Showing posts with label broken. Show all posts
Showing posts with label broken. Show all posts

Monday, February 1, 2016

Ruby Revisited

I spent a little more time with Ruby, polishing up what was there and adding some more details in.   If you missed the first version of this chapter she is a character I am creating who may someday turn into a novel. She is somewhat autobiographical and somewhat not.  Factual fiction is what I like to call it, but my friend tells me that it is really called autobiographical fiction.  Whatever it is called this is the start of Ruby's story.  This is nowhere near a final draft, but it is a little more telling into who she is and where she is than the earlier version.


………………Chapter One…………………


Ruby walked out onto the front steps and breathed in deeply.  She watched as her breath formed a cloud in the crisp fall air.  The leaves all around her were dying.  She took in their bold colors.  It was a beautiful death she thought.  A bright yellow leaf fluttered past her in the wind and landed in a puddle.  She hoped her death of sorts would be as graceful.  

She took in another deep breath and stepped into her new life, suitcase in hand.  A bright yellow cab drove her to her new home.   As the cab pulled up to the curb she opened the door and saw the reflection of yellow from the midst of the watery sidewalk.  The symbolism between the cab and the leaf from earlier was not lost on her.  It was her own fluttering in the wind, this ride to her future, and now she was near her end; the end of who she was and the way she had learned to be.  

She wanted to jump back into the cab and be driven away to anywhere but here, but she knew that this death was necessary.  Just as in nature there has to be a death before new growth can occur and if there was one thing she needed more than anything else it was new growth.  New life.  A resurrection.  The old had to die so that new could come and she was ready.  At least that is what she told herself.


Once settled into her new room, Ruby pulled out her journal.  

November 1

The leaves are all dying.  It seems a fitting farewell.  I am terrified of this next chapter, this shedding that I will be doing, because I know that just like the trees I will be laying myself bare.  There will be nothing left in which to hide myself behind.  
I will be exposed and left naked.  

I must remember that I chose this.  I chose to come here. This process is necessary.  I can do this.  I am ready and I am terrified.




A knock came on the door. Ruby closed her journal and placed it in her drawer underneath the underwear.  

“Ruby?”

“Yes, I am coming.”

Ruby opened the door to a plump, short, middle aged woman with graying hair.  Her name tag said“Beverley”.  She was cheerful and kind as she showed Ruby around the complex on the way to the first session with the person that would be her one-on-one therapist.

“This here, is the dining room.  Meal times are posted on the door.  If you need a snack between meals they always have a basket of fruit and some other odds and ends in the lounge along with bottles of water.”  

Past the dining room was the lounge with all the amenities Beverley had described plus some.  From there they went to the front desk where she showed Ruby the signing in and out process for leaving the building.  For the first 72 hours Ruby would need to be escorted from building to building and after that she could earn the ability to go unescorted, but she would still need to sign in and out every time she left.

The grounds were lovely.  Ruby saw many places that she would want to just sit and take in the beauty once she proved she wasn’t a flight or suicide risk.  After a short tour they reached their destination.  It was an old ornate building.  “This originally was a college that was founded in the early 1900’s.” Beverley told her as she led her through the doors. “I just love all of the old architecture myself.”  Ruby, smiled her agreement and then felt her stomach turn to knots as she walked through the large glass door and inside.  Standing before them was the woman who would be the crux and crucible of her time here.



The woman extended her hand as she said, “Hello Ruby!  I am Dr. Mary Robins, it is nice to meet you.  Are you ready for your first session?” 

Ruby gave a nod as she shook the hand before her.  Dr. Robins was well dressed and much younger than Ruby had expected, much prettier too. 

Ruby turned to Beverley, “Thank you for showing me around.”

“You are more than welcome!  I won’t be here when you are done, so I hope you have a good night.  See you tomorrow.” And with that she turned and walked away leaving Ruby with the Doctor and a pit in her stomach.  

“My office is this way” said Dr. Robins leading the way.  As Ruby followed her down the hallway she noticed her shoes and how much she liked them.  They were stylish, yet sensible.  If cute shoes were any indicator of a person’s personality she figured she was going to like this woman just fine.

