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When I lie down

Upon my back

And the space

Between my ribs

and hip bones

Stands gaping,

My body finally feels

As bare and vulnerable

as my heart.

My pain on display

Like an art gallery

Filled with the works

Of an eager

young, new painter,

Awaiting validation.

And the space is

Just asking to be filled;

With fingertips to

Trace the curves,

Or compliments to feed it.

It is my home.

Familiar like a favorite book

With dog-eared pages,

A gritty turn with each;

And an inviting musty smell.

The story is

Exciting!

Full of accomplishments,

And adventures,

And despite the darkness,

A promise of

a happy ending.

It is a lie.

About dying.

And no one survives the end.

And despite knowing that spoiler

I will always read it again.

I realize that I am walking around

a living, breathing

open wound,

and it is not nice to look at.

It is bleeding,

and disgusting,

and revealing all the

muscles,

and tendons,

and fat inside.

It nauseates me, too.

It is everything I am not supposed to be.

And if you look away

in horror,

I promise

I will understand.

But there are those too

who reach out to me

despite it.

They look me in the eyes

and ask me simple questions

to distract me from

all the pain and

the ugliness inside.

They are not afraid.

Because they know that I

am going into shock

and if the wound does not kill me

that will.

They march into battle with me.

Always at my back.

They will never leave

a woman behind.

They are the brave.

The medics

who carry my limp body

from the battlefield,

all while dodging

bullets,

and explosions,

and capture

themselves.

They are the valley

where I rest

between my hard place

and my rock.

Yes, I am an open wound.

And I know it hurts

to see it,

but imagine please,

how it hurts me too.

And if you want to go,

that’s fine

not everyone has

a courage of this kind.

Because when the time comes

that I am again

deployed,

I need to know that I

am marching with

the ones

who cannot,

will not

be destroyed.

I used to collect my men

by boots beneath my bed

That’s two boots

for each man.

That tiny space filled up quite quickly

And then

I started making notches

on the bed posts

but those too

weren’t very tall.

Over the decades,

I’ve carried these fellas

In many sorts of ways

Slung over my shoulder

atop my back.

In tear stains upon my pillow cases,

and self-inflicted wounds.

I’ve wracked up heartaches

and harsh words

regrets

rolled eyes

and silent gestures

…and poems

I probably have a poem or two for each

and the words still seem to come.

It never gets old.

Every time

is like my first.

I haven’t got much left now

to show

But the number of times my heart stopped beating

and yet

I still survived.

Somehow,

despite all the violence

that hands can muster

they’re still outdone by words.

And like a fool

I return to the master

for another measly taste.

I’ve had my hair in many colors.

I’ve got tattoos

across the landscape of my flesh.

My skin lays atop me like a deflated balloon

because of the times

I’ve fed my pain to protect me

or denied myself the nourishment

I thought I did not deserve.

And no matter how I try to cover the marks they leave

You can see these men

all over me.

I would forget them all entirely

but they always return to haunt me.

So eventually,

I just kept them in a list,

That I put away for safe keeping.

And whenever I learn the name of the next,

I cross it out,

and simply write

“Just another battle scar.”

Because despite everything I will ever

learn about him

That is all he will become.

 

 

 

 

I fall in love

With myself

Again daily.

Like meeting your

One true love

With each new rising sun,

For the rest of your life.

I wake up with her each morning

And greet her with a smile.

I haven’t much

A memory

So every mirror glance

Is love at first sight,

Each time.

 

Its a Groundhog Day of sorts.

 

I hold her close

In bed,

And listen intently as she cries.

I’ll rub her arm gently,

And hold her hands

To keep her fingers warm.

I write her poems,

To remind her of how beautiful

She truly is.

 

She is my muse.

 

I find endless poetry inside of her eyes.

Her soul is a healing wealth springs.

 

She is my angel on earth.

I have witnessed her wings.

 

I see royalty within her,

Though she never notices her crown,

Despite its sparkling glory.

 

She is a warrior,

Fighting lions,

And nightmares,

And man.

 

She inspires me endlessly,

And I am in awe…

The way we sometimes finish

Even the hardest of days

Splendidly

By witnessing the sunset over water.

