I’ve been super busy, AND this is why!!
Maybe it was month ago. Maybe less, I don’t care. I was laying on the couch, in intimate prayer with my husband, and all of sudden this darkness, this truth came vomiting out of my body. I felt sick to … Continue reading
Reblogged from : This post is one that I have been working on for a long time now. A difficult admission to myself and to you. An admission of my own frailty and humanity, strengths and weaknesses. Sometimes I feel … Continue reading
By the time we reached the apartment, I had become subdued. Things had gone from acute chaos, to an eery silence in a matter of minutes. Closing the door behind me, and my heart rate began to slow down. The … Continue reading
At first, it’s an arrival on a piece of paper, following its schedule with frightening accuracy. It’s definitely making great time, and you wake up to a distant whistle, so faint, but it’s coming. A yawn, forcing tears out of your eyes, and it’s closer. The next sound piercing, goosebumps leap out of your skin. It’s 80 degrees in the shade and you are freezing in the sun.
Cigarette after cigarette, and I sit here, staring at this lap top screen.
All things, buried, have come to the surface of my own earth, and I can no longer contain any of it.
My memories are setting up little houses on the plains of my flesh, the emotions surrounding them, fueling their little cars, my pain, the water nourishing their tiny gardens. My past has come alive, and encamped upon me.
My anger, the ammunition that drives their drunken parties. These crazed tiny men, crawling out of my pores, eating at my skin. Pulling at my hair. The only eviction notice is the release.
Picking them off one by one with my words, killing them with truth. Squashing the life out of them with my tattooed fingers, swiping them from my limbs, like an avalanche of the hand. My own sweat is poison, flushing them out with the quickening of my own heart beat. Little screams as they waste away, and I smile.
This might sound like some kind of intense and strange metaphor, and maybe it is, but it’s how I feel. As if, the things on my insides, which no longer belong, are now on the outside. Dispersed across myself, with nowhere to go, only to sit, and settle on the surface. This kind of thing, takes on a life of its own. One you can’t always control. Maybe, one you shouldn’t even try to control. Because you’ve been doing that long enough. Is it dangerous to give freedom to such a thing? to allow this evolution to take place? maybe. Or I can admit, full heartedly, that I welcome it. At least it’s on the outside, and not churning within, making me sick to myself. I can name these little men, because they are so pathetically small now. Shame, guilt, and wreckage. No longer the grim giant, of whom’s foot, I lived under. Now, they only crawl over me. Like gnats of the soul.
So let them come. Let them build their little cities. Their shrines dedicated to my own self loathing, because it’s a city built on sand, and I have my own waves to call on. Big cool waves of truth. God’s own power to wash me clean. There’s no cavern to lead them within, only roads to travel the grounds of my body. Let them travel, because every path leads back to the same place. A mouth to devour them. A flame to burn them.
So let them come. Let them march and cry out their lies. Their ropes cannot contain me, their weapons are like sting’s from a thistle. Irritating, but meaningless.
They unknowingly fuel my own needs, reminding of the things that have passed. Giving me the words I need, the righteous rage to move forth and destroy them. As they build, I build.. and for that, I’m grateful. Because you see, I know what they do not know. The thing that they’re too dumb, deaf and blind to see. That God, uses everything to my greater good. Even if it’s an evil thing. That evil, is still His pawn. And so, it’s also mine.
And so I say again, come gnats. Come and perch on me, run wild upon me and I will use you. Your little mountains of trash and accusations are my stepping stone to an honest freedom.
It’s been one hell of a month. I couldn’t even write if I wanted too. So I just drew pictures instead. Sitting quietly recreating portraits. Not thinking. Not feeling. Only doing. Smudging graphite into thick white paper. Messy hands, old thinned out joggers and coffee. Cigarette after cigarette. I know now, I was purging, and it’s almost impossible to feel right when you’re purging.
So, I just stopped. Stopped everything.
I said a huge fuck it, to living up to expectations, suffering under imagined pressure and just gave up. I got really sick and tired of people, of burdens, of fighting with my own mind, of giving everything I had to everyone else, and saving nothing for myself. It was my fault, even though it came from the right place. Sometimes you just have to lay low, say no, and get your shit together. Which is exactly what I’m doing. Coming out on the flip side, it all makes sense. But, not in the beginning, and so this is why I haven’t been writing. I just…had nothing honest to say.
I’m not ready to share, this big revelation I’ve experienced, but I will in due time. Let’s just say for now…without this truth, having been revealed, I would have stayed under ground for a long time. But, that’s not what happened, and I’m so very grateful.
I can say, for the very first time in my life…
I KNOW EXACTLY WHO I AM.
No doubt. Only solid ground. Sturdy shoes on my feet.A strong voice. Full and deep.
I’ll leave it here..and say..I’m back.
Let’s do this thing.