Entering the room Ruby took inventory of her surroundings.  There was a couch, two armchairs, a desk, and a couple of bookcases.  One of the chairs was very definitely meant for  the Doctor, the couch was closest to that chair and the other chair was at the other end of the couch, opposite the Dr’s.  The bookshelves were lined with books and some personal photos.  The walls were painted a cheery shade of tan with a touch of deep burgundy brown.  It was the perfect amount of color to give the room a homey feel and make you forget you were at an institution.  There was a large mirror behind the couch. Ruby caught a glimpse of herself just long enough to regret it.  She may have been good at hiding behind her put together exterior for others, but she could never hide herself from her own reflection and the truth she saw looking back at her.  Yes, those eyes of hers may have been a mirror for others to see what it was they wanted to see, but for her they were always a window and she never liked what she saw inside of them. She made a mental note to avoid looking there in the future.  

The door shut behind her and she quickly had to decide where she should sit.  If she sat in the chair farthest away she would seem stand offish. That would not be a good impression.  The spot closest to Dr. Robins seemed too familiar and vulnerable.  The middle of the couch would have to do.  It would be safe, but not distant.  

Once seated the real panic began to set in.  What was she doing here?  What had she done?  This was too much, she was in way over her head!  What had she been thinking?  She closed her eyes, slid her hands underneath her legs, and took a deep breath, then another.  

“Calm down, you can do this.” She told herself, “Today will be simple, she is just going to ask you simple questions.  The hard work will come later, today you will be fine.”

Ruby opened her eyes and let them move from the sight of her own feet over to the pair of cute shoes and then up to Dr. Robins eyes.  Her face was kind and her eyes held a gentle wisdom.  

“Why don’t I start by telling you a little bit about myself first and see if you have any questions for me.” said the therapist.

She talked of her educational background, work history, and therapeutic style. Ruby took note of every aspect  of the doctor while she listened.  The quality of the clothes she wore, the manicured fingernails, the rather large wedding set on her hand.  The lack of wrinkles and gray hair probably meant she didn’t have any children yet, unless she dyed her grays away.  To Ruby she looked like a brown haired therapist Barbie doll, perfectly styled and professional. 

Interrupting Ruby’s mental inventory the Dr. asked, “Do you have any questions for me?”  

In her own mind she said, “About a thousand!”, but she had no idea what the boundaries or the protocol was of things to ask.  She didn’t want to accidentally overstep and then feel the embarrassment and pain of the possible reprimand and awkwardness that would follow.  “Only one.” is what she said out loud. “What made you choose this line of work?  I have heard most people become therapists, because they are trying to find a way to fix themselves.”  She knew the question was rather pointed,  but the purpose was to level the ground a little.  Ruby knew why she was messed up, but she wanted to know how human her therapist was as well.  She needed to hear something that made her a little closer to human, well her kind of a human, imperfect. She needed to know that this woman sitting by her would be able to handle the vile creature she was beneath the surface.  Maybe even be able to empathize.

“Well, that is an interesting question.” Dr. Robins took a moment to formulate her answer.  “I watched some of my family members struggle with psychological needs who were really helped through therapy and I always grew up knowing that is what I wanted to do.”

That answer was less than satisfying. 

“Now, why don’t you tell me about you?”  She asked as she picked up a pen and readied herself to write in the notebook that sat in her lap.

“What would you like to know?” 

“Whatever it is you think is important to tell me.” Dr. Robins said as she looked at her expectantly.

That question was too broad, too general.  She had no idea what she was supposed to find important. She was here to be brave and talk and she had no idea what to say, so she said the first safe and relevant thing that came to mind.

“Well, I am sitting here, so that should tell you something.”

“What should that tell me?”

“That I am broken.  A little crazy, maybe.  And weak for needing to even sit here.”

“Okay, let’s break that statement down a bit more.  What is it that made you broken?”

Ruby pondered this for a moment before answering . “Life?  Yes, life.  And maybe God.”

“So, if those two things made you broken, what parts of you did they break specifically and how?”

