Showing posts with label hurt. Show all posts
Showing posts with label hurt. Show all posts

Sunday, March 12, 2017

The Hard Road

The Hard Road

It Is Time To Go




I can see Him standing there in my mind’s eye.  Arm outstretched, the wounds left by His earthly life still visible.  

“Baby, it is time to go.” He informs me.

“I don’t want to.” I say, shaking my head and letting my fear speak.  The road He is standing on is a hard one.  It isn’t going to be an easy walk and I fear that I won’t make it through the difficult spaces.  It is dark and all I can see is what is right before me, the rest is pitch black with only a promise that daylight will meet us at the end of it.  Until then only where we are standing will be illuminated.

He looks down at the ground for a moment before He looks me in the eyes, His hand still reaching for me. I can see the water welling up around His deep brown eyes that search me.  

“Baby, you know I walked a hard road once, too.  I would never ask you to go where I haven’t already been.  Take ahold of my hand.  I will lead the way and when the darkness before you gets too overwhelming just look up at Me.”

I begin to cry.

“But that road, it scares me.  Can’t we go another way?  Can’t we go around it to get to the light?  I have worked very hard to forget what happened on that road.  I want to leave it behind me, not walk back through it.”

He reaches up and wipes away my tears, catching them with the sleeve of His garment.

“No, Baby, the only way to get to the light at the end is to go back down the road that brought you to here.”

“But you told me to leave the old way behind, not to walk back through it. I don’t understand why you are asking me to travel such a difficult road.  Especially when everyone else says to leave it in the past.”

He cups my chin and stoops down to meet me face to face.  

“You and they have mis-understood.  I said for you to leave all of the things that you picked up along this road behind.  I need you to set down your mortar and your bricks, the ones that you have gathered up to build all of your walls. Those need to stay here.  And all that luggage that you have acquired along the way filled with the things you clothe yourself in such as despair, doubt, hurt, anger, and fear.  Those are the things that we will shed together as we walk, so that I can clothe you in strength , trust, joy, and courage.  If we bypass this road you will bring all of that with you and you will never make it to the path that is meant for you.”

I sniffle and let His words sink in.

“I don’t like it. I don’t like it one bit.” I grumble with a loud sniff.

He chuckles as he stands back up.

“No, I don’t expect that you do, but when we come to the end of this road and you start on your new path you will be glad that you walked this hard road with me. I promise.”

“My stomach is shaking.” I say as I grab His hand.

“I know, Baby.  I know.”


I hear Him humming softly the song He has often sung over me as we take the first steps.  Though hesitant I squeeze His hand and lean into His strong yet gentle arm and hum along with Him.




Tuesday, January 17, 2017

Ruby: Pieces and Parts

I have about 5500  words written of Ruby's story.  It has lots of gaps and areas that need filling, but here is a little taste of what I have.

...Chapter…

Waking before dawn after a fitful night of sleep Ruby quietly dressed in the dark.  She was careful not to wake her roommates  as she slipped her journal from the drawer and went to find a quiet spot  where she could write and think.  She chose a comfortable chair that faced a large window in the lounge, sat down, pulled her feet up underneath her, and opened her journal.  She looked at the blank page before her unsure of what to write.  She raised her eyes to the dark window.  Her dim reflection looked back at her.  She didn’t see a battle ready warrior, she saw a frightened child, one who knew how to hide much better than she knew how to be seen and one who knew even less on how to fight the scratching and clawing she felt within her. She sighed at the dirty sad little girl that stared back at her.  It was she that had to die here.  It was she who held all the hurts and the sadness.  Ruby, put pen to paper.

November 2

I see you little girl.  I see you every time I look in the mirror or see my reflection.  I see your sad eyes, the way they hurt, and the fear within them.  I don’t want to see you anymore.  I can’t. You are ruining my life, you are keeping me from wanting to live.  All I can hear are your cries at night and all I can feel is your terror.  I don't know how to heal you and free you from the prison that you have built up within me.  I am here to rid myself of you.  I am so tired of hurting and not knowing how to stop it.  I don’t want to die.  I don’t.  But I don’t want to live with you anymore either.  It is you who I want to die.  But to kill you is to kill me.  I hate that you are a part of me.  I hate that you weren’t strong enough to protect yourself, to protect me, and now I live with your weakness and your oozing scars. You bring me shame.  You make me dirty.  When I look at you all I see is dirt.  I want you gone, but you have locked yourself up within me, behind a door I don’t know how to open.  A door I am afraid to open, because you locked all the monsters up in there with you.  I hear those monsters scratching at the door; scratch, scratch, scratching.  To open that door is to let all of you out and if I let you out I won’t know how to be me.  I will be you, lost in the memories I don’t want to remember, the emotions, the terror.  You with all your anger and your sadness will be loosed along with the monsters and I will be suffocated in the process.  I can feel it even as I write.  I can feel the splintering wood of that door you reside behind.  Pieces of you and them leaking through.  

