I am messed up.

I am still messed up. I will probably always be messed up. I know this.

There is a big difference between knowing a fact and being heartlessly reminded of said fact.
Last week I was heartlessly reminded.

My husband accidentally injured me (something that is very easy to do) and he didn't apologize. I complained about it a little later and he still didn't apologize.
Now, I realize that being injured without apology would bother most people - but it wouldn't bother most people enough for them to curl up in the fetal position and cry. I cried hard, and then I cried long.

What bothered me the most was that it brought up my past. Things that other people have done to me were being visited upon my husband. I HATE that. I knew we needed to discuss what happened - but in my head I kept repeating, "I don't want to talk about it, I want to pretend like there's nothing wrong with me." I didn't talk about it. I cried myself to sleep.

The next day my husband brought up the subject, I told him what he did that bothered me, and he apologized. Sincerely. I forgave him. Completely.

This still makes me cry. But today they are much happier tears. Today I cry because I know something other than pain. I see how wrong it was for me to be treated as if I existed to suffer for someone elses pleasure. I see that I can be loved for who I am instead of being "loved" for what I do.

I am a person, not a pincushion. I can choose when to bend to the will of others instead of bending to whatever anyone else wants.

I'm still not good at having an opinion but I know I am free to have one. I can impose upon other people if I really need to. I don't always have to be the one to sacrifice myself. I can ask other people to sacrifice for me and some of them don't mind a bit!

Being confident doesn't automatically mean I'm wrong. Looking my best doesn't mean I'm trying too hard. Being grumpy for a good reason doesn't make me a bitch.

I am a person.
I am me.
I am NOT just a copy of someone else.
I can have opinions.
I can disagree.
I can fail.
I don't have to go along.
I don't have to hide the bruises when someone is mad at me.
I don't need permission to breathe.
I am safe.
I am safe.
I am safe.
My past may haunt me but I am safe!
I am protected.
I am loved.
I am a person, whole and actual.

Personhood

I am feeling more and more like a complete person. I have reached a state of autonomous personhood that was previously unknown to me.

The more I let my husband love me, the less I feel like an appendage.
The more I understand of love, the less I feel lost when he's not physically with me.

I am a person. I can make decisions. I can make wrong decisions. I can live, love and forgive. Someday I may even forgive myself.

Heavy

My heart is heavy. It is heavy with the sadness that can only be borne of love.

I have let my husband down.

He does not say that I have let him down - he probably doesn't even think I have let him down - but I have. I am responsible for the financial bind we are in right now.

My husband has a job and works hard every weekday - sometimes working 12+ hours a day. I stay home all day, trying to survive and cope. Had I gotten a job months ago, we'd be okay financially. Had I at least seriously looked for a job, I wouldn't feel so responsible. I wouldn't BE responsible.

I let my emotions have too much control over me and now we are literally paying for it.

I am a disappointment to my husband - even if he doesn't think so - but most of all, I am a disappointment to myself.

Either I am everything I was told I am, or I let other peoples words dictate who I am. It doesn't matter which is true. I am still a disappointent to myself.

I am less than I could and should be. I am at fault and there is nothing I can do to resolve this situation.

Almost 7 months

About 7 months ago everything changed. Nothing in my life is the same.

For the first time in my life I am living without abuse, without emotional blackmail. I am safe.

I am safe to be ME. No longer do I have to be the version of me that makes the fewest waves. My husband loves me for who I am.

Then why do I still live by the rules of my old life? Why am I afraid to do anything?

Even though I know my husband will eat any and all food I make, I have to work up the nerve to try a new recipe. My husband wants me to try new things, to experiment in the kitchen even if I fail, but still I fear judgement.

I am not used to a love like my husband's. I have experienced love before, but that was while I was still surviving abuse. Now that there is no abuse I don't know how to handle life.

I still expect abuse. I still fear and wait for abuse. But it doesn't come any more.
I provoke my poor husband and he doesn't take the bait.

For me, learning to live without abuse is like trying to live without breathing. "Abused" is who I am. It is my identity.

Removing me from the abuse has left a giant hole inside me. My husband is trying to fill that hole with his love. I am resistant to love because it is foreign to me.

Living with someone who loves me so completely and does not harm me is... alien! Nothing could be farther from my comprehension. And yet his love allows me to feel.

