took in very little and for reasons I couldn't understand at the time. Later on, I'd learn what the issues were and why bible intake was/is so difficult. In all fairness, I was one of so very few new Christians trying to understand material which was so far above me. A strength of this particular church is teaching deep, biblical truth. A weakness is teaching deep biblical truth with the assumption that everyone has at least a basic understanding of the bible. Regardless, I continued to be present.
Things started to unravel slowly for me near the end of my third year when my first Sunday School class changed. The teacher went to another class, along with many of the members. After giving the class a try, as well as several others, I finally gave up.
During this time, I also found myself rolling from one toxic friendship to another. Some of it was your typical women not playing nice together. Looking back, I think this was the point I learned that professing to be a Christian doesn't mean anything to some people and "I'm only human" or "I'm just a sinner" is the go to excuse for bad behavior inside the church. (I know, that one is going to sting a little for some people.)
There were a handful of relationships that were outside your typical squabble. In each of them, I think the person was incredibly broken and chose to prey on someone they saw as weaker or less than.
I had the confidant who took it upon herself to publicly humiliate me with details of personal trauma I had shared with her. Another was just straight up crazy and took pieces of my past and shared them with others as her own. Another confided in me that she was cheating on her spouse, tried to get me to lie for her and then turned on me when I let her know I could not be a part of her sin. Each of these could be a blog post all of there because there was certainly more crazy surrounding the relationship. Oddly enough, none of them are in this church any longer.
Then there was the mother of all toxic relationships.
In the fourth year of being at the church, a mental illness diagnosis would rock my world. At that time, I had a few relationships but only one close friendship. Through the next 18 months, this person would do her best to position herself as my one and only friend. She became so enmeshed in my life that I couldn't see the relationship as toxic.
I can't go into a lot of detail because heaven forbid she read this and get upset (even though I've not mentioned names). So nobody thinks it's one of those "gosh everybody gets hurt by somebody, so maybe you should just get over it already," I'll give you a little more info.
When the relationship finally ended, it took other people to end it. In one day, this person went from being what I thought was my best friend to being an abuser. I know, abuser is a strong statement. Anyone who knowingly uses some one's mental illness to their advantage and for their own pleasure, they are an abuser. (in my opinion)
What this person did was beyond comprehensible. I'm not even sure it was legal. I'm not sure it's legal to force someone to go or stay somewhere they don't want to be. I'm not sure it's legal to use fear as a means of getting away with things that are blatantly wrong. For nearly three years, I've struggled to understand why and how and what all she did. The relationship ended in a way that did not make a final conversation possible.
Let me just share with you that the relationship ending when and how it did was absolutely right. I had people step in and take care of the situation the best way they knew how. Please know that I am appreciative of that. I alone could not have removed myself.
Some of the wrong doing, the horrible abuse of trust, was done inside the church. Again, I can't go into details. But, I can tell you that there are many rooms in the church that I cannot step foot in because it is still too painful and elicit flashbacks.
I'm sure without more detail, it's difficult to understand why this one relationship would cause such a struggle for me with church or the people in it. But, it has. Today, it still causes me to withdraw and be afraid to get close to anyone. It probably makes no sense to you how that can cause me to let myself be vulnerable one more with anyone.
This person used my illness (by the way, I hate referring to it that way) to take advantage of me. Understandably, I think there was/is a hesitancy by everyone involved to share my diagnosis with anyone else. In fact in nearly two years, I can't say that there have been more than a couple additional people who I've been able to share this with. Some people know a little, but not the diagnosis. I understand, everyone involved wants to protect me and others.
But that has put me on complete lock down. To know me, understand me or be able to help me at all, you'd have to know the extent of my issues. To be of any good at all, you'd have to know my diagnosis. Without that info, I'm constantly hiding who I really am. When I'm in the deepest, darkest struggles, I can't even walk out of my house.
Do you see where this is going?
Toxic relationships and fear of trusting anyone has made church difficult. Having to withhold who I am or what my life is really like has made church nearly unbearable, especially in the tough times.
Church is where you should be able to go and be yourself. You shouldn't have to fear people. You should be able to share openly the struggles of your life.
I'm falling apart here. My husband is a mess. Our lives are a web of depression, anxiety and loneliness. I'm barely surviving each day and often pray there's not another one.
There's so little help, so few who know the depths of our pit. YES, we look good when we have chance encounters with people. (I'm well trained in making misery look good so nobody see the truth.) But things are NOT ok. I'm NOT ok. I don't have what I need to make it through this alone. As much as I appreciate the one or two people who do know, they aren't even enough to help me get through this time.
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