Ruby stopped writing and closed her eyes.  The emotions that were rising up inside of her were threatening to take over.   She slowed her breathing, froze all movements and began to calm her racing heart.  She imagined a white nothingness surrounding her.  No corners for things to hide in, just white light that surrounded her until she disappeared within it.  The only sound was her breathing.  She emptied herself of all emotions, all thought, and buried herself in the white of her mind.  It stopped the rising flood…..for now.  She opened her eyes and looked out the window and let her mind go to that day not too long ago, the day that brought her to end up here.

She had gone looking for help, looking for someone to tell her that she was going to be okay.   She had asked what she should do if death’s call became too loud for her to ignore, where should she go, who could she call?  She knew that hospitals were supposed to be safe, but experience had told her that they weren’t.  Death would be better than being left sitting in a hallway alone with people staring.  Death would be better than being told you were wasting their time with your hurting.  The person she had asked told her that there were no guarantees of being treated well and with respect and practically begged Ruby to seek counseling.  The speaker had no idea how hard it was for her to put word on top of word when eyes were watching or how her heart sank with each passing moment.  She had gone there searching for a hero and for rescue, but instead she had found neither, only honest answers that left her feeling worse than when she had come.  She appreciated the honesty, but she needed more. She needed a refuge from herself, but instead left that meeting feeling more lonely, hurt, and desperate than she had ever felt before.

After she left the building she walked over to the rail that overlooked the ground several stories below. Holding the rail tightly in her hands she stared at the concrete, trees, and shrubs, it seemed as if they were speaking to her: “Jump into our arms,” they whispered, “we can bring you help.  We can silence the ache.”  Tears fell from her eyes as she gripped the rail tighter and stepped closer to it.  She had been so tempted to join them, to land in their prickly arms.  As she was about to begin her climb she saw a man below who stood looking up at her.  When their eyes met, he saw into her and she was truly seen, past the typical mirror looking back and into the window of her.  It was enough to quiet the whispers and she walked away that day and back into her life.

Ruby looked out the window where the sky was turning from black to gray and went back to her writing.

It was you he saw at the rail that day little girl, it was you that had me standing there. It is you who leaves me feeling weak and needy.  I need help killing you.  I am sure that I will be told that I can’t kill you, that I need to learn how to blend you and I - the me I would be without you - together, so that I can become one whole person instead of two separate beings.



 Dawn was approaching.  She watched as the light revealed the beauty on the other side of the window.  Beauty that had been hidden in the dark shadows of night.  The sun crept over the manicured lawns, walking paths, pond, and fountains.  There was a large oak tree that stood tall and ancient.  It had stood its ground long before any of these buildings.  It had watched many nights come and go and still stood waiting for the dawn of each new day.  

……………………………Chapter…………………………

  

Warm water washed over her body as she stood underneath the shower head.  She stood there watching the dirt swirl down the drain and disappear. No matter how hard she stared at the drain her memories wouldn’t mix with the dirt, they just kept swirling through her mind, and as the last bit of dirt swirled away her ability to avoid the emotions that went with the memories went down the drain with it.  The emotions washed over her and she sank down into the bathtub.  Every negative emotion that one could feel pelted her along with the water: sadness, anger, fear, terror, heartache, loneliness, want, hurt, pain, and more.  She could not hold them down any longer.  She had held them for far too long.  The voice in her head emulated that of Dr. Robins, “Can you name them?  You cannot fight nor embrace that which doesn’t have a name. Giving them a name gives you the power, not them.  Find your power, Ruby.  Name them.”

Ruby rubbed the snot, tears, and water from her face and pushed the hair out of her eyes, a spark of fight beginning to gleam in them.

“FEAR”  she whispered. “I am taking my power back. I acknowledge you, but you will no longer control me and make me run.” She thought of the motivational poster she had seen on a wall. “No longer will I try to Forget Everything And Run. I will allow myself to Feel Everything And Rise.”

As she went through the list of emotions coursing through her and naming each of them her voice and the belief in the words she was saying became stronger causing their hold on her to grow weaker.  

Then she rose. 

If her experience under the willow tree had been the death of who she had been then this was her resurrection—a baptism— a parting of her old ways of merely surviving into a rising up to a new life of thriving.  She was ready to name the reality of what her past had been.  Ready to name it and fight what needed fighting and to embrace what needed embracing.  When Ruby turned the water on that evening she was a casualty of the war that raged within her.  Now as she turned the water off she was emerging as a warrior ready to battle.

Sunday, November 16, 2014

Five Minute Friday: Still

*I never time myself for five minute Fridays.  I let the word lead me for however long it leads.*

I find that even with all the strides I have taken this year and how far I have come from where I was I am STILL me.  I STILL have the same under lying issues that I have always had.  I STILL struggle.