 

She gives me rest.

 

I am not alone,

Because she is always here.

 

I do not deserve her.

No one does.

 

This earth could never

Be good enough

For my goddess.

 

She is out of this world.

 

If you took dusk and dawn,

Oceans and mountain scapes,

Entire galaxies

And gods,

And added them up,

They’d be no match for her.

 

And despite my presence with her,

and her presence with my own,

She will forever be alone.

Because no one can ever be

Good enough for her.

And she will always be

too much.

 

This is her tragedy.

 

But it is for this reason

That she will spare heartaches for the masses,

Putting their needs above her own,

Because the most excruciating experience

Any soul could ever have

Is losing her as their love.

The most majestic scene I have ever witnessed

Was not a mama bear and her cubs

crossing my path at sunrise

Or breathing the crisp air

At 10,000 ft

Above earth

It wasn’t a meteor shower

From a grassy field

Late at night

All of these were breathtaking

Awe-inspiring

And will forever remain

Captured in my mind

But the most stunning

And delicate of sights

I have ever beheld

Was also one of the most excruciating moments

In another person’s life

It was that of life unfolding before me, through death

It was that of the unconditional love

From a daughter

For her dying mother

As she breathed

Her very last breaths

One Christmas night

As both she and I held

Her mother’s hands

Her daughter leaned down

To where

Their foreheads met

She closed her eyes

And in her silence

She granted permission

For her mother to go

I felt her anguish

Her love

And her letting go

I was as a fly on the wall

Invisible in the moment

But blessed with the honor

Of witnessing it all

And As I drove home from that scene

In the cascading

Consuming

Silence of the snow

I realized

That one of the most magnificent things we will ever birth

Is the capacity of our hearts

To love

And the potency of our pain

My neighbor and I have an

Unspoken communication

His is in the form of frantic ramblings

And mine is in the form of sobs

He follows cars into my driveway

To copy down the plates

For some covert operation

Of which, none of us are quite sure

But my presence always

puts him at ease

And I listen to his shouts

And rants

And I shrug them off

Because he’s my neighbor

And we’ve both got

Insanity

In common

There might not be much else there

But…

Its enough

And when my time comes to speak,

He falls silent

And allows me to say my piece

I speak with weeping through the night

When its the only way to get to sleep

Or when I wake up from a

Bad dream

Whenever I find myself riddled with despair

My crying is like a lullaby to him

This…

This, he understands

I needn’t say a word

Because we both speak the same language

Anguish

Grief

Regret

A pain that cannot be quenched

In this lifetime alone

I make space for him daily

And on the days or nights

I sing my lullaby

He stops

And listens

In a way that no one else

Can ever really muster

He stands captive

In awe

Of my opera

 

Okay, so… I haven’t written here in two years. Please forgive me while I try to figure out how to use wordpress again. Also, forgive my writing as I haven’t actually written ANYWHERE in two years, so I will be dusting off my practice. So, I suppose I should explain my absence. I will get to that. I need to type a few things first. And I don’t feel like editing to put it all in a coherent format. I’m just trying to get myself writing anything at all. And that’s all that matters at this point.

I will start here, A Dream I Had Last Night:

So, I need to preface this with two things.

First, I have been praying over the past two weeks that God will reveal more to me through dreams. I’m desperately trying to find some meaning in my life and this world. My mind and this world are both chaos right now, and I just need some clarity in there somewhere. I also asked God to help me remember these dreams, so that I can dissect, understand, and learn from them.

Second, you should know, that THROUGHOUT my life there has been recurrent symbolism of doors in my dreams. I can always make sense of the doors, but they have taken so many shapes inside my dreamscape, that they are constantly changing, but the theme is always there. For the longest time, it was me desperately trying to lock, or block, or barricade the doors to keep things out: rapists, bears, killers, Nazis. Sometimes there were windows too, but always doors. You name it, I would lock, deadbolt, chain lock, put furniture in front of the door, board the door up, nail it. anything. Then, when I went to treatment, the strength of the locking and blocking got weaker, the locks got fewer. I always associated this with memories or emotions I was trying to avoid. At one point, when I was first in recovery, I was the one locked in. I also had one, where I was trapped between those glass, sliding, automatic doors at supermarkets. I think at that point, I must have felt very exposed.

