Round One took place this morning via voicemail. I was working out when the phone rang. Although I couldn't really hear for sure who the caller was, I immediately felt on edge. Within seconds I found myself praying in my prayer language and at times I felt very threatened and my praying increased. When the caller was done (actually she was cut off due to limited space on the answering machine), the praying subsided. However, I felt very drained of energy and had to cut that portion of my workout short. I checked caller id and sure enough, it was good ole' mom. I knew it was essential to prepare myself spiritually, mentally, and emotionally before listening to the message, so I went through the second part of my workout and even took a shower.
During that time I examined the emotional responses I had in just suspecting that it was my mother calling. I realized that the most overwhelming emotion was fear. That, in and of itself, told me something. They were terrified just to hear her voice. Insiders felt very afraid that "they" would come and get them, and that they would get into trouble because they were telling and talking about this stuff.
I expected anger. I expected something from my father. What I should have been prepared for, but wasn't, was what I've been getting all along - my weepy mother. I tried to listen from a position of emotional distance to pick up on inconsistencies and ideas that sounded good, but when picked apart, masked something else. Overall, I think I did a pretty good job. I kept feeling myself getting sucked in, but then would come to my senses and pull back.
The jist of what she said was this:
1. My letter was an answer to prayer. (How in the world could accusations of the type I made be an answer to prayer?)
2. She defended her phone call to my pastor's wife as having been looking for my pastor because she was soooo worried about me and didn't understand why I had pulled away. (This is actually a twist on what I had been told by my pastor's wife.)
3. She explained every conversation and visit with my mother-in-law has having legitimate reasons having absolutely nothing to do with me. She went on to blame my mother-in-law for continually bringing me up in conversation. (In some ways, I can certainly see my mother-in-law wanting to try to fix things, even though she has no idea what has gone on, but my mother was certainly not innocent in this. The last note she sent me stated that she intended to call my mother-in-law to find out our daughter's graduation date and future plans. When our house was being built, my mother was supposedly invited by my mother-and brother-in-law to see it. While I was initially angry with my in-laws, my mother should have respected my request to leave my family alone and realized that it would be a huge invasion of our privacy.)
4. It was apparent from what she said that she has been talking with my younger sister. This sister said that she took ONE psychology class in college (15 years ago) and said that the words I had used in my letter were exactly the words used in her textbook. There's only one place that this could go - that I've been changed through secular psychology. (Oh my gosh!!!! Of course I'm going to use the proper terminology! How else would you phrase "satanic ritual abuse" and "mind control programming?" And ONE class? Sure - she's the expert now. Sorry to burst that bubble, but the memories started coming while I was still in core classes like English and Science. In fact, I can't really recall, even though I'm now in my master's, any discussion in any book or class about ritual abuse.)
5. My mother said that they would like to meet with me. They want my pastor there because they know that he's my friend and they want my oldest brother there because they don't want any misunderstanding. (Interesting that they would demand what THEY want when I clearly stated in my letter that I would meet with them on MY terms.)
What is glaringly missing from all of this is my father's response. Although my letter does not allocate blame to one or the other specifically, wouldn't he be the likely candidate who sexually abused me? So why is it that he, thoughout these last five years, has kept silent, with the exception one short letter (which was so insignificant that I don't even recall what it said)? And why has he not weighed in on this last, most obvious indictment of his character?
I admit that after listening to the message, I was temporarily thrown into confusion. What had I done? I had made a terrible mistake and was now going to be shown up as a fool. Not only that, but I would have to spend the rest of my days making amends for the horrible accusations I had made and the years of torture I had put my family through. I was undeserving of such a patient and loving family. I got far away from the phone and sat at the top of the stairs and let all the voices inside have their say. It became apparent that many younger parts were picturing themselves going back to the family and willingly becoming "yes" people again. "Yes, mommy. Yes, daddy. You're right and we're wrong." Along with that came another picture of not having a life independent of them. I would not finish school. I would not work. I would simply live for my family (and I don't mean my husband and daughter). Other parts saw the flaws in my mother's words, but their influence was not as strong as the younger ones. So I prayed. And I believe that God said, "Hold firm. Do not waver. I will show you if and where you are wrong." The last sentence did not seem to be about the abuse itself, but more about specifics of memories and understanding that are yet to come.
The fact that I'm dissociative and have all these different parts is, in and of itself, a telling sign that the ritual abuse did, in fact, take place. Go figure. If there is nothing else to hold onto, that is still apparent. My insiders have not gone away.
And to all my insiders: GREAT, GREAT JOB! YOU HAVE DONE A PHENOMENAL JOB OF WORKING THROUGH EVERYTHING TODAY! I AM IMMENSELY PROUD OF EVERY SINGLE ONE OF YOU FOR TALKING AND LISTENING TO EACH OTHER AND SHARING HERE AND NOT LETTING "THEM" GET THE UPPER HAND. WAY TO GO!