For the first time I am completely feeling. (Most of the time. I still "switch off" sometimes.) I am finally able to mourn. And I have so much to mourn.

There are things I need to do - that I've been wanting to do for years - but I am paralyzed. I have always been indecisive. Now, with every choice that comes up, I am crushed with the emotional impact of each possible outcome.

I am an empathetic person by nature. I am used to feeling emotion vicariously. I am used to emotions that are muted and easier to shut out.

Sometimes it is very difficult to cope. Somedays I just sit and cry.

Purpose

What is my purpose?

That is a question I have been asking for as long as I can remember. And yet, today, I find myself living out part of my purpose. A part that I have been dreading for so many years.

I was disgusted by this purpose when, years ago, I was told that this is why I survived what I have survived.

I have befriended a fellow survivor. Someone who is looking for support and in need of love.

The thought of speaking openly about what I survived used to terrify me. Yet I am speaking openly. I am without shame.

The thought of bearing another person's burdens used to be suffocating. Yet I am trying desperately to shoulder the weight. I want to help carry this.

I am hoping that this survivor trusts me because I know I am worthy of that trust. Rarely do I feel worthy of trust.

Running

I want to run away. I want to cut ties and run. I want to leave behind my new life, my husband, and anything that dares weigh me down.

I want to run to a place where no one knows me or any one who used to know me. I want to reinvent myself. I want to run away from me.

I'm itching for a freedom that doesn't exist. I want to be free from my past.

I want to be able to speak to people - my husband especially. I have much to say yet I lack the voice to say it. It's as if the sound of my own voice is poison to me. I hate that. I love my husband. He loves hearing me talk. I wish I could just talk to him.

I don't deserve my husband. He is loving and so very supportive. These are the very reasons I want to run away. I'm not supposed to be in good, healthy relationships!

I have never been happier and I don't know how to handle happiness. Being happy makes me nervous and very uncomfortable. I am frightened and skittish like a wild doe. I want to run.

I miss the familiar. I always have. No matter what is familiar, the familiarity itself provides a measure of comfort. After the sexual abuse stopped, I missed the familiarity of it. And that still hurts to this day. My wanting to run away is a reminder of that hurt.

It hurts knowing that I want to run because things are too good. It hurts to know that I am still that broken. It hurts that it reminds me. The hurt makes me want to run away even more! My wonderful husband shouldn't have to put up with this nonsense from me! But he still loves me. He's not going anywhere and he doesn't want me going anywhere. He is stubborn in his love. Foolishly stubborn, if you ask me.

I am in love and I am terrified.
I will stay. I will try to let his love wash over me and wash away the fear. I will stay and continue to heal.

I must heal.

Is it dysthymia?

http://communities.washingtontimes.com/neighborhood/tango-mind-and-emotion/2011/dec/10/it-growing-pains-or-it-dysthymia/

After reading the above article, I can't help but wonder if I have dysthymia.

Afraid that I'm just looking for an excuse for laziness, I asked a friend of mine to read the article and tell me what they thought. My friend skimmed the article and said that some of the symptoms sound like much of what I go through.

This is by no means a diagnosis. But simply knowing that there might be a reason for my daily struggle... it's hard to describe. Going from, "I'm defective and always will be" to "this probably has a name and treatment options" is not only freeing, it also gives me hope.

I feel heavy today - physically, emotionally, etc. - but not as heavy as I felt yesterday. I have to struggle and fight to get things done but today I am getting some things done.

Thinking that this is a problem as opposed to a defect allows me to celebrate the good days instead of loathing myself for the bad days.

I still have to work hard. Now I am working against something instead of working against myself.

The answers are out there somewhere.

There is hope.

Compliments

Somedays I wish I'd receive more compliments. Other days I wish I had never received any. Maybe if I received more compliments I would be more secure in my looks, more confident. Maybe if I had never received any compliments, I would have no conflict with thinking that I am unattractive and undesireable.
But, I am attractive.

It's one thing to be noticed and appreciated. It's quite another to be the object of one's staring. Half the time, when I leave my home, I am met with the latter. I live in a neighborhood where the men were never taught how to appreciate women, so I get everything from a souless stare to a hungry stare - like that of a wild dog.