So anyway, keep these things in mind when hearing my dream.

Okay, here goes.

So, I dreamed that I was in a lovely house. I was with a friend cleaning when I noticed a door, that had I sorta always had known was there, but for some reason, at that moment, I decided I wanted to see what was behind the door. I had to solicit my friend’s help in opening the door. It was a wooden, slatted, curved pocket door, and it was stuck. Once we got it open, there were two sections before us: a small foyer, and a larger bedroom. We went into the bedroom and found all sorts of wonderful, beautiful vintage clothing and antique furniture. You could tell someone stylish and wealthy had lived in that room. It was awesome stuff, but of course, covered in decades worth of dust and dead bugs, so we couldn’t stay long. One piece of furniture stands out to me. It was a dark blue velvet chaise lounge, with an elaborate gold wooden frame. I fell in love with it. So, as we were about to leave, we went into the foyer to find a twin bed which had been in the bedroom, now having been teleported into the foyer, and was blocking the door. On the bed was the ghost of a little old lady, all dressed up. I could see her, but my friend could not. I immediately apologized for intruding on her and messing with her things, and asked to make a deal with her, that if we never came in and bothered her or the room again, that she never come out into the rest of the house and bother us. She agreed, but something told me not to believe her. As we were climbing over the bed to leave, my friend almost stepped where the ghost lady was and I screamed “not there! She’s sitting there!”

After leaving the room and closing up the door behind us. I came to discover that my front door, and what had previously been a very nice house was… GET THIS… one of those HALF doors, and only the bottom half was left. It was worn and tattered like an old piece of cardboard that had gotten wet and dried a zillion times over. The lock and knob wouldn’t even stay in the hole where it was supposed go, and the door wasn’t even on the hinges or in the door frame. It was just leaned up against the wall, near the doorway.

Wow, just wow.

I would venture to guess that this room is some untouched part of myself, spiritual or mental, or maybe potential. It has some lovely, exciting things in there, but also something I find very frightening. I have had mild intuitive abilities my entire life. So communicating with spirits, or premonitions about the future are not unheard of for me. At the same time that I appreciate and honor those abilities, the spiritual world still very much creeps me the f out, so I don’t go there. I would probably be very likely to respectfully communicate something like this to a spirit, and also be terrified. I so wanted to stay and play and keep all that cool stuff, but I’m horribly allergic to dust also, so the experience would be unpleasant, and I would have to clean it all. That did cross my mind in the dream. Like “eh too much trouble.” This is obviously something I’ve been ignoring for a very long time, despite my knowing it is there. And while my life would be richer if I kept the door open, I’m too afraid of the ghost inside to risk it. Even though, I get the feeling that since we met, it will not be the last I see of her, despite our agreement. So maybe it is just worth it, to leave the door open and make the the room usable again? How do you make friends with the ghost inside, though? Or do you make friends with her? In the spiritually sensitive world, it is most encouraged to help spirits cross over, so that they can be at peace. So if I wanted to do that, that would be more work. And also, my mediumship abilities are ametuer so I don’t know I trust myself with that task. But… a friend helped me open the door, so maybe I could find support in helping the ghost cross over. Obviously, my friend helping me means I will need support in this process.

So, then there’s the front door I discover after meeting the ghost and seeing the room. Does this mean all my defenses are gone now that I know about the room and the ghost? Does this make me vulnerable, or free? Should I be scared? I actually didn’t feel very frightened about it  in the dream. I was more like “ahh hell, I’m gonna have to replace the whole thing now,” So, does this mean the doors that I’ve been barricading all these years have finally been reduced to nothing, and it is time to start anew?