Monday, May 15, 2006
Sunday, May 14, 2006
Mother's Day
What the f*#@ is Mother's Day, anyway? Every year it brings up the same feelings and I'm reminded of how much it sucks. I'm raising this kid who more often than not can't stand me and so much time has passed that I really can't stand her, either. I feel like the worst mother on earth. All my thoughts of her, all the time, are negative. In no way do I present the perfect or even good picture of what it means to be a mother. I'm not the one that she runs to in times of trouble. I'm not nurturing. She doesn't confide in me - even a little. No. I'm the disciplinarian. I'm the realist who bursts her bubbles. I'm the one who tries to get her to think beyond the end of her nose. I'm the one who is overly critical. I'm the one who is unforgiving. I continue to hit my head against the proverbial brick wall by wanting a relationship with a person who has made it clear time and time again that she doesn't give a shit about me.
Our family attends church together every Sunday. It's not like we're a traditional family by any means. We all drive separate vehicles and get there at different times. But it's something we do almost every Sunday. Today, she and I were supposed to be there early for worship team practice. She was still sleeping when I left. She never showed at all. I felt like a complete idiot sitting through this service where the message was about mothers and I don't even know where the heck my kid is at. She obviously didn't consider it important enough to be there with me on Mother's Day. When I arrive home her car is there but I have no idea if she is. It's been an hour and I still haven't seen her. There's a card on the table for me that's would be funny if we had a good relationship. But since we don't, it just hurts. Inside are two photos that she's taken for her photography class. She's pretty talented and I'm immensely impressed with some of the pics she's taken. But c'mon. How much thought, time, or money went into them? None. It's not like I expect her to spend money on me to make a gift good. But when I see her spend money on everyone and everything else and I don't get shit, I'm just a tiny bit upset. The least she could have done was to get a cute frame - wouldn't have cost more than five bucks. She works two jobs, for pete's sake. This, of course, is on top of the fact that my b-day was last month and all I got was a card. Not even an attempt at a gift. While back in September, she spend quite a bit on my husband's birthday. She always seems to be so thoughtful with him, but for me, her attitude seems to be "whatever."
And something else that bothers me is that no one ever seems to remember that my motherhood was stolen from me by the "group." Margaret was a real, flesh and blood baby who was mine. No one ever takes into consideration that I had a child so many years ago. Her existence goes completely unacknowledged today, as does the fact that I still have not been able to conceive. The idea of having a baby now brings with it mixed feelings, but not a single soul even thinks about the fact that a struggle exists.
And how about my own mother? The woman I thought gave birth to me, the woman I have called mom my entire life, isn't really my mom. My oldest sister is the one who actually gave birth to me. She died in 1999 from breast cancer and I decided to visit her grave today. I told no one. Simply brought a single rose (which all the women in church received today) and spent a few minutes there. She had two miscarriages during her marriage so she was never called mother. I was suddenly struck by how her motherhood was ripped from her not only through those two miscarriages, but also because our true relationship was never acknowledged while she was alive. So we've both been robbed of the privilege of being called, "mom." Her headstone reads, "Beloved wife, daughter, sister." I made a promise today that there would come a day when somehow she would publicly be known as my mother.
I had a moment of horror this week when I realized that I was sending my letter (see my One Step at a Time posting) so close to and it would probably be received before Mother's Day. "Happy Mother's Day, Mom!" What a kick in the teeth! At first I felt tremendous guilt and almost postponed mailing it. Then insiders pointed out that they took my motherhood from me. They went on to remind me that my real mom was lying in a cemetery 45 minutes away. Therefore, we owe this imposter nothing.
As I kneeled by my mother's graveside, I began to wonder what a mother really is. What is my definition? How would I describe one? I have never really taken the time to operationally define the word, but I have had absolutely no difficulty in berating myself for not being a good one. So the challenge before me is to think about and concretely describe for myself what a good mother is and come to a place of both forgiving myself for my shortcomings and congratulating myself in the areas in which I've excelled. I suspect that I've been guaging my success at parenting by how this child I've been raising is turning out and by how much she loves (or doesn't love) me. So it is now time for me to turn my attention to this matter before I allow anymore misplaced guilt to illegally take hold.
Our family attends church together every Sunday. It's not like we're a traditional family by any means. We all drive separate vehicles and get there at different times. But it's something we do almost every Sunday. Today, she and I were supposed to be there early for worship team practice. She was still sleeping when I left. She never showed at all. I felt like a complete idiot sitting through this service where the message was about mothers and I don't even know where the heck my kid is at. She obviously didn't consider it important enough to be there with me on Mother's Day. When I arrive home her car is there but I have no idea if she is. It's been an hour and I still haven't seen her. There's a card on the table for me that's would be funny if we had a good relationship. But since we don't, it just hurts. Inside are two photos that she's taken for her photography class. She's pretty talented and I'm immensely impressed with some of the pics she's taken. But c'mon. How much thought, time, or money went into them? None. It's not like I expect her to spend money on me to make a gift good. But when I see her spend money on everyone and everything else and I don't get shit, I'm just a tiny bit upset. The least she could have done was to get a cute frame - wouldn't have cost more than five bucks. She works two jobs, for pete's sake. This, of course, is on top of the fact that my b-day was last month and all I got was a card. Not even an attempt at a gift. While back in September, she spend quite a bit on my husband's birthday. She always seems to be so thoughtful with him, but for me, her attitude seems to be "whatever."