These questions were quickly moving out of the safe zone and into uncomfortable territory, but she made herself answer anyway. “Life broke my will to want to continue living most days.  It broke my trust.  Life and God both broke my sense of worth.  Life has become this thing that I just have to get through until I can finally die.  Although, there are moments of happiness, but there is always something lurking in the shadows, just waiting to catch me, bring me down.” Here she had to pause.  Here is where the words got tougher to get out and over her lips.  “God, well, He created me.” She stopped looking at eyes and stared at the floor.  “He created me knowing full well what life was going to give me and He created me anyway.  He created me in order to be broken, to be used.”  On the word ‘broken’ hot tears burned at the corners of her eyes, “COME ON!” She thought.  “What the Hell happened to my simple?  My ease into the hard stuff slowly?” Her toes pushed down into her shoes like talons gripping for stability.

“What happened to break your trust and steal your joy? How were you used?”

Those questions went too far.  Before the words could even form an answer in her mind the terror came bubbling up.  A nauseating pit grew deep in her belly and a sharp clawing  feeling scratched at her chest.  Just the thought of speaking the reasons out loud had her nails digging into the bottom of her legs.  She shook her head “No”.  She wasn’t going to answer that. She couldn’t. 

Dr. Robins saw her reaction to the question and wrote down a couple of notes while giving Ruby time to form an answer that never came.  

“It is okay, we can come back to that later.  Why don’t you tell me what you are feeling right now.”

“It is hard to put into words.” Just trying to put emotion into word was difficult.  Any words she could find to say felt like a betrayal of trust, a secret that wasn’t supposed to be shared.  How does one describe what feels like your insides are being devoured whole when each word to come out of your mouth is equivalent to taking a bite out of your own chest leaving you bloody and raw.  She sat blinking and breathing trying to separate herself from the feelings so that she could answer. “Panic.  Sheer terror. Torture.” She eventually eked out.

“Those are strong feelings. I would like you to take a few moments to just breathe and then when you are ready you can tell me what makes you say you might be crazy?”

There was much that Ruby could say on that, but not right now, not after all of her internal alarms had been set off.  All she wanted to do right now was to close her eyes and make everything around her be gone.  She wanted to  stand up and leave. Neither of those were an option though. She had come here to battle, to defeat the demons that clawed at her thoughts, but she felt as though she was already losing …failing.  Talking had always been hard for her.  Writing was the safer option, but a pen can only slay so much.  

She looked down at her feet as she spoke slowly, intently. “Sane people don’t beg God to kill them. Sane people don’t need to check themselves into mental institutions.  And before you ask, that is what makes me weak.  Being here makes me weak, because I can’t figure out how to continue living on my own.  I need someone else to help me and that makes me weak.  Needing help makes me vulnerable.  In my life vulnerability is never safe.  Vulnerability IS weakness.”

Dr. Robins looked at Ruby intently, “I don’t see weakness when I look  at you.” Ruby looked up into her eyes as she listened.  “It took a lot of courage for you to come here.  It is very brave to admit you need help and then to find someone that can give you that help.  Weakness is nowhere in this room.” She paused for a moment to let the words settle into Ruby’s mind before she asked, “How would you describe this desire within you to both want to live and  to die?”

Ruby didn’t even have to think about this one, she already knew the answer. Her whole life she had been living the answer to this question. “It is a war.”

The young Doctor tilted her head slightly and thought for a moment.  “Let me ask you this question; how many wars do you know of that are won by a single soldier?  You don't  have to answer that.  In fact I don’t want you to answer it.  As we leave here I would like you to think about this, if wars are won by an army, wouldn’t it make sense that a strong soldier would gather other soldiers to help win the battle?”


Ruby let that soak in for the rest of the evening.  

Sunday, November 8, 2015

The House




THE HOUSE


There once was an architect who built a beautiful little house.  The design was flawless and there was no lack in the attention to detail that was put into this house.  The architect saw the house he had created and was pleased.

After a few years some people saw the house and decided to vandalize it.  They tore off the shutters and picked the locks.  They came into the house and did much damage, breaking things and destroying what the architect had designed.  