Whoa. That kinda makes me want to cry. And I’ll tell you why… Yesterday, I went to McDonald’s to get a salad for lunch, after church. As I was sitting there, my phone suddenly became possessed and started playing music. At first I thought, “Oh is this an alarm? Is there something I am supposed to remember right now? Wait, I don’t remember setting an alarm.” And then I looked at my phone and it was on the music screen, so I pushed paused and set it down. Then it started doing it again. I had to turn it off several times, and eventually, I just turned the volume down all the way. But I went back to check the song it was playing, because I thought maybe it was God or a spirit trying to communicate something to me. The song was called, “It’s Time.” And I thought “hmmm time for what, I wonder?” And I prayed for God to show me more. And I said to my dad and my sister (after telling them what had happened), that in AA we have a saying, “More will be revealed.” It is based on something on page 164 in the Big Book (the main text of Alcoholics Anonymous), “We realize we know only a little. God will constantly disclose more to you and to us.” There is a solid belief in the recovery community that God reveals to us what we are able to handle, when we are able to handle it. So I was certain that He would do just that.

And this seems to be exactly what He is doing. First, with the song. Then, with the dream. Then, this morning a friend messaged me a shared a devotional reading she read today which said,

“Change is inevitable. We feel pain when we become resistant to the changes that are happening in our lives. We don’t ever have to face anything alone, God is always right there. He gives us strength, courage, and inspiration as long as we are seeking it. Be willing, today, to be as open minded and ask for the help you need to endure the changes that are happening. Try your hardest to see the positives in all situations. Do not let negativity take over. Choose joy and peace! Have a blessed day.”

This is getting hilarious, though, because the story doesn’t stop there. Nope. It is still going as we speak. Because when I got to the end of the paragraph about my front door in the dream, I got ANOTHER message from ANOTHER friend with ANOTHER devotional that she read this morning. She said, “I thought of you when I read this devotional this morning.” This is what her devotional said,

“Set Free Through Truth

     You live in a fallen world filled with deception and lies that challenge your faith and fill you with fear. But I have given you My Word–truth that can keep you on the path of righteousness. When you are confused, come to Me, listen for My still small voice, and listen to the truth that I will speak to you.

Life can take you in many different directions, but My truth leads you down paths that bring blessings in your life. It doesn’t mean that you will not encounter trial and troubles, but you will have the solid foundation of truth that will make your faith stand firm in the face of fear. My Word will keep you from losing hope when all hope seems lost. When you start to doubt that I love you and care about you, My Word will assure you of the truth that I AM with you always and I will never leave you.

It’s truth that will give you the strength you need to take another step of faith, to trust Me to help you no matter what you’re going through. When you’re trapped in disbelief and struggling in our faith, My Truth will set you free from the chains of fear and doubt. So don’t live captured by the lies of the world. Break free through truth and live the life of joy and peace I intend for you to live.

‘You will know the truth, and the truth will set you free.’

John 8:32″

Two different messages are themed in these devotionals. The first is that change is inevitable, and hard, but with God’s help we can get through. Obviously, resisting said change is what leads to struggles and pain. Turning to God and asking for assistance will help us get through it. The second emphasizes the truth. It basically says that freedom is found in truth and truth is found in God. Both of these messages emphasize the importance in turning to God, for truth and for change. They also emphasize that God is always there through these things.

I think it is obvious I’m coming into some sort of change, which is something I’ve been feeling for a while. I’ve gone through periods of being very pensive, and introspective, but I have also felt the entire time that I’ve been on the verge of something big. I am not sure what that may be, but I certainly think it could be tied to my writing. Clearly, this entire experience has gotten me writing again. I’ve also been coming upon opportunities in that field. I have been struggling with depression in recent weeks and it has been hard. At one point, I was extremely terrified I was going to take my own life. That level of severity has not been reached since 2011, when I had my last attempt, which is also when my sobriety began.

I don’t know exactly what is going on, but obviously more and more is being revealed daily. I’m excited and this pretty much obliterates my depression, because how can depression survive in circumstances so hopeful?

So that was my crazy cool spiritual experience that unfolded today. I was going to write some other stuff, but this is already entirely too long, so I’m going to leave you with this: Kesha’s new song “Rainbow.” I wanted to add it because I just heard it for the first time, and it seemed relevant because it has a line that says,

“You gotta learn to let go, put the past behind you

Trust me, I know, the ghosts will try to find you

But just put those colors on, girl

Come and paint the world with me tonight”

 

“Rainbow” Kesha

 

 

 

 

It has been so long since I wrote a blog post, that WordPress has changed their format, and so I’m writing in a completely unfamiliar page. Which is great (sarcasm), because this may be the hardest blog post I’ve ever had to write.

