An Open Letter to My Teenager

This letter is not to my daughter. Rather, this letter is to a teenage part of me, of whom I am especially proud:

Dear Teenager,

I just want to let you know that I feel so privileged that you shared as much as you did with me today. That took guts. I can see that you are very strong and you're a survivor. You've taken shitty circumstances and made them work for you so far. But you're also lonely.

I know that when G asked you to look into Jesus eyes and the demon's eyes, you didn't want to. I know you were afraid that if you saw their eyes, the choice would be obvious and you're afraid of making that choice. What's more, I know that I didn't help, either, by being afraid of what your choice would mean for me. Screw the consequences for me. You deserve to have a voice. You deserve to have a life. You deserve to be known...if that's what you want. You deserve to be safe.

You and I both know very well that where you're at now is not safe. Being between them and the others is no protection at all. But you don't even have to see Jesus' eyes to know that He's good and full of love. That He's safe. You can feel it just by Him being close to you. He's been close to you for a long time. But you're afraid that the people with Him will reject you. Especially if they know what you know. And what you've been involved in.

I will not reject you. I repeat. I will NOT reject you. No matter what it was. I want to know what they did to you. I want to know what they made you do. Whatever they told you, it wasn't your fault. I admit that I'm afraid I'll be rejected by those who love me. When they find stuff out, they won't be able to look at me, or I'll be exposed to others. But maybe we can take this one step at a time. I'll listen to you and I'll risk it with one person. Just one. And if that goes okay, we'll tell one more. It's scary for me to say it, but I will risk their rejection so that I can have you. You are more important than any other person. There has been no one there for you ever before, but I will be the first. This is public, so there's no going back for me. Whatever comes, I will stand by you.

And now you have two hands extended to you...mine and Jesus'. You think that "thing" whose hand your holding is safe. At least known. But I can tell you from experience, it's not. It's a liar. It makes you think that it won't hurt you, only other people, but it's really feeding off your cutting. The cutting makes its hold on you stronger. I can tell that you really don't want to let go of its hand. That's okay. You think it follows you around because it cares about you in some way, like a dog. But that is soooo not true. It's connected to you and it won't let you go, not unless you take hold of Jesus' hand. Or mine.

Just know that when you're ready, Jesus and I are here. We will never force you into anything. And we will protect you. We will love you. We will never leave you. And there are other parts who can't wait. They're excited. They've been watching you for a long time, wanting to comfort you and be your friends. There's safety where they're at. Maybe that's a middle ground for you right now. Be with other ones inside. Let them teach you about how to really be safe with Jesus, and how to guard yourself against the hurt that can come from people's ignorance.

I love you with all my heart. I said it earlier, but I just feel like I need to say it again. I WILL NOT REJECT YOU...EVER!

Waiting expectantly,

me

1/18/06 9:00 a.m.

I finished this letter about 8 hours ago and finally went to bed, exhausted, at 1:30 am. I lay awake, searching out this precious part of myself to see if she had any reaction to my letter. I found her quickly and she said two things. "I was there," and "I saw what they did." Then she proceeded to let me see a very brief image, that is still not clear, but was an indicator of her willingness to trust me, and in turn trust those in whom I have placed my trust. Some of you know who you are.

While this was happening, I suddenly realized that the surroundings in which I had seen her earlier, had changed. She was no longer in "no man's land" between them (the cult) and the others (those who call themselves Christians). She had let go of the demon's hand and grabbed hold of both mine and Jesus' hands. It happened so quickly and imperceptibly that I didn't even realize what had transpired until it was over. The demon was left, standing by itself. I stood behind my teenager with arms wrapped around her, and Jesus stood by our side, His arm draped protectively over my shoulder.

I told that demon it had to leave, asked my teenager if she agreed and all she could do was nod her assent. That was enough. One look from Jesus and it was gone. It went back to "them." One more tie with the group has been severed. I am in awe at how quickly, how smoothly, and how thorough Jesus is.

What's just as amazing is the response of the younger parts inside. They range from little kids to older teens. They cheered and practically dragged this teenager into their midst to hug her and congratulate her and welcome her. The contrast was striking. Every one of them had on white shirts and shorts or pants, while she was in dark, dirty clothes. They didn't care. They had once been dressed like her, too. Her dirty clothes will be traded out for white ones like theirs. She's found a family. She's found a place where she's safe.

Only Jesus could accomplish something this huge. Only Jesus could create those connections. Only Jesus could have been working for a very long time behind the scenes to make all the necessary preparations. Only Jesus can transcend all that hinders and holds back. Only Jesus' love could make all of it happen.

Jesus - my teenager and I thank you!

And for those of you who are pray-ers, please pray that she'll feel safe enough to tell what she knows because I think she will play an important role in bringing the enemy to his knees.

Margaret - In memoriam

Margaret Mae

"great child of light"

Born: May, 19??

Died: ????

I don't even know where to start. The emotions, the grieving, are still so disconnected from me. They belong to another part of me, one I am just getting to know. In her mind, she sees a tiny baby girl with smiling eyes and chubby cheeks. Coupled with that is an image of a curly-haired two-year old being ripped from her arms. There is an aching void that can't be filled. She has been holding these emotions at bay for many years. There's a tremendous fear that if she dips her toes into this enormous ocean of pain that she'll drown. Better to stay on the beach where it's safe, but the water is beckoning. She's wondering if it's finally time to risk the plunge. Remembering is dangerous. And painful. I want to hold this part of me and give her answers, but I don't have them. She questions why it had to happen, and all I can say is that they were bad people. Her angst is mine, and yet not mine.