And something else that bothers me is that no one ever seems to remember that my motherhood was stolen from me by the "group." Margaret was a real, flesh and blood baby who was mine. No one ever takes into consideration that I had a child so many years ago. Her existence goes completely unacknowledged today, as does the fact that I still have not been able to conceive. The idea of having a baby now brings with it mixed feelings, but not a single soul even thinks about the fact that a struggle exists.
And how about my own mother? The woman I thought gave birth to me, the woman I have called mom my entire life, isn't really my mom. My oldest sister is the one who actually gave birth to me. She died in 1999 from breast cancer and I decided to visit her grave today. I told no one. Simply brought a single rose (which all the women in church received today) and spent a few minutes there. She had two miscarriages during her marriage so she was never called mother. I was suddenly struck by how her motherhood was ripped from her not only through those two miscarriages, but also because our true relationship was never acknowledged while she was alive. So we've both been robbed of the privilege of being called, "mom." Her headstone reads, "Beloved wife, daughter, sister." I made a promise today that there would come a day when somehow she would publicly be known as my mother.
I had a moment of horror this week when I realized that I was sending my letter (see my One Step at a Time posting) so close to and it would probably be received before Mother's Day. "Happy Mother's Day, Mom!" What a kick in the teeth! At first I felt tremendous guilt and almost postponed mailing it. Then insiders pointed out that they took my motherhood from me. They went on to remind me that my real mom was lying in a cemetery 45 minutes away. Therefore, we owe this imposter nothing.
As I kneeled by my mother's graveside, I began to wonder what a mother really is. What is my definition? How would I describe one? I have never really taken the time to operationally define the word, but I have had absolutely no difficulty in berating myself for not being a good one. So the challenge before me is to think about and concretely describe for myself what a good mother is and come to a place of both forgiving myself for my shortcomings and congratulating myself in the areas in which I've excelled. I suspect that I've been guaging my success at parenting by how this child I've been raising is turning out and by how much she loves (or doesn't love) me. So it is now time for me to turn my attention to this matter before I allow anymore misplaced guilt to illegally take hold.
Friday, May 12, 2006
One Step at a Time
In 2001, I took a first step towards extricating myself from the hold my family had on me. I sent a letter, stating essentially that God had been doing a healing work in my life and that in order for Him to go even deeper, I needed to separate myself from them for a time. I respectfully requested that they honor my request for space and time by not contacting me, my husband, or daughter. About a month later, shortly after Christmas, my mother arrived at my workplace, bearing the gifts bought with oh-so-much love for me and mine, even though we had not spent the holidays with them. After declining a niece's wedding invitation, I received an irate phone call from a brother (not the niece's father) berating me for being so selfish as to turn my back on the family in such an insensitive way. Through God's grace I was able to stand my ground.
Three years later, a second step was taken - I met with my mother and father in a public restaurant, simply to break the ice. I had no intention of discussing anything of importance at that time. I only wanted to open up communication so that I could prepare myself to talk with them at a later time about what I knew. (Little did I know it would be another two years.) True to form, my father tried to forcibly take control of the conversation. Again, the Holy Spirit enabled me to respond in such a way that empowered all parts of myself and not allow the enemy an inch.
Here, now, is the third step. After much deliberation and several rough drafts, I have finally composed and mailed a letter to my parents and siblings. The act of simply deciding to do so has freed me just a little bit more. I anticipate much backlash. However, no matter how I try to anticipate the form it will take, I'm sure to be wrong. Will it be an angry phone call? Or perhaps a placating one with tears, trying to understand how I could think such horrible things about them? Or maybe an angry mob with torches at my front door. It is quite possible they will attempt to play my husband and I against each other, yet again. Some inside secretly fear that they will garner his support and attempt to have me committed.
As you will read, the letter states that I am willing to discuss this further "on my terms." The trouble is, I don't know what those terms are at this point. It also indicates that there is the possibility of yet a fourth step that I must take. Will there then be a fifth or sixth? Will it ever end? And should they want to talk about it, what will be their aim? To tear apart whatever I say? To confess and ask forgiveness? To seek reconciliation? To demand an apology?
While there is so much unknown, this I know: I have done the right thing for me at this moment in time. Regardless of the fall out, I do not regret having done this. My life is forever changed.
Here, then, for your consideration, is The Letter:
May 9, 2006
Dear Mom and Dad,
Every month you send me your church newsletter and sometimes include personal notes. You always remember birthdays and special occasions. Outwardly, these things appear so nice and sincere, but they belie the truth of what has gone on behind closed doors.