Some days, months, seasons even I struggle more than others.  This is that season.  The season when I have to push down even harder on all the things that try and push their way out of me.  All the unknown memories that tease me from the shadows.  The little girl trying to be heard, seen, remembered from behind her prison.  The little girl that has me clinging tight to a teddy bear at night.  

I push down hard on what is pushing up and burrow deeper into blankets and solitude.  Shutting myself off even when surrounded by people.  Closing in.  Walling off.

And the anger is there.  Anger at me. Anger at them (whoever the them is who feels too close to my walls, or let me down, or who makes for a good distraction from all the pushing that is going on inside.)  I don't lash out at most of them I just let it all reverberate inside of me.  Most of the time because I know the anger is petty and more of a me issue than a them issue.  

I STILL do all of this, but I am getting better at knowing and recognizing it.  Seeing it for what it is and acknowledging it.  I am also better at not completely hiding away from the world.  I am planning, and hosting, and not shaming myself for the internal pushing. 

I am working on showing up even when I want to hide away.  I am giving myself grace for when I can't force myself to show up.  I am working on giving others grace for their lack of understanding, and grace for the fact that some things could solely be my perception and not the reality.

I am STILL a work in progress.  Still working, still progressing.  

Still hurting, still wounded, still healing, still learning.

"Be still and know that I am God"
Psalm 46:10

I will sit in stillness and also IN my "STILL-ness" and know that God is God.  He has me in all of my stillness, no matter which meaning of still that I mean.  And I will let Him reign over it all.



Monday, July 1, 2013

An open letter to pastors

I wrote this letter to my new pastor.  Really it could have probably been written to any pastor anywhere about the deafening silence coming from the pulpit about sexual abuse and how it has a huge voice that needs listening to in discussions of sexual purity.
July 1, 2013


Dear Pastor .......,

                I sat through service yesterday and listened to you talk on purity.  At one point the room went hazy and it became hard for me to see, so I knew it was something I probably really needed to hear.  But the more I heard the angrier I became.  Angry, because for every time I have ever heard a sermon preached on purity not a single pastor, not one, has ever touched on the sexual sins that adults commit on children and how those sins fundamentally change those children.  Not one!  And so I wanted to stand up and point my finger and shout out:  “Okay, OKAY!  I HEAR what you are saying, but what about us?!  What about those of us who were used as others sexual dishrags before we had any say in the matter, or when we were in that in between stage of child and teenager and we were so confused by what happened and our reaction to it that we felt somehow to blame for it?  What about those of us who grew up thinking that our purpose in life, or worth, was nothing more than that dishrag we were used as, maybe even made to be?  You tell us to be pure, to control ourselves, but you never once touch on how to do that when someone else’s actions fundamentally has changed everything about whom God created us to be. It changes who we are, how we see ourselves, how we see the world around us. Pastors love to speak on how sex is a gift.  I have never known it that way, so I understood when you spoke of the man who asked for his sexual drive to be taken away.  To me sex is more like a poison.  It isn’t intimate, it isn’t holy, and it certainly has never felt like a gift.  It is and always has been a thorn: a deep piercing, infection producing thorn, so how about we as a church discuss that sometime.  Because I know that I am probably not the only one.  I am guessing that just about 75% of any congregation at any given time has been or will be sexually abused, maybe even more.  So where are the sermons on that?  Where are the sermons telling the adults to stop using children as rags for their desires?  Where are the sermons talking to those raggedy children turned adults addressing their shame, their guilt, because they had desires from the time that they could remember that the church says is impure and wrong.  Where are the sermons that will stop making them feel shamed and guilty and start helping them figure out how to change those desires, because shame and guilt sure aren’t getting the job done.  Where are the sermons that discuss how to move sex from the shame/guilt/ poisonous thorn in my side box to the intimacy gift box, because boy I would sure like to know how to do that?!  Are pastors afraid to discuss this?  They aren’t afraid to talk about homosexuality, adultery, pornography, etc., but I am pretty certain that in a large number of these issues if you did a little digging that you would find that the root of many of these sexual sins would be childhood sexual abuse.  So yes, I am pointing my finger, yes I am angry, because why don’t we as a church, as a people address the root of the weed instead of just pulling at what we see coming out of the ground.” 

Please understand that I am not really angry with you.  I am angry with the situation, the silence, the deafening silence from the church when it comes to sexual abuse.  Do people think it doesn’t happen in churches?  That Christians are immune from this plague?  Are pastors afraid to offend the abusers or is it just nicer in general to pretend they aren’t there?  Because trust me they are there, in your congregations, sitting in your pews, invisible, but there and so are we… the sopping wet or crusted over stained and used dishrags. 



Sincerely,

Karmen Madan