I know there are women who feel invisible and wish they had this complaint. I honestly wish I wasn't complaining. My complaint has less to do with the action and more to do with the affect the action has on me.

Last night I was thinking about the fact that I really don't like leaving my home without an escort. I was thinking this while I was in bed, cuddling with my husband. I feel the safest when I am in bed with my husband. Realizing why I don't like leaving my home without an escort made me cry a little. Knowing that I could feel so safe and so unsafe in the same day scared me.

I know there are those who wish to do harm to young attractive females. I know that those who wish to do harm to young attractive females do not fit a stereotype, do not have a look, or a script, or anything else to bind them except their wish to harm.

I was once the victim of someone who did not fit any stereotypes. I am much too aware of how fragile my safety truly is.

When I leave my home without an escort, I feel bare and vulnerable. I probably would not feel any more vulnerable if I were to walk outside with no clothes on. This is not the fault of those who stare.

Surviving abuse is like surviving a nuclear bomb - surviving the explosion is the easy part, it's the fallout that kills you slowly.

Bored

I am bored. Well, not exactly bored because there's plenty for me to do and plenty to keep me busy. I just... am.

I'm not incredibly excited about anything in particular. I'm not upset about anything. I'm not horribly stressed about anything specific. I'm... being me, I guess.

My first thought was that the depression was back, hunting me down, seeking revenge for my escape from it's grip. But there is no hint of depression - no sadness, no despair, no emptiness, no longing. I don't feel the need to strive. I don't feel the need to be a better person right this second.

I don't feel like I have to fight for a chance to live, to breathe, to move.

I guess I feel... free.
And not in the frantic way I used to. I used to panic about having moments of freedom - making sure I did as much as I wanted to before my moments of freedom were taken from me.

I want to find a warm spot where I can lay out in the sunshine and just be.

The boy

The boy who stole my innocence
And turned me inside out
Was as hurt and lost as I
As hurt and lost as I

Our childhoods cut short
A tragedy, most would say
A shared pain so deep it kills
And oh, how deep it killed

My forgiveness was swift and full
I thought that was the end
But forgiveness is a process
A daily, painful process

Healing is there for both of us
As painful and unfair as it may be
We've moved on and I love him
I wish you could love him like me

Cuz we've been through hell together
Making our bond sure and true
Like soldiers going through wartime
And oh, we had such a hard time
We made our way through that wartime
And now I ask forgiveness from you

Forgive me for being vulnerable
Without the strength to repel
A child so easily broken
Allowing myself to be broken

Forgive me for the midnight tears
And my lack of trust in you
I never want to be a burden
For I know I'm a heavy burden

Forgive my fears, issues and hurts
Forgive my slowness to heal
Please know I'm trying my hardest
And today is one of the hardest

Healing is there for both of us
As painful and unfair as it may be
I want you to join in my healing
I need you to forgive even me

Cuz we'll go through hell together
Making our bond sure and true
Like soldiers going through wartime
And oh, we're bound to have hard times
We'll make our way through this wartime
And now I ask forgiveness from you

He was a child, barely older than I
Full of a vast unknowable pain
He didn't know the depth of his deeds
Until it was too late to undo his deeds

He paid his debt to society
To my family his debt's ever due
I vowed never to hold it against him
Please don't hold it against him

He's been my friend since forever
He'll be my friend ever more
I know I'm asking a lot of you
It's because I think a lot of you

Healing is there for all of us
As painful and unfair as it may be
You have become part of my healing
The healing of things unseen

Cuz we'll go through hell together
Making our bond sure and true
Like soldiers going through wartime
And oh, we're bound to have hard times
We'll make our way through this wartime
Do I have forgiveness from you?

Cuz we'll go through hell together
Making our bond sure and true
Like soldiers going through wartime
And oh, we're bound to have hard times
We'll make our way through this wartime
I need sweet forgiveness from you

Average? Really?

After reading my last post, a friend of mine reminded me that I am anything but average.

I am a unique creation of the living God. He made me with a specific purpose - to love. He made me to love Him and to love others.

He made me a fighter. He created me to fight for what I love. I am to fight on behalf of those I love and I am to fight for the the chance to love them.