First of all, there has been a consistent dishonoring of my boundaries. Despite my request for space and time to work through some things, you continued to contact me, both by mail and in person. In addition, at times you have circumvented me completely by contacting my mother-in-law to gather information. Not only that, but you have contacted my pastor’s wife to glean information, as well. To some it would communicate a deep love and longing for your daughter and be completely justified. However, true love respects another’s requests, regardless of whether they are understood or the hardship they place on you. Your behavior indicates that you have been more concerned with how this has affected you than with what I have been going through.
Second, our family has been built on lies, deception, and manipulation. My childhood was littered with physical and emotional abuse, coupled with an extremely controlling parenting style which allowed for no deviation from your ways of thinking and living.
It was so important to present a perfect exterior to the world, but underneath was another reality – that of sexual and satanic ritual abuse. I know that through you I was involved in rituals done in the context of satanic worship and had mind-control programming forced upon me.
Attending a Christian church as well as a Christian school and being indoctrinated with the Bible at home were all designed to train me to take my place within the cult while maintaining a cover of being a good Christian, above reproach and suspicion. I praise God that what was intended for evil has been redeemed and used by Him to rescue me from the kingdom of darkness and bring me into eternal fellowship with Him.
I cannot imagine that this letter brings too many surprises. Instead, it is finally vocalizing what’s likely been suspected (the sexual abuse) on some level. My desire in writing to you now is two-fold. I recognize that time is growing short and I feel an obligation to stop perpetuating the secrecy that has been a part of our lives. Also, I’m hoping that given the opportunity, you will confess and renounce your misplaced allegiance and align yourself fully with the true Lord Jesus Christ.
It is natural for a daughter to want to have relationship with her parents. However, I see no way for this to happen without acknowledgement of what has taken place. My prayer is that God will make a way for you to see Him for who He really is. While I choose to forgive you, I will not place myself or my family in harm’s way.
I am willing to meet with you in person, on my terms, to discuss this further. Please do not contact either Randy or Victoria, Randy’s family, or anyone else who is a part of my life. I am sending a copy of this letter to my brothers and sisters so that they will have an accurate account of what I have brought to you, and to minimize any twisting or misunderstanding that may occur.
Praying for God to break through,
Three years later, a second step was taken - I met with my mother and father in a public restaurant, simply to break the ice. I had no intention of discussing anything of importance at that time. I only wanted to open up communication so that I could prepare myself to talk with them at a later time about what I knew. (Little did I know it would be another two years.) True to form, my father tried to forcibly take control of the conversation. Again, the Holy Spirit enabled me to respond in such a way that empowered all parts of myself and not allow the enemy an inch.
Here, now, is the third step. After much deliberation and several rough drafts, I have finally composed and mailed a letter to my parents and siblings. The act of simply deciding to do so has freed me just a little bit more. I anticipate much backlash. However, no matter how I try to anticipate the form it will take, I'm sure to be wrong. Will it be an angry phone call? Or perhaps a placating one with tears, trying to understand how I could think such horrible things about them? Or maybe an angry mob with torches at my front door. It is quite possible they will attempt to play my husband and I against each other, yet again. Some inside secretly fear that they will garner his support and attempt to have me committed.
As you will read, the letter states that I am willing to discuss this further "on my terms." The trouble is, I don't know what those terms are at this point. It also indicates that there is the possibility of yet a fourth step that I must take. Will there then be a fifth or sixth? Will it ever end? And should they want to talk about it, what will be their aim? To tear apart whatever I say? To confess and ask forgiveness? To seek reconciliation? To demand an apology?
While there is so much unknown, this I know: I have done the right thing for me at this moment in time. Regardless of the fall out, I do not regret having done this. My life is forever changed.
Here, then, for your consideration, is The Letter:
May 9, 2006
Dear Mom and Dad,
Every month you send me your church newsletter and sometimes include personal notes. You always remember birthdays and special occasions. Outwardly, these things appear so nice and sincere, but they belie the truth of what has gone on behind closed doors.
First of all, there has been a consistent dishonoring of my boundaries. Despite my request for space and time to work through some things, you continued to contact me, both by mail and in person. In addition, at times you have circumvented me completely by contacting my mother-in-law to gather information. Not only that, but you have contacted my pastor’s wife to glean information, as well. To some it would communicate a deep love and longing for your daughter and be completely justified. However, true love respects another’s requests, regardless of whether they are understood or the hardship they place on you. Your behavior indicates that you have been more concerned with how this has affected you than with what I have been going through.
Second, our family has been built on lies, deception, and manipulation. My childhood was littered with physical and emotional abuse, coupled with an extremely controlling parenting style which allowed for no deviation from your ways of thinking and living.
It was so important to present a perfect exterior to the world, but underneath was another reality – that of sexual and satanic ritual abuse. I know that through you I was involved in rituals done in the context of satanic worship and had mind-control programming forced upon me.
Attending a Christian church as well as a Christian school and being indoctrinated with the Bible at home were all designed to train me to take my place within the cult while maintaining a cover of being a good Christian, above reproach and suspicion. I praise God that what was intended for evil has been redeemed and used by Him to rescue me from the kingdom of darkness and bring me into eternal fellowship with Him.