I had a really awesome blog once, with incredible writing. I suspect the writing was so good because I was completely uninhibited about what I wrote. As I have grown more mature, have become a Christian, and am now newly aware of the vast-spreading nature of the internet, I am a lot more careful about what I write, because I never know who my audience might be.

This post is going to have to be on the more uninhibited side, because I’m writing about something painfully personal, and on a topic that many people do not wish to discuss.

At the same time, I recently discovered that I can no longer access that deliciously uninhibited blog I spoke of, because I don’t remember the password to it. I don’t have any proof of ownership either, so I can’t find out the password or reset it. With my motivation to write being seriously lacking, realizing that I’ve once again (this happens regularly) lost a great deal of my favorite writing does not help the situation. I am, however, writing this post purely out of necessity. I genuinely feel like my life could end up at risk, if I do not say what I have to share today.

I will begin by acknowledging that I have lived through some very difficult traumas. When one lives through trauma, we know what it means to live through a situation where your main objective is just to survive through it. And for many of us, we become stuck in survival mode, with our bodies and our minds functioning as if we are living out that traumatic situation every moment of every day, until something stops it. This is why I now realize that when I was living out a pattern of self-destructive behaviors, I was a survivor of trauma. When it happened, I was a victim, and in the years I spent in limbo, I was a survivor. I did whatever I could do cope with the reality in which I lived, and it was killing me.

I spent the majority of my time in residential treatment, trying to overcome these patterns of self-destructive behaviors, substance abuse, self harm, eating disorder, etc. That time was utilized to stop the survival mode I was stuck in. Once we had accomplished that, my treatment team and I set out to address the traumas themselves. While we made a significant effort, it was all brought to a halt when insurance decided to stop paying. I spent the year that followed, trying unsuccessfully to find a therapist in my area.

Luckily, upon moving to where I now live, I immediately met a therapist who was a perfect fit for me. I have been seeing her about a year, and this month we began, once again, to start addressing the trauma I have experienced in my life.

As a child, I was sexually abused. I would try to skirt around that fact in this post for the sake of saving my family any embarrassment, but a dear friend who I have been in a abuse support group with recently confronted me about the fact that I had never stated this to the group. Am I avoiding it? I thought. How could I be avoiding something without even realizing it? When I went to my therapist a few days later, I thought that I would cleverly elicit a reaction from her to see if she too thought I had been avoiding the topic. When I came in that day, I plopped down on her couch with exasperation and said, point blank, “Well, I guess we should address the trauma… I’ve kinda been avoiding it.” Her response? “Yes, I know.” I was shocked! Even my therapist thought I was avoiding it, so it MUST be true. So, therefore, I must say it. I cannot avoid it any longer. That does not aid in my recovery. I want to be an active part of the solution, not the problem.

I don’t think I ever drew the lines before when I was addressing my trauma in treatment, but it has come to my attention that a common feeling comes over me as I address my childhood sexual abuse. I have an overwhelming, almost paranoid feeling that no one is listening, and no one wants to be bothered with hearing about what I am going through. I now realize that this is must’ve been how I felt as a child whenever I tried to tell anyone about what was happening to me. As valid as it was then, it is very possible that this feeling is irrational in my current situation. I do know that I have plenty of people who hear me, and who care about what I have to say. But even with those loved ones, I have a sneaking suspicion from time to time that they are annoyed by me, or tired of hearing about it. The feeling overcomes me, and it is impossible to ignore. I now recall exploding with verbal outrage on people who talked over me, or who I felt were not listening when I was in treatment. I became very defiant and more determined to be heard at any cost. I realize now that there is still a child inside of me who is dying to be heard.

Now that I am safe, I am recalling these things from an adult perspective, and I have asked myself, “What can I do now to ensure that I am having my needs met in a way I could not have done as a child?” The realization that I have come to is this: I now have a blog and an ability to write. I now know how to ask for help. And I now know exactly what to ask for.

That is my purpose for writing this post. I’m directing it specifically at people in my life.