There is TRUTH, in every moment. In every circumstance. In every situation. In every action. In every breath we take, in every move we make.
You can IGNORE IT.
UNDERMINE IT.
RISE, with it.
FIGHT for it.
But it’s always there. Waiting, in all power and freedom, to be exposed.And even if it’s not exposed, it is still SET above all other things, because that IS THE NATURE OF TRUTH. You cannot argue with it, and if you try, you will either be hardened, or shamed. It cannot be bent to your will, it cannot be erased. It can be covered, but it will never cease to EXIST. It cannot die. It cannot be corrupted.
It can only BE what it is. Unchanging, unmovable, unswayed TRUTH.
“The truth is incontrovertible, malice may attack it, ignorance may deride it, but in the end; there it is.” ~Winston Churchill
There is TRUTH in every moment, you can ignore, undermine it, rise with it, fight for it. But, it’s always there.
Is it so wrong to just stop what we’re all doing, and admit that we are human? Is it so wrong to stop trying to be perfect, and just embrace our imperfections?
Slow down. Breathe. Realize.
There is nothing we can do that will surprise God.
You can’t just pull the wool over his eyes and expect him to say “Well shit, I didn’t expect you to do that!”
This is a video taken from the I AM SECOND website, through YouTube. An AMAZING testimony by Brian “Head” Welch, the former guitarist of the band Korn. After being called back to God’s heart, he quits using Meth, and drops the band..to lead his life as SECOND TO CHRIST. If you are an addict, or have been down the road to recovery, or are still struggling, this video will hit your heart. God bless each and every brother and sister in Christ who are still living under the chains of addiction..
“EVERYTHING, in your life, is a DIRECT result of how you SEE yourself, compared to how GOD SEES YOU.”~Elevation Church
Imagine for a moment, what your life would be like, if you SAW YOURSELF AS GOD SEES YOU. If you fully embraced WHO YOU ARE. Embraced your SIN as FORGIVEN. Your HEART as a weapon of LOVE. Your MIND as a POWERFUL tool, and your BODY as a temple. Your VOICE as a TRUMPET of TRUTH. Just imagine if you stopped CHALLENGING God on your WORTH, and decided that from now on, you would commit to simply…BELIEVING HIM. Imagine the kind of FREEDOM that would come with that..the kind of PEACE, JOY and SATISFACTION you would carry in your heart. To simply realize and accept, that GOD, created you out of pure, spotless love, and you DESERVE to see yourself that way. FEARFULLY and BEAUTIFULLY MADE.
Each and every one of us. Wether the world agrees with it or not. The world is not a stage, and the audience is not our mirror. God is. Choose to see yourself, as HE SEES YOU. Once you do that, you can be FREE. Because you, were not given a spirit of fear, but a spirit of power, sound mind and self- discipline. You are POWERFUL, in HIM.
Have you ever stopped and thought to yourself how far you have come in a year? It’s so easy to be dredged down in how much we still have to do or have yet to accomplish. Dreams and goals and life are all sometimes too daunting and so far away from fruition. In the day-to-day of chasing our dreams and…
Writing has been hard this week. I find myself pushing through a junk yard of memories, getting lost in the inter twinning of trash and old things that have been pushed aside. Trying to articulate moments, describe circumstances, and all the while, finding myself caught up the emotions of it. Staring off at the ground, as I re-live nightmares, past hurts pushing through like whispers, and I’m involved with an inner conversation. Only realizing, a half hour later, I have yet to type a single word.
I keep re-living the same two nights. Like a black and white movie reel stuck on repeat, pictures flashing across the inside of my skull. A red pounding heart, swelling with each plot climax. Two nights, over and over again. The night we smashed ourselves into committing this obscenely shameful act, and the night I was raped by two boys from a neighbouring high school. My first sexual experience, and I was thirteen years old.
It’s hard to tie them together with the right strings, but they are both defined by one element. Violation. A thief breaking in, tearing open your chest and spitting out the fire, that is your light. Replacing it with his own excrement, and leaving you on the ground, destroyed. The only difference between them, is that on one of these nights I was the one left on the ground, and the next, I was the thief.
I willingly stepped into those shoes, and became the abuser.
All the while, I was validating the robberies by imagining myself as this vigilante rape victim, only to turn into the monster I hated most. That’s some fucked up irony.
And so, this is what haunts me every time I sit down to write. Ricocheting between the two memories, unable to move. Two black boulders planted in my mind, woven into the walls of my brain. Back and forth. This is my BIGGEST shame. This is the thing I cling to in the dark and shove under my pillow. The thing I hide. Ignore. Avoid and run from. The thing that laughs at me. That hisses and mocks me, when the people in my life tell me, I’m good and worthy. When they tell me, I’m honourable for writing these memoirs, and all the while, this voice inside, tells me all I’m doing is letting out a big secret. The secret, that…I’m bad.