I cannot imagine that this letter brings too many surprises. Instead, it is finally vocalizing what’s likely been suspected (the sexual abuse) on some level. My desire in writing to you now is two-fold. I recognize that time is growing short and I feel an obligation to stop perpetuating the secrecy that has been a part of our lives. Also, I’m hoping that given the opportunity, you will confess and renounce your misplaced allegiance and align yourself fully with the true Lord Jesus Christ.
It is natural for a daughter to want to have relationship with her parents. However, I see no way for this to happen without acknowledgement of what has taken place. My prayer is that God will make a way for you to see Him for who He really is. While I choose to forgive you, I will not place myself or my family in harm’s way.
I am willing to meet with you in person, on my terms, to discuss this further. Please do not contact either Randy or Victoria, Randy’s family, or anyone else who is a part of my life. I am sending a copy of this letter to my brothers and sisters so that they will have an accurate account of what I have brought to you, and to minimize any twisting or misunderstanding that may occur.
Praying for God to break through,
Thursday, March 23, 2006
Evaluating Ideals
I recently was forwarded an email with several pictures attached of those who have chosen to alter their bodies. The message attached was essentially "Thank God they're not our kids." What, exactly, does that mean? Does God judge us based upon our outward appearance or does He look at our hearts? He's a creative God, isn't He? So why would His creatures be any less creative? I certainly can't speak for what motivated these people to get piercings or tattoos. That's between them and God. I have tattoos and piercings. Perhaps mine are simply more mainstream and therefore accepted by the dominant culture. But should they be?
It makes me angry to think that as Christians we perpetuate society's ideals without critically evaluating them. We even fall back on the Bible as justification for our opinions. For example "our body is a temple of the Holy Spirit." (I Corinthians 6:19) Yes, it is. Here the Apostle Paul is talking about sexual immorality, however. And how many Christians still choose to pierce their ears or color their hair? Or get facelifts or liposuction? Or drink and smoke? Or eat fast food five days a week?
Here's another. "Do not cut your bodies for the dead or put tattoo marks on yourselves." (Leviticus 19:28) The context is not considered. These things were done in pagan ceremonies and to "secure the attention of their deity" (NIV footnote for Leviticus 21:5). So do we just assume that everyone who gets piercings and tattoos are doing it for religious reasons? And what about those Christians who get tattoos of crosses or fishes to make a statement of their faith?
Seems to me that our time as Christians would be better spent challenging the status quo instead of perpetuating it. Even in Christianity there is no cookie-cutter style and that makes some people extremely uncomfortable. We want to be able to recognize brothers and sisters by how they look instead of how they act. Wonder what that's all about?
Sunday, March 19, 2006
Leaving
Why is it so difficult to following through with leaving the husband? Neither he nor the niece we've been raising really care about what we're going through. Things keep going from bad to worse. She's a bitch, using people for whatever serves her purposes. There's no give and take, only grabbing for whatever she can get her hands on. She demeans and belittles us so that she can feel better about herself. No respect. And oh so narcisstic, angling for what can best suit her purposes. She's sweet enough to make your teeth hurt one minute and the next, she's so vicious you feel like your teeth were kicked in. You give and give but every once in a while lose your temper, verbally assault her, dish out what she's given. All anyone remembers are the bad things you've said and done. Never amazed at the sacrifices you've made so she could have a better life, let alone grateful. And he's so whipped by her that he continually allows himself to be taken in by her batting eyelashes and incessent wheedling. "She's had such a hard life," he says. That justifies giving her whatever she asks for and condones whatever she does. Neither are capable of accepting their part in whatever bad takes place in their lives. We're the easy scapegoat. And when they join forces, it's enough to make me want to die, or get drunk, or cut, and sever my losses and run like hell.
So I begin to make plans for my life that don't include them. And as I do, I'm struck by the major changes I will face. Changes that they won't have to do deal with. Why should I be the one to move, leaving behind wonderful, treaused animal companions who have been a source of life and comfort for years? Why should I have to think about not making ends meet? Why should I give up the yard with the view that takes your breath away? Why should I be the one to reinvent myself? Their lives will continue as if untouched. Perhaps even better. She won't have anyone to interfere by setting limits and boundaries. He won't have anyone to be responsible to or nag him about his drinking. And the effects of the abuse, which cause instability within us and rapid switching of alters, is the perfect excuse for them to say, "See. It wasn't us...she was crazy!"
What will we really be missing? Intimacy and partnership does not exist in the marriage. There is no emotional or spiritual support available from the husband. We're verbally attacked often. He has pulled away through drinking, work, and his family. There's little cooperation in raising this child we've taken in. There won't be any mother-daughter conversations because they've never existed. Whatever offsping she produces will barely acknowledge me as grandmother, if at all. Her future spouse will view me as a shrew since that is how she paints me. I will continually feel like an outsider looking in on their father-daughter relationship. So why do we stay? He provides a good home. Makes sure that a roof is kept over our head and food on the table. There are clothes to wear. He's a good provider. I don't look at him as a meal ticket. It's just nice to know that he's responsible in that way. He wouldn't be fair, however, should a divorce ensue. He'd try to take everything he could get.