It is very important in any interactions with me, at this time, and especially when I am speaking about my trauma work or how it makes me feel, that I am heard and validated. This can be as simple as saying, “I hear what you are saying.” or “I care.” or “Your feelings are valid.” They seem really simple and direct, and I know people in treatment who poo-pooed the whole “you’re feelings are valid” line, but I have always felt that there are so many instances when that is ALL people need to hear.

When I reflect upon all of this now, I realize that this could be a core root of why I spent so much of my life suicidal. I felt unheard and ignored… like I was a bother or a burden. Honestly, when I thought of taking my life, I genuinely believed I’d be doing my family a favor. That is why I feel like it is so important, at this moment, for me to hear the things I did not hear as a child. I spent the other night in tears, because I was feeling that same way, and it is so easy for me to come to the conclusion that no one cares, and everyone would be better off without me. I know it sounds extreme, but I have a pretty extreme mind. I’m doing the work I need to change, and it would also be really helpful if the people around me could do what they can to help me in this process.

So, that is what I need. I was a victim, then a survivor, and now… I am trying to thrive. And for me, this is part of the process. Thanks for reading, and for participating in my recovery. Hugs and love.

I don’t know if any of you have heard of The Good Men Project, but let me go ahead and recommend them. I follow them on Facebook and on Twitter. They have some amazing articles that inquire, uplift, and inform. Today I saw one titled “An Open Letter to my Future Wife: How I Plan to Make You Happy Every Day of Your Life.”

Recently, I have been coming to terms with what it means to be a new person in Christ (yes, even 3 years into this journey) and to act like it when interacting with the opposite sex. I am so used to interacting with them one way, that I’m having to learn what it means to do things differently, in a way I’ve never done it before. God is basically reforming my DNA, which is no small feat. And, it is not without setbacks and screw ups. But He has made one thing very clear, we do things differently around these parts, and it is time I started walking the walk.

So, in an effort to imagine what my NEW future will be like, I was inspired to write an open letter to my future husband. I never dreamed of getting married in the past, but I suppose I should start considering it. I’m dedicated to this with everything I’ve got, and an open heart and mind. Here goes.

Hello there, future husband,

I wish I wasn’t at such a loss of words already in this letter. I’m hoping that isn’t a horrible sign.

I read a letter someone wrote to their future wife today. In it he promised all of these things that he would do for his wife. And I thought I would love to have a husband like that. Unfortunately, at this point, I’m only starting to consider that men like you exist, so hopefully, I’ll be more willing to believe when we meet.

That being said, I want to tell you what I will be willing to do for you, my loving, supportive, and stable love of my life.

There are lots of things I cannot offer you, because as they say “every saint has a past,” but I know you will be able to value what I can offer.

I will have an open ear to listen whenever you have something you need to talk about, and a shoulder to lean or cry on when things get hard. And whenever you need it, I will have an encouraging word. I want to pour into you as much as you pour into me.

I promise to always have an open mind and heart with you, to trust God and to trust you with my whole heart.

I promise to share with you everything that goes on in my life with a candor with which I can only speak to you and to God.

I promise to keep the passion of our youth ignited well into old age, to always have surprises for you, and to look at you the same way in 50 years as I did when we first fell in love.

I promise to let you listen to your music in the car at least 50% of the time, no matter what kind of music you like, without complaining at all about it.

I promise to do everything I can to foster a physically, emotionally, and spiritually healthy me, and a physically, emotionally, and spiritually healthy us.

I promise to always consider your needs.

I promise to stay dedicated to the love of our God and to the love of our family, whatever that looks like in our life together.

I promise to always work on being a better communicator.

At this point, I feel pretty satisfied with the idea of never having children, but if you definitely want to, I am willing to compromise, because I know I will have your love, support, and stability throughout the entire process. I will not be in it alone, and neither will you.

If you decide to make a big change for the better in your life, I will support you with everything I have. I want you to be happy more than I want anything materialistic.

Most importantly, knowing that I can trust you never to hurt me, I offer you unconditional love. I do not take vows lightly. If I promise to stay dedicated to something, I will see it through to the very end, so even when you have the most difficult, ugliest of moments, I will love you through it.

I love you already, and I cannot wait to start our life together!

Sincerely,

Your Future Wife