Love is not easy. It's not meant to be. True love is highly passionate - evoking the strongest of emotions - no matter who it is you love. Sometimes it's those emotions that must be fought.

Fighting gets tiresome. I get weary from fighting. When I am weary, I feel ineffective. When I feel ineffective, I feel average. Lately, I have been weary.

Sometimes the weight of the world sits squarely on my shoulders. I still smile, laugh and enjoy life but the weight, and the fighting, and the loving... it all starts to suffocate me. It muffles the joy in my spirit. It tries to take me back to a place of no hope.

Sometimes I have to be reminded that I have eternal hope. That I am not some mistake of biology. That I have a special and unique purpose. That I am loved by my Creator who finds me anything but average.

God has given me the gift of a heart that breaks, bleeds and never stops needing to love others.

Average

I find myself unhappy when I compare myself to others.

I don't compare myself to celebrities or models or anyone who has a staff making them look good. I compare myself to the average. And I always come out the same.

Average.

I'm good at doing some things. I even like doing some of the things at which I am good.

But I'm not great.

My mind is both analytical and creative. I'm not especially great at either. I end up being mediocre at both. And that's the way with my whole life.

I cannot be creative whenever I want/need to be. I do not have boundless creativity. If anything, my creativity must be bound and gagged then locked in a cage before it really kicks in to gear. And even then it's not especially fantastic.

I can analyze a problem and come up with a solution... about ten minutes after that guy over there came up with a better solution.

I can't tell jokes. I don't remember names. I'm not any more witty than the next person. I don't talk much...

I write, yes, but I write tripe like this. I can't write stories to save my life! I don't write things that will ever amount to anything.

Because I am average.

My life stories are the same as thousands of other people. Yes, the wording may be different but the themes are all the same.

I have an awkward "beauty" that some notice but most don't.

I am average. I am mundane. I am not very unique.

I am overwhelmingly average.

Average isn't bad. Average keeps things moving smoothly. Average is the skeleton of society.

But I am human. I am American. And I want more that average.

I want to be great at something important. I want to be in demand. I want to be sought out for my unique abilities.

I don't want to be famous. I don't want to be recognized every where I go. I just want to be great at something in my corner of the world.

I don't want people standing around at my funeral trying to figure out what to say about my life - "well, she cooked food and we ate it. And, umm... none of us died from it. She wasn't the best cook but she never killed anybody."

Worse than that would be if my life's story is always only about survival. I would hate to be nothing more than the sum of what has happened to me - to have my life's story decided by everyone but me.

I am only four months out of a lifelong survival situation and I am frustrated that I have not yet achieved greatness.

Maybe I need to learn how to be patient with myself.

Desire

Genesis 3:16 NASB
To the woman He said,
"I will greatly multiply
Your pain in childbirth,
In pain you will bring forth children;
Yet your desire will be for your husband,
And he will rule over you."

Those last two lines, " yet your desire will be for your husband, and he will rule over you" almost haunt me.

For the sake of this post, I do not mean "desire" as "sexual desire." It is simply the desire to spend time with my husband.

Sometimes when my husband is at work I enjoy being able to get stuff done without interuption and without feeling like I've abandoned my husband. But other times I miss him SO MUCH that "your desire will be for your husband, and he will rule over you" comes to mind.

I have known that part of that verse since I was little - it has always fascinated me. I have always known that it is true but I have also known that there is more power to it than I could understand.

I am only beginning to understand.

Some days, like today, I cannot wait for him to come home from work! I just want to hug him and hold him and spend time with him. Today, there is not enough time in the world for me to spend with him.

Some days, I am glad that he goes to work and I am overwhelmingly thankful for the time alone. Some days I wish he worked later in the day because I am most productive in the afternoon - right as he's getting home. I typically don't like those days.

Why that phrase, "your desire will be for your husband, and he will rule over you," haunts me is hard to explain. It is a rememberance from my childhood with echos of the abuse. It is a long awaited revelation that is new and exciting! It speaks deeply of the way I feel. It connects me to women all the way back to Eve. It is a reminder that I am fully and truly a woman - a fact I have both loved and hated with equal passion.

That phrase whispers to my soul and stirs up things that I didn't know existed. It's scary. It's exciting.

This is my new life, my new adventure! With feelings deeper than I've ever known before. Joys greater than I've imagined!