So other parts raise cautions. Get scared of the changes. Fear of not making it on our own keeps us from moving forward towards freedom and chain us to this place and these people. Still others move deeper into hopelessness and despair, realizing that the only out seems to be death. Those parts aren't able to survive where we are and certainly can't survive out there on their own. There are too many dissenting opinions so we're left frozen, right where we are. Our tongues stuck to the flagpole, unable to rip it loose for fear of the pain and loss.
Can we hold out for another few years until we complete school and get a job - just to be self-sufficient? Can we wait until the older two pets finally pass on so when we leave, we can start again? How do we traverse the next 730 some odd days without it becoming so bad that we wind up dead instead of free? We are invisibly bound to one another. How long 'til those are broken?
So I begin to make plans for my life that don't include them. And as I do, I'm struck by the major changes I will face. Changes that they won't have to do deal with. Why should I be the one to move, leaving behind wonderful, treaused animal companions who have been a source of life and comfort for years? Why should I have to think about not making ends meet? Why should I give up the yard with the view that takes your breath away? Why should I be the one to reinvent myself? Their lives will continue as if untouched. Perhaps even better. She won't have anyone to interfere by setting limits and boundaries. He won't have anyone to be responsible to or nag him about his drinking. And the effects of the abuse, which cause instability within us and rapid switching of alters, is the perfect excuse for them to say, "See. It wasn't us...she was crazy!"
What will we really be missing? Intimacy and partnership does not exist in the marriage. There is no emotional or spiritual support available from the husband. We're verbally attacked often. He has pulled away through drinking, work, and his family. There's little cooperation in raising this child we've taken in. There won't be any mother-daughter conversations because they've never existed. Whatever offsping she produces will barely acknowledge me as grandmother, if at all. Her future spouse will view me as a shrew since that is how she paints me. I will continually feel like an outsider looking in on their father-daughter relationship. So why do we stay? He provides a good home. Makes sure that a roof is kept over our head and food on the table. There are clothes to wear. He's a good provider. I don't look at him as a meal ticket. It's just nice to know that he's responsible in that way. He wouldn't be fair, however, should a divorce ensue. He'd try to take everything he could get.
So other parts raise cautions. Get scared of the changes. Fear of not making it on our own keeps us from moving forward towards freedom and chain us to this place and these people. Still others move deeper into hopelessness and despair, realizing that the only out seems to be death. Those parts aren't able to survive where we are and certainly can't survive out there on their own. There are too many dissenting opinions so we're left frozen, right where we are. Our tongues stuck to the flagpole, unable to rip it loose for fear of the pain and loss.
Can we hold out for another few years until we complete school and get a job - just to be self-sufficient? Can we wait until the older two pets finally pass on so when we leave, we can start again? How do we traverse the next 730 some odd days without it becoming so bad that we wind up dead instead of free? We are invisibly bound to one another. How long 'til those are broken?
Wednesday, March 15, 2006
Songs that Speak
Alanis Morisette has really been speaking to me of late. Not the new stuff, but the old stuff. She has a way of telling it like it is. She doesn't pull any punches. You hear exactly what she's experiencing and she's not afraid of letting you know it. One of her songs, You Oughta Know, calls to something deep within me. Sure, there have been a lot of guys who led me on, got what they wanted, then dumped me, but it seems more current and certainly deeper than those petty high school hookups. I've come to realize that the husband is having an affair. Not with another woman. No, his mistress is a golden amber liquid which promises to alleviate his pain and allow him to hide from the world. He says he loves us, the wife, but is unable to make the choice between alcohol's tantalizing call and us. According to Rush, he has made his choice, hasn't he. So, here's to him and his lover:
I wish nothing but the best for you both
An older version of me
Is she perverted like me
Would she go down on you in a theater
Does she speak eloquently?
And would she have your baby
I'm sure she'd make a really excellent mother
Chorus:
'Cause the love that you gave that we made
Chorus:
'Cause the love that you gave that we made
wasn't able to make it enough for you to be open wide, no
And every time you speak her name
Does she know how you told me you'd hold me
Until you died, 'til you died
But you're still alive
And I'm here to remind you
Of the mess you left when you went away
It's not fair to deny me
Of the cross I bear that you gave to me
You, you, you oughta know
You seem very well, things look peaceful
You seem very well, things look peaceful
I'm not quite as well, I thought you should know
Did you forget about me Mr. Duplicity
I hate to bug you in the middle of dinner
It was a slap in the face how quickly I was replaced
Are you thinking of me when you fuck her
Chorus:
'Cause the love that you gave that we made
Chorus:
'Cause the love that you gave that we made
wasn't able to make it enough for you to be open wide, no
And every time you speak her name
Does she know how you told me you'd hold me
Until you died, 'til you died
But you're sill alive
And I'm here to remind you
Of the mess you left when you went away
It's not fair to deny me
Of the cross I bear that you gave to me
You, you, you oughta know
'Cause the joke that you laid in the bed that was me
'Cause the joke that you laid in the bed that was me
And I'm not gonna fade
As soon as you close your eyes and you know it
And every time I scratch my nails down someone else's back
I hope you feel it...well can you feel it
Alanis Morissette, Jagged Little Pill, 1995
The next one could be a multiples theme song. Or at least mine. Like a diamond, there are a myriad of facets that make up the brilliance of who I am in my entirety. Certainly it brings confusion to those around me, but take out one little part and I wouldn't be who I am. Instead, I would be flawed and less than what I was created to be. Every part is invaluable.