I have done to someone else, the very thing that destroyed me.
I didn’t rape him, but I may as well have.
I left this man bleeding in the street. To DIE.
There is a person out there in the world, who has thick scars running along his face to remind him of his weakness. To remind him, that he was attacked in the middle of the night, on the street, from behind, and left to bleed to death on the sidewalk. Every morning when he wakes up to shave, or shower, those memories stare back at him. Maybe they laugh at him, like mine do. Or maybe, they fill him with rage, with sadness, with despair. Maybe he can’t stand the sight of his own face anymore. Maybe he’s okay, and well and happy. I wouldn’t know.
So, just as I sit and cry. Just as I’m haunted, so is he. Just as I get hit square in the face with flashbacks, and want to crawl out my own skin, so does he. As my ghosts lurk in the shadows, taunting me, so do his. Except his ghosts have a face…my face. The faces of the girls I was with that night. And so as I sit to continue my story, this is what whips my back. This is what pulls me into staring at the floor as tears fall down my face.
I can’t stop thinking about him.
And even though, most days I don’t feel this way,that I know I’m forgiven, and worthy, and beautiful, even though I know the truth, because I know Jesus, I still have these moments. Where, all of the above pains, are a reality. It may have been over ten years since this happened, but consequences are still being lived out to this day. And it’s during these times I have to remind myself, I’m still here. And if I’m still here, than Jesus is still with me. And if He’s with me, then all this can have a beautiful purpose, and with that, there’s no arguing with God.
I’ll most likely write a new memoir post in the next day or two, I just felt really strongly about getting through this, and sharing with you, all that I have. I couldn’t have kept going, without it.
God bless you, and thank you for taking this journey with me, for accepting me, for lifting me up in all the ways that you do. I couldn’t do it with out you. I’ll always keep going, if you keep with me<3
This is another older post, before I post my most recent memoir entry tomorrow. The original title was ” Alter-Ego” and it depicts the first time we (myself and two other girls) committed a robbery. My mentality surrounding it, and the details that took place that night. Thank you so much for following my story, for reading my entries and for all the amazing support you all provide through your comments and emails. It’s a huge blessing to have so many strong and caring people at my side. God bless you!! And so we move forward together.
Alter-Ego
Cold ice washes over me, as he passes me his wallet. Surrealism at its shittiest. I don’t even look inside, just, shove it into my back pocket.
‘Your keys,’ I say forcefully. He shakes his head.’ Not my car, man, please.’ His hand reaching out and clutching the clanging little mass sticking out from the ignition. Your keys. I say one more time, moving my face closer to his. Eye to eye, the quiet battle of submission. ‘I’m not gonna steal your car buddy, just give me your fucking keys’..he’s holding his breath as he turns the ignition off and drops the keys in my palm. I wipe them off with my hoodie sleeve, paranoid about prints. Lift them up in the air and throw them as far as I can. They land in a row of dying, polluted bushes lining the parking lot. Perfect. It’ll take him a while to find to them, giving us the time we need to take off. She is still holding the axe to his throat as I continue my wipe down. The door handle, the window. Anything in between. The fabric of my sweatshirt squeaking along the exterior.
I tell him, under no circumstances is he to get out of his car until we’re out of view. He shakes his head yes, and after a couple of seconds, after that last grim look, She slowly pulls the cold metal away from his jugular. His hands are still up at his sides as we turn around and bolt. I look back once, and he’s still sitting, frozen, the car door ajar.
Once we’re a few blocks away, I stop to check the wallet. Enough money to rent a cheap motel room, and get something to eat. I pull out the cash, wipe the wallet down, and toss it into a nearby garbage can. I already feel cleaner, and surprisingly, not guilty. Something about having a place to sleep tonight, removes the burden from me completely, and I feel better. This thing inside me has begun to breathe. Something new, and raw and hungry. This kind of, vengeful eating beast. This vigilante ghost. Breathing into my ear, whispering congratulations and toasting me with cheap champagne. Hi Satan. Nice to meet you. Feel free to rummage through my trash and build a place for yourself in this dark and foul monologue. Set up your stinking workshop, pick your characters. Pull your strings. The doors are open.
As we walk to meet Tyler, my mind is building its own getaway place. Changing this into something livable, something I can carry more easily. A lie. One, I’m more willing to accept. Like, I’m not robbing people. I’m avenging myself. I’m taking back my power. I’m a vindictive rape victim, searching the streets for perverted Johns. Retaliating, justified and validated. Some austere character from a Sin City comic. Some kind of crazed alter-ego. My own Tyler Durton. Kicking up a storm with a, who gives a shit. Too bad this isn’t the damn movies kid.
To read the post that follows this one simply press the link as follows~http://thisbeatingheart.com/2011/11/21/adjusting-the-scales/