As the years went by and storms came and went the winds and the rains began to rot the little house from the inside out. It was no longer protected by the architect’s design, because the vandals had ignored its value and used it for their own purposes. 

The little house no longer cared who came inside. Anyone was welcome, because the company was better than the loneliness .

Some of the people who came tried to fix the broken parts.  They put up wall paper over the mold and damages and painted the outside to hide the rotting boards.  

The little house looked better, but inside it was still rotting away behind the fresh paint and pretty papers.  

The architect saw the little house and the damages that had been done to his creation and what others had done to try and cover them.  

He was saddened that his perfect little house was no longer the way he had designed it to be.

He began sending people to the house to pull down the wall paper that hid the mold and to scrape away the paint that covered the rot.

The house thought it was being demolished.  

More people came and stripped the house down.  Tearing out more than the house thought was possible to be removed and still be left standing.

The demolition hurt.  

Standing exposed for all to see felt worse than the rotting had.  The house wished it had never been built.

Slowly though as the old was removed and the new was brought in the house began to feel strong again.  

As the builders built the architect designed.  His original design had been perfect, but this house had seen a lot and stood through a lot of storms, the house needed a fresh design, new ways to protect it from future vandals and to stand as a beacon to others that had been vandalized.  Yes, this house would serve a new purpose.  

The vandals had sought only to destroy what the architect made.

Others thought only to cover the damages, not to repair them.

But the architect knew his home and knew what it needed and what it could do.

The repairs took a long time.  

There were times that no one worked so that what had already been done had time to set. If the time hadn’t been allowed the house would not be as strong and any new work would be built on a weak foundation.

The little house only knew what was happening as it happened, it did not see the architects design. There were days when the house thought it would never be completed.

Finally one day all the work was finished.  The house sat tall and strong.  It learned who to let in and who to keep out and if anyone picked the locks it knew that the architect would come and repair it.


The house had gone from being broken and vulnerable to the storms to now being a refuge during them.  

Sunday, January 16, 2011

My Heart Breaks for Her


 My heart breaks for her.

(It is hard for me to say "me" that my heart breaks for "me". I can say "her". My heart breaks for this little girl in the picture, but there is a dis-connect between her and me. I am not sure why that is. I am trying to connect with her, to allow myself to feel broken-hearted for myself instead of just feeling "broken".)


I run my fingertips over the picture. I touch her soft blond hair, look into those blue eyes that are so big, her chubby little legs poking out of her short, white, little girl dress and she is the picture of innocence and beauty.


I look at her and I want to snatch her up out of the picture and hold her, protect her from the shadow that I know is lurking, and the tears spill over the damn that has been holding them back.


She is just a picture. Flat. I can't protect her. The shadow will get to her. Her little white dress of innocence will become stained and dirty. She will become nothing more than a dishrag used to mop up the shadow's desires. She will become broken and scared; looking for home. Words will elude her, she won't have them to say. No one will come to rescue her. No one will come to rescue her and she will cry. She will cry and the memories will hide in the recesses of her mind just as I imagine that she tried to hide. My heart breaks for her, because I can't take that away. I can't take it away, because her broken-ness is my own.


I am broken and all I can do is look at her and let the tears spill down, because I couldn't save her. Now I am left here looking at a picture of a person that I couldn't protect and all I can do is try to un-loose the memories that she burried deep. I need to find her crouched small in the darkened corner of my mind and bring words to her wordlessness, take her by the hand and lead her to the home that she so desperately sought all those years ago.


I need to look at her and see that she is me and I need to find that same broken-hearted compassion that I feel for her and give it to myself. I need to let the tears spill down for me as well as for her, because it is time for both of us to stop hiding.  I need to find the right someone to help me do this. To show me how to find her, to find the words, and the memories, and then how to get back home.



Friday, December 3, 2010

Stained Glass Reminders........

It is funny, I woke up this morning with an email saying that I had a photo comment on one of the cakes I posted at cake central .  I haven't been on that site in months, possibly even a year, so I was surprised to see the email.  When I went this is the cake that had the comment.