Alanis Morissette, Jagged Little Pill, 1995
The next one could be a multiples theme song. Or at least mine. Like a diamond, there are a myriad of facets that make up the brilliance of who I am in my entirety. Certainly it brings confusion to those around me, but take out one little part and I wouldn't be who I am. Instead, I would be flawed and less than what I was created to be. Every part is invaluable.
Bitch
I hate the world today
You're so good to me
I know but I can't change
Tried to tell you
But you look at me like maybe
I'm an angel underneath
Innocent and sweet
Yesterday I cried
Must have been relieved to see
The softer side
I can understand how you'd be so confused
I don't envy you
I'm a little bit of everything
All rolled into one
Chorus:
I'm a bitch, I'm a lover
I'm a child, I'm a mother
I'm a sinner, I'm a saint
I do not feel ashamed
I'm your hell, I'm your dream
I'm nothing in between
You know you wouldn't want it any other way
I hate the world today
You're so good to me
I know but I can't change
Tried to tell you
But you look at me like maybe
I'm an angel underneath
Innocent and sweet
Yesterday I cried
Must have been relieved to see
The softer side
I can understand how you'd be so confused
I don't envy you
I'm a little bit of everything
All rolled into one
Chorus:
I'm a bitch, I'm a lover
I'm a child, I'm a mother
I'm a sinner, I'm a saint
I do not feel ashamed
I'm your hell, I'm your dream
I'm nothing in between
You know you wouldn't want it any other way
So take me as I am
This may mean
You'll have to be a stronger man
Rest assured that
When I start to make you nervous
And I'm going to extremes
Tomorrow I will change
And today won't mean a thing
Chorus:
This may mean
You'll have to be a stronger man
Rest assured that
When I start to make you nervous
And I'm going to extremes
Tomorrow I will change
And today won't mean a thing
Chorus:
I'm a bitch, I'm a lover
I'm a child, I'm a mother
I'm a sinner, I'm a saint
I do not feel ashamed
I'm your hell, I'm your dream
I'm nothing in between
You know you wouldn't want it any other way
Just when you think, you got me figured out
The season's already changing
I think it's cool, you do what you do
And don't try to save me
Chorus:
Just when you think, you got me figured out
The season's already changing
I think it's cool, you do what you do
And don't try to save me
Chorus:
I'm a bitch, I'm a tease
I'm a goddess on my knees
When you hurt, when you suffer
I'm your angel undercover
I've been numb, I'm revived
Can't say I'm not alive
You know I wouldn't want it any other way
Meredith Brooks, Blurring the Edges, 1997
I'm a goddess on my knees
When you hurt, when you suffer
I'm your angel undercover
I've been numb, I'm revived
Can't say I'm not alive
You know I wouldn't want it any other way
Meredith Brooks, Blurring the Edges, 1997
Thursday, February 23, 2006
Too Much
It all gets so confusing at times. Trying to keep track of everyone inside. I don't feel like I'm doing a very good job. Kind of like having a family. How do I respond to everyone's needs without neglecting my own? Half the time I'm not even sure I want the job. So I start ignoring them, focusing on what I want, instead. Trying to be normal and just get through life. Fake it 'til you make it, right? Pretend that you're doin' just fine and maybe it really will be. Or I just give up and say, "whatever!" I can't figure out who's feeling what or thinking this or that and just when I think I understand, something else comes up and throws a huge kink into it all. There's no rhyme or reason to it all, or if there is, I'm sure the hell not seeing it. Being the go-between is a scary job with too much responsibility. What if I can't communicate accurately what someone is thinking or feeling. What if I put my own spin on it all w/o even realizing it? How can I be objective when I'm looking at my own life that doesn't really belong to me....I'm just a part myself?And then there's this switching, or shifting, that I think goes on without me even realizing it. I go from being too tired to try anymore to being the perfect go-to person for the ones inside - helping them sort through things, callin' on Jesus, praying for others - and I stop short when I realize that I don't want to be doing these things, so why am I? Is there a perfect one inside who always has to do the right things or is that one me? Is there someone who just keeps pushing us forward, even when we don't want to go? I can't figure out where I stop sometimes and others start. Which, in DID is the whole goal, right? Which sucks in and of itself. Who says that we want to "fuse"? Who says we want to become "as one"? Who says we want to integrate? I remember watching a movie about someone with DID when I was much younger, way before I knew anything about this crap. Wish I could remember the name of it. The only part I remember was the ending. The client showed up at the therapist's house and I think he or she was wearing a t-shirt. Either the t-shirt or the client said, "2-4-6-8-we don't want to integrate!" I remember thinking - hell yeah! Obviously there were parts inside who knew we were DID way before I did. And right now, most of us aren't thinking that we want to give up autonomy and join together. What's wrong with a democracy? What's wrong with a meaningful, working relationship? No one's arguing about the need to cooperate, but everyone likes to have his or her own voice. And if they don't like the general consensus, they can go to their