Fragments come and like individual puzzle pieces, don't make sense until they are all connected and the whole picture can be seen. So much unknown. So many questions. How can you comprehend the incomprehensible? How do I convey what's inside so that you, the reader, the voyeur into my life, can grasp the magnitude of what's happened, when I myself can't wrap my mind around it?

What I know is that Margaret deserves to be remembered. She deserves to be recognized as a living being. Her life deserves to be acknowledged, regardless of how short it was. And the blame needs to be placed squarely on the shoulders of those who took it.

For them to snuff it out as if it didn't mean anything is bad enough, but to say it was our fault, that's reprehensible. How can there be an expectation that a young girl will produce the perfect child? It is God who creates and knits together in the mother's womb. He forms each life with care and precision, lovingly crafted. Yet, in the secret, dark places, there is self-blame. Shouldn't a mother have done more to protect her child? Shouldn't she have sacrificed her own life to save her child's? She doesn't deserve to be a mother. She can't be trusted with another child. But since all the circumstances have not yet been revealed, there is no way to refute these lies. They were more powerful. They were cunning and deceitful. They placed impossible demands on those who could not fulfill them.

Who are "they?" I'm unable to go there, to that place of acknowledging who "they" are. Better to keep them as strange enigmas - faceless, nameless. It keeps it from being too real. They still hold so much power, yet they have lost just as much - thank God! His Spirit is gently leading us into more truth.

Who is "us?" I'm a multiple. I proudly admit that I had the strength and courage to survive for the simple reason that God gave me the ability to split into different personalities. Without that, I would have been left with little choice but to lose my mind or die. His grace to me is unfathomable. His mercy even greater.

Part of living, rather than just surviving, is the ability to appreciate the difficulties that life brings. At times, I actually find myself thankful for what I've experienced and life as a multiple because I know that it has made me who I am. I know, too, that God had a plan from before I was born, to use my life as a testimony to bring healing and freedom to many who have experienced similar abuse.

As I move deeper into the waters with those parts of me who are overwhelmed and afraid, I hope that I can find whatever is there to be thankful for. The gold nuggets among the mountains of feces. Margaret's life is one of those gold nuggets, and as I dig through the stench and waste, I have to believe that there are more.

12/29/05

I was cleaning out drawers today and found an old book of poems that I had written in 2001. I started reading through them and I was caught off guard by one in particular. At the time I wrote it, I had been cleaning the kitchen in our home and there was a fly, still alive, caught in a spider's web. I found myself sobbing inconsolably on the floor, wondering why it was affecting me so deeply. I realized, today, that I was really writing about Margaret. Even before I knew of Margaret's life, part of me was crying out, expressing the pain over the loss of her child. This poem was previously untitled, but I think an appropriate title would be The Cycle of Life:

The fly entangled
in the spider’s deadly web,
crying out in fright
and anticipation.
Panic, confusion.
No real comprehension
that this is the end.
No one can save him.
He cannot save himself.
The more he works
the less free he becomes.
I cover my ears so I will not hear
- but his death screams
pierce my heart.
Helpless, I weep as I see one
struggle for freedom.
Stop the struggle!
The struggle ensnares!
I long to reach in and pluck
the helpless creature
from his deathbed.
But the damage has been done.
And the cycle of life would be broken.
I sink to the floor and moan
as I struggle to understand
the horror of death and helplessness.
Creatures who seem to be created only for food,
to feed those bigger than itself.
Is that its sole purpose?
Is there nothing special about this tiny creature?
It’s own purpose to fulfill?
Or is it just food
- to be eaten and forgotten?
As if it never existed.

9-8-01

To be continued...

Welcome

Welcome to all who visit this site - whether purposely or by accident. What I want it to be is still developing. I'd like it to be a place that speaks truth and educates, a soapbox at times, somewhere to express what goes on deep within me, and ultimately a vehicle to bring hope to those who are struggling.

I expect that you will be privy to my own struggles, which will not be pretty. When I'm in the midst of a particularly difficult time, it can be ugly. Those who know me may be surprised. Eventually, however, I always come back around to being firmly rooted and grounded in my relationship with God. That's what ultimately holds me together. I was exposed to God through church and school growing up which resulted in lots of head knowledge, but it wasn't until I was 28 that I finally understood that He wasn't some angry Being waiting to hit me over the head as soon as I screwed up. I was blessed to have a pastor and his wife who have led me into the truth of what it means to have a personal relationship with Jesus Christ. They also began teaching me about the reality of the spiritual realm. I now know that God was preparing me, through them, to come face to face with my own personal demons and a dissociated history that I could not have imagined in my worst nightmares.

God has been kind, giving me only little bits at a time, so as not to overwhelm me (although at times I question His wisdom). I've found that I am a multi-faceted person, with many different aspects often contradicting each other. It's disconcerting to have memories surface that seem so nebulous and disconnected.

The clinical term for what I experience is "dissociation." Dissociation occurs as a result of severe trauma in which the mind can't handle what is happening and separates itself from the event. The event then is relegated to the unconscious. Dissociation can take place on different levels. A person can "forget" the event itself, the emotions, or the physical sensations associated with it. When all of these take place simultaneously, the result is a completely dissociated memory.

Dissociative Identity Disorder (also known as multiple personality disorder) occurs when the trauma is severe, prolonged, or repeated. The mind actually separates into distinct personalities/alters/parts whose responsibility is to hold the memory away from the conscious so that the individual can function in everyday life. This functioning, however, is on a continuum. For example, at the one end, she may be an addict with string of broken relationships and unable to hold a job, while at the other end she may be a successful businesswoman, homemaker, or student, with nothing to hint at the atrocities underlying the wonderful veneer that's been developed for all the world to see.

I hope that you will visit often and hopefully take away something that may make your life a little better than it was before. Be blessed.

WarriorBride