Now, this is the funny part.  The comment was bogus, it was a spam trying to get me to click on a link for Ugg boots.  I find it so interesting that this particular cake is the one that got the spam comment out of all the other possible cakes out there.  Last night I read a fellow blogger friends recent blog in which she recieved a package in the mail of pottery that a friend had made for her.  When she opened it she found that all but 2 of the pieces of pottery had been broken in its journey to her house.   You can find that blog here .  I completely related to the broken pottery in her pictures.  This is the comment that I left for her late last night before I headed off to bed:
.................................................................................................................................................................
I am so sad for you at the broken pottery, but Oh how I feel like that pottery, broken, and splintered. What God crafted in beauty and splendor has been cracked into peices deep and who can put the pieces back together where the cracks won't show? and who can find the little splinters and glue them back into place? And who can see the beauty through the broken-ness and is any part of me left whole? Do I even have two pieces left un damaged? Who can dig in deep to still find them whole?
...................................................................................................................................................................

That is how I went to bed last night.  Broken, splintered, wondering who could make me whole again.  Then to wake to find this image of stained glass.  Something that I had crafted long ago with my own hands.  The Cross, the dove, the beauty made out of broken-ness.  It could be coincidence, but I don't think so.  I think this was God's way of showing me that broken-ness can be turned beautiful.  Because of the Cross, the Holy Spirit is within me, represented by the Dove.  All my shattered bits and pieces can be assembled into something beautiful and whole again.  The cracks just add to the beauty.  The sun will shine again.God is crafting my broken-ness into something beautiful, even if all I can see at the moment is the shards and splinters, there is something better that is coming. 

He is once again reminding me that "Jesus makes beautiful things of my life".  I may just have to break out in song.  =) 


Thursday, December 2, 2010

The heart of love..




I have a friend whom I have only seen in person three times, and really friend may be the wrong word to use, but I don't quite know what else to call her. Through her blog my heart has been touched many times and I have shed many tears for her and uttered many prayers. Prayers sent on a river of tears to the throne of God. She had a beautiful baby. Ewan (pronounced you win) was his name. He died from a broken heart when he was only 2 weeks old. It has been 8 weeks since he has passed from this life into heaven. She wrote him a beautiful letter. Once again I found my heart being touched with her words. Here is a part of her letter to her precious son.

Team Ewan: Dear Ewan: "I was in love with you before I ever laid eyes on you. When I finally did see you, I knew you. It would be wrong to say that I loved you any more in that moment, but upon having the veil removed -- getting to see your face and look into your eyes, and to experience you looking into mine -- I knew without a doubt that nothing would keep me from loving you, from fighting for you, from offering every ounce of will I possessed on your behalf."


These are the words that are reverberating into my soul. Her words spoken in love to her son. As I read them Jesus whispered to me through them. If a mother could love her son so much in such a short time, how much more could Jesus, the creator and author of life, love me/you/all of us?! Can you hear Him speaking to you through these words?

Read her words again, read them and imagine that Jesus is looking you in the eye and speaking these words directly to you as you read them. It is true you know. He loves us like that. He removed the veil so that we could someday be with Him and look eye to eye with God the Father. He offered His entire being for US. He died on a cross, beaten and broken for OUR sins. Mine and yours. This is the heart of love. This is the love that we have been given. What greater gift is there than this? This holiday season I pray that each of you know how much you are loved, that there is a Savior who whispers these same words to you that a grieving mother longs to whisper to her son. He loves you, he KNOWS you and He STILL loves YOU, He fought the gates of hell for you and offered every ounce of Himself on your behalf.

This deep love for me is baffling. I look at myself and I wonder why He would or could love me, the broken wretch that I am, but He does. He sees me the way a Mother sees her child. With eyes of love. This is what Christmas is about, this is why we celebrate. May He help me to remember each day that He will fight for me.  He will fight for me when I am too weak to fight for myself. If you don't know of this love I pray you find it. I know I am a poor witness, that my bruises might be screaming louder than my words, but still I hope and I pray that you may find a glimmer of truth in my words and that His love will shine light into your hearts this year.

http://canvaschild.blogspot.com/

Linking with Emily and her imperfect prose community today.