room or raise a stink and campaign against it. Everyone feels like they have some say. Most of the time. Right now, I think, we're not quite there, but that's what we want to work towards. Besides, it will get lonely without everyone to talk to. I'm never alone, my thoughts are rarely quiet 'cause someone always has something to say or a song to keep singing over and over and over again, ad infinitum. See, even right now, I feel a difference coming on b/c I am taking the alternate position of wondering if we'll feel the same after we get our memories back and and we all share them. After we're all "healed." And it feels so wrong to want to let everyone stay separate if that's what they want when Jesus' goal is for us to be the whole person that God created us/me to be? I don't like saying me b/c I really feel like an us. Don't misunderstand. There have been two parts from a couple of years ago that have already become less distinct. I really don't think they're separate anymore. The lines between the three of us are less demarcated. I'm not even sure I could still communicate with them the same way I used to. And that's okay. If someone wants to join up, more power to 'em. But they shouldn't be forced to. Ya' know, I'm learning a lot. I think I pushed one of my teenagers too far a couple of years ago. I don't even remember what things were like for her or what her memories were or anything. I do remember she really liked Aslan from the Narnia Chronicles. She'd never read them before and when she did, she cried. The image of the lion was very important to her. The movie didn't do justice to him and we were all very disappointed. It sucked. I brought her for prayer and deliverance and she was even baptized. Now I find out that the teen I recently got aquainted with is an offshoot of the original teen. How does that happen? I asked my ISH and she said that the first teen split into the second teen b/c she/they didn't know how to deal with all of it. So part of her joined with me while another part was created that holds the memories. And this is the "new" teen that I'm getting to know. And to her, the image of the lion must be pretty scary b/c she told someone that she feels like she's getting dragged to the lion's den and is going to get eaten alive. And her choice of words was deliberate. So I guess the moral is, "Don't push for more than they are ready to give. Let them initiate. Or you'll end up with even more parts than what you started with." Which brings me back to my original dilemma - it gets so stinkin' confusing trying to keep track of everybody inside.
Sunday, February 05, 2006
To Be or Not to Be
"The psychoanalytic theories of suicide prove, perhaps, only what was already obvious: that the processes which lead a man to take his own life are at least as complex and difficult as those by which he continues to live. The theories help untangle the intricacy of motive and define the deep ambiguity of the wish to die but say little about what it means to be suicidal, and how it feels."
A. Alvarez, The Savage God, 1971
Is suicide a viable choice? There is a part that knows God and therefore knows hope. Or does she? Isn't it more about "doing the right thing?" Suicide is a sin. Not a mortal sin that would damn one to hell, but a sin, nonetheless. We've been told in the past that only God is allowed to make the decision about life and death. That seems a bit unfair.
A. Alvarez, The Savage God, 1971
Is suicide a viable choice? There is a part that knows God and therefore knows hope. Or does she? Isn't it more about "doing the right thing?" Suicide is a sin. Not a mortal sin that would damn one to hell, but a sin, nonetheless. We've been told in the past that only God is allowed to make the decision about life and death. That seems a bit unfair.
I say that there is no life here, so shouldn't I be allowed to take it if I so choose? There is no protection, no safety, from "them." The husband is ignorant of the true nature of the abuse that we suffered and the very real threat of physical, spiritual, and emotional damage that is imminent as he pulls away his covering and protection. It is up to me to make sure the littles are not destroyed and the only way to do that is to take our life before they can.
Not only is his lack of covering a problem, but his attacks upon our memories is unforgivable. The accusation that we're going crazy or being deceived by demons is more than we can bear. We were told repeatedly that we would not be believed - the stories are too outlandish. His vascilation between belief and unbelief is torturous. It sends the littles into a frenzy...they've told and not been believed - now there will be punishment for talking.
Therefore, all of the options must be seriously considered. And one of those is suicide. It's actually a noble decision, carefully thought out. It is not impulsive. It is taking lives to save lives. Saving them from hell here on earth - and possibly hell for eternity should "they" decide to kill them anyway. So it's best to make sure we think this all the way through.
Tuesday, January 17, 2006
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.
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.
Monday, December 26, 2005
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...
Thursday, December 22, 2005
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
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
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