Obesity Thoughts

I've talked before about my struggle with food but I need to talk about it again.
For the past month or so I've been changing what I eat and how much I eat.
The month or so before I added nine pounds.
As of this week I've taken off six of those pounds.

I don't throw myself a party or find myself cheering.
I don't celebrate nor do I count it as weight loss.
I simply say, "I have three more pounds to loose to get to where I was."
Then I can begin again.

Is this too harsh?  I don't think so.
When my weight is going up and down like that I'm not achieving a goal.
I'm playing with my food and living a lie.
Only when my weight stays off have I achieved my goal.

I want to live in a body that is not consumed by thoughts of food.
I want my body to be able to walk sensible distances without undue stress.
I want to strengthen my body safely so that I can protect myself from harm.
I want my body to feel fit and firm - not fat and flabby.

I think my body is the outward picture of the inner me.
My insides have some healing to do.
I'm not on a timetable to get all of that yuck pulled out and thrown away.
Instead, it's important that I continue digging and exposing what needs to be pulled.

Only by God's will and His grace will I achieve this healing.
It's my prayer that I stay in His will and grace.
It's my prayer that my therapist stay in His will and grace.
It's my prayer that those whom God has placed in my life stay in His will and grace.

Amen

Please Rescue Me

Our friends try to understand the pain we feel inside.
They are horrified at what happened to us.
They are saddened that our childhood was stolen from us.
They are angered that our little bodies were battered and bruised.
They wish they could have been there to stop it.

I had times in the abusive days when I wished someone would rescue me.
I was pretty naive during the sexual abuse so I never thought anything was wrong.
It was the physical abuse, the physical pain, when I wanted help.
I wanted someone to bust through the door, shove my dad aside and take me out of there.
But that never happened.

Wanting a superhero to come get me was only going to happen one way.
I was going to have to leave.
I had to runaway from my home and escape to a place where I wouldn't be found.
So that's what I did.
But as it turns out, the place I ran to called my mom and dad.

I didn't tell her about the abuse.
I didn't tell anyone.
Had I told I didn't know what would happen.
People who weren't familiar with abuse tended to overreact.
I could loose my parents, sisters and home.

All that pain I felt inside?
I shoved it very far down so it wouldn't surface.
Those memories of physical, sexual, verbal and mental abuse?
I shoved down even further.
It was a matter of survival.

Now that one of the abusers is dead, I can finish that work and call it done.
The other five can be worked on and finished just as well.
There is no timetable for the work to be done.
Slow and steady wins the race.

Talking and Tears Like Rain

Simply put, there are memories that don't want to be talked about.  I have at least one, perhaps two that I don't want to talk about.  These could be the ones that keep my food addiction in play so I have to ask myself, "How Important Is It?"

I told Faith that I can't stop therapy with her until all this excess weight is off - 80 pounds or so..  I was putting my foot down.  I knew it had to do with feelings and emotions and food and probably untold sexual abuse secrets.

I knew I'd have to delve back into those memories and talk about the ones I'd been avoiding for the last eight years.  What Carol and I began in 2006 was now going to go deeper into the core of the problem  There was another person close to me who abused me through domination.

Then there's four others.  Two of which I have vivid memories and the other two I felt creeped out when I was around them.  Sick to my stomach creeped out.  There were multiple perpetrators at one time.  I felt like a revolving door.

I felt like my purpose in life was to be used for someone else's sexual gratification.  I had no identity - before the abuse or afterward.  I was used up, I cleaned up and then they left.  They would make comments about my body.  They would compare my body to someone else's.  They would act as if nothing transpired when it was done.

I would be confused afterward.  Did I do it right?  Was I still someone you liked?  Did the bleeding bother you?  I'll do better next time.

The messages I told myself were based on receiving favor from these perpetrators.  People who took advantage of me turned into people I wanted to please and get approval from.  This is how my childhood was:

Verbal Abuse - Say the right thing and don't get yelled at.
     Problem:  Never found out what the right thing was.
Mental Abuse - Think about what the right behavior is and do it
     Problem:  Never figured out the right behavior
Physical Abuse - Avoid confrontations when drunk came home
     Problem:  He always drew me into a confrontation or I picked one
Sexual Abuse - Pretend I'm asleep or unresponsive
     Problem:  It didn't matter what I did

Being 80+ pounds overweight has been used as a shield of protection.

Lord, in all your wisdom, comfort and grace, please replace this false shield of protection and
"hold up the shield of faith to stop the fiery arrows of the devil. (Eph 6:16)

Talking About the Secrets

I went to my therapy session yesterday. I wasn't going to  go because I was uncovering some secrets about the sexual abuse.  But then I remembered some truths from my years of recovery and my time with Faith:

1.  I'm only as sick as my secrets.

2.  Secrets are meant to be shared in a safe environment.

3.  Faith is a safe person to share my secrets.

4.  I don't have to share all of my secrets in one sitting.

5.  My secrets can only hurt me if I give them the power to do so.

Faith read my blogs for the past week.  I read the printouts of them along with her.  I didn't remember the depth of sharing.  They revealed a lot of pain and suffering in ways I hadn't encapsulated before.

I felt uneasy at the level of exposure.  Even though I felt okay writing about it, looking back I was easily uncomfortable with what I'd written.  I felt I shared too much.

But did I share too much or was it appropriate?

Was it because I held onto these secrets for decades?

Maybe it was time for these secrets to come out of the dark and into the light?

What I know is I have more to tell Faith at our next session.  I could not say it yesterday because a flood of tears would have flowed out of me.  Tears of deep sadness and decades of pain.   

Secrets stay secrets for a reason.  It serves a purpose to have them living in the darkness.  Whether it's to preserve a present relationship or to prevent us from having an emotional breakdown, keeping secrets benefit us otherwise we'd talk about them.  

I'm ready to start talking about them, one by one and build a new kind of safety and security based in truth and the love of God, the healer of all things in my life.

With God's help, healing will take place as each secret is loved forward.

Trauma and Tears

What do you do after the trauma?

Do you clean yourself off and pretend it never happened?

Do you sit staring at a fixed object because you're in shock?

Do you fake falling asleep so the perpetrator leaves you alone?

What do you tell yourself about the abuse?

"He's drunk so he didn't know what he was doing."

"She's always looked at me that way so maybe that will stop."

"I'm sure I must have done or said something to cause this."

Our minds try to reason with the unreasonable,

Explain the unexplainable,

Believe the unbelievable,

Forget the unforgettable and

Justify the unjustifiable.

We try to reason with what happened to us by thinking of what we did to deserve it.

We try to explain what happened to us by reliving the moments leading up to it.

We try to believe what happened to us was our fault somehow but we don't know what we did.

We try to forget what happened to us because the depth of pain is too much to bear.

We try to justify not talking to anyone about it because what happened to us stole our innocence.

Tears for the blood that was shed,

That we were left to clean up afterward.

Tears from the bruises and beatings we survived,

That we were left to try to sleep and go to school the next day.

Tears for the loneliness, neglect, abandonment and loss of a mother,

Where I was left to parent my sisters while my parents were at the bar.

Tears for an innocent childhood lost, for 6 perpetrators and not knowing my future,

Then God came and rescued me, through Jesus Christ and my family is now whole.

Tears for my Dad who said good-bye to me in 2005,

Sadness for that's where he left it when he died in 2008.

Trauma and Tears.