I was born into the world a frail and broken little girl. My mother tells me both of my ankles were broken during my birth. I am not sure if it was the carelessness of the physician or if perhaps I was already physically weak. I was also premature and born without any nails and a curvature in my back. I eventually learned that my mother really didn't want me. She had her hands full with an alcoholic and abusive husband. It would be a few years later that she would find herself addicted to Valium.
When I was little, I cried all the time. I was diagnosed with polio at age two after a particularly awful flu. I was in constant pain from that time on. It didn't help that the doctors required me to wear braces and ill-fitting shoes. My mother would often hit my face to give me a reason to cry. I learned quickly to hide in the closet when my pain forced the tears to come. If I smothered my face in the clothing she could not hear me cry.
Eventually, I stopped crying and became very strong. Even when my father would come into my room at night, his huge hands around my little frame. I would just close my eyes and pretend to be somewhere else. An imaginary colorful place of my own creation. I once heard my friend describe her place as seeing "colors". I can totally understand this because when I closed my eyes all I saw were colors and water. I felt safe if I could stay in that place. Sadly, I couldn't stay there long because eventually my father squeezing my neck would prevent me from breathing sending me to a dark place. Then it would be over.
I spent most of my childhood trying to be invisible. My sister and I spent most of our time in our room being quiet. If we were quiet we wouldn't anger our parents. Sometimes no matter how quiet we became they'd remember we were there and the judgment and criticism would begin. We were never good enough. Still, I always knew my father loved me, but I also knew I didn't measure up. Perhaps it was because I was a crippled little thing or perhaps he hadn't planned on having to raise more children in his old age.
When people experience the level of trauma I experienced as a child, they often turn to alcohol, food, or some other substance. I turned to food. But, the place I turned most often was called ministry. I found some strength serving others. Visiting the inner city of Austin, Texas taught me to be strong for those in my care. I could relate to the little children because the pain in their eyes was so familiar to my own. I have spent all of my life caring for others. My sister, my brother, my parents, foster children, and the angry husbands or boyfriends... each one of them a bit different in the way they were abusive but every last one on of them as dysfunctional as me.. I took care of everyone but me. My needs and desires have always been told to go back to the end of the line. College scholarships turned down, healthy relationships turned down.... so much better to surround my life with dysfunctional people who needed me rather than anyone I could depend on. But, I told myself that this was God's will because I was able to use all the hurt done to me to relate to those that were hurting around me. Yet, I always kept a large wall around me that no one could penetrate. Its ironic that I can share all of my thoughts on this little blog, while telling my own thoughts to go to the end of the line in real life.
There isn't a person left in my life who really knows me completely. I attempted to share my true self with another and he found faults with what I said, did, and wore. The promised one ended up being the greatest cruelty to the end of this very cruel life. His family jumping on the bandwagon to lynch my character even further. Once again, I found my true self being told
to go to the back of the line or in this case she was told to go away altogether.
I like my true self. She is kind and she is happy and she runs through neighbor's sprinklers when they aren't looking. She dances at the mall and schedules "fun only" days for her children. She reaches out to neighbors and leaves anonymous care packages to people who are in need. Its been a long time since she has been around. She is afraid and in hiding. She comes out every once in a while when there isn't someone dictating and demanding and "leading" us somewhere. Those days I can dance in the rain and run through sprinklers and the children and I dance at the mall. I can take long showers without worrying that someone is in the next room breathing down my neck needing something from me. I can play loud praise music and sing to God without fear that I am disturbing someone else's need. Those days are very rare and almost non-existent.
I feel like the small amount of strength I have left is slipping away. Too much sorrow and too much criticism for too long. Its like an acid eroding at my soul to the point where I would prefer death over another day of the same. I feel like I was on the verge of a great miracle in my life. I was waiting for it with anticipation. I could hear God's voice announcing the plans He had for me. I am not completely sure what happened, but I must have misunderstood and turned left when he said right and now I am lost in a sea of wrong turns and detours and not sure how to find my way back.
I am beyond exhausted. I am tired of being strong. I feel more alone than I have felt in a very long time. I'm tired of sick children and angry husbands. I am tired of the lack of grace and scowls. I miss the days when someone looked into my eyes and I knew I was adored. I haven't been adored in that way in a very long time. I don't adore myself. I loath the person I have allowed this awful situation to make me. It saddens me that I am so desperate for affection and attention that the slightest compliment by another male makes me cry. Try explaining that one to a co-worker! I am tired of the piles of dishes and loads of laundry and never having a moment in the bathroom that isn't constantly threatened by interruption. I am tired of having to beg for money and using washcloths as feminine hygiene products. I am tired of being stuck in these four walls. I am tired of being lonely and having to work so hard for the approval of people with hateful and hardened hearts. I long to lead bible studies and spend time with people who have the same purpose as I do. I am tired today and truly wishing God would stop my heart from beating. I have asked Him to take me home almost every day for at least three years and so far He hasn't answered that prayer.
I am tired of anger, emotional abuse, and physical abuse that leaves me bleeding and broken and smelling like all kinds of ointments I use to try and heal the wounds.
For today, I will stay in this bed and try to hold my breath. I will pretend my troubles don't exist and try to hide until they disappear. Tomorrow, I will slap on my happy face. I will go to work and pretend that the medical bills aren't coming, the angry husband doesn't exist, I will pretend I have no insensitive in-laws, and I will close my eyes and go to that place faraway of colors and warm streams. God please meet me there.
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