DREAM:
I'm in High School, having a mental break,
No one hears my screams inside, judging me by my hate.
I carry a large plastic bag, filled with old drugs.
The gym teacher says I'm crazy and
Follows me around waiting to nail me and tugs.
I'm fighting for my right to not be labeled,
She is checking the large bag and I tell her she is wrong,
Because I am mentally able.
She realizes she is wrong but still calls the police,
I plead my case, to no avail, she and a friend put me into a car,
And to the hospital I am released.
Never tell another soul what's really going on inside,
Their good intentions can get all screwed up
And I land in a place that does not let me outside.
Mental torture? Yes, I believe so.
For I was in my bed tossing to and fro.
The dream felt real and then I awoke.
The memories and fears of not being believed,
But instead being judged and never feeling relief.
It' 5:00 am and this writing is now done.
I'm not going back to sleep less the dreams continue and then some.
I hate where I am, I do not feel at peace.
Instead I feel contempt but want to be released.
Saturday, January 30, 2016
Friday, January 29, 2016
Mental Torture: WARNING ON CONTENT
I finished watching Beth Moore's teaching on affliction last night. It's available to you along the right hand side of my blog a ways down. There are six sessions.
I'm glad I had one day without those images.
It's gotta end sometime, right?
In one of them, Beth shares her own affliction. When she said it, I knew exactly what she was talking about. Hers manifests it's way different from mine, which it ought to because we are both on our own paths to God with some similarities in our past - some not.
What is it? Mental torture.
It's not mental illness (and she says this in the video). Mental illness for me are things like bipolar, depression, anxiety, PTSD, panic attacks, borderline personality disorder, schizophrenia, and, well, you get the point. Those are illnesses caused by a brain chemical imbalance that can usually (not always) be treated with medication, a great therapist and a smart psychiatrist or another treating physician.
Mental torture, in my life, is played out through images in my head. Again, Beth says some she put in there but some she did not. The same with me. They are so powerful, vivid and at times scary. Let me share the biggies because I know it's going to help me take a step closer to getting out of my cave but I know there are no guarantees (If you don't want to read these for any reason, please don't. I don't want you to get triggered.).
1. It usually starts with the image of me being incested by my Dad in my dark bedroom but the bathroom across the hall has the light on. I'm floating on the ceiling (this is called dissociation) and I can see my Dad on top of me. I am crying but he tells me to be quiet and puts his hand over my mouth and it hurts down there and there's blood. My body is not quite a stick figure but that's as close as I can get to a good description of how small I was. That's the image that stays in my head.
2. Pornographic images flood my mind. The boy who sexually abused me used to read those before, during and after his time with me. He'd show me the pictures of these women and I didn't know what to think. He compared my privates to his sisters saying mine were bigger. I was between 8-10 when that happened. Later, I happened to find my Dad's Penthouse magazines. I took one. One day I was reading it in my bed when he opened the door and saw me. I thought I was really in for it but all he said was, "Put it back when you're done." I still struggle from time to time with pornographic sites, looking for a man who I can have sex with, a total stranger with no strings attached. I've done that twice already even though I know God doesn't want that for me. And the images of the boy and these men stays with me.
3. I see myself taking $10 off our bookcase on the way out the door to school. My teacher finds out because I bought 10 packs of gum from another kid for $10. She calls my mom. When my Dad gets home the three of us talk about it. I admitted I did wrong and said I'm sorry but that wasn't good enough. My Dad told me to go wait in their bedroom. I hear his footsteps drawing near. He walks in, shuts the door and takes off his belt. He said, "This is going to hurt me more than you." He told me to get on the bed and I knew what was going to happen. And it did. He struck me with his belt so many times that I rolled around on the bed trying to get away from him. Nothing I did stopped him. I screamed in pain, I cried in pain and he kept on hitting me. When he finally stopped, I just laid there. Beaten, battered, bruised and broken. I'm on the ceiling again and I see myself rolling around on the bed during the beating. That's the image in my head.
4. One night my Mom packed us up and took us to a hotel. She was taking us for the weekend so that we could see museums and stuff. I remember being in the hotel room with my Mom and sisters but then we came home. My Dad wasn't there but he didn't have to be to put the fear of God into us. We walked in and some of the furniture was broken and had been thrown into the kitchen. It looked like he had a rage fit and I'll never forget it. My mom turned around and said, "We're not coming back yet." But the image of that broken kitchen table and other furniture stays in my head.
Last one.
5. When I got bigger I got braver. Him hitting me was so often that I didn't cry anymore just to spite him. In fact, I'd pick a fight so he'd leave my Mom and my sisters alone. My sisters were never abused by him. I didn't let him. But he and I had staring matches. I remember more than once when he would grab me by the neck and shove me into the wall and hold me there. I could smell the beer. His eyes were bloodshot and beady. He'd be staring at me waiting for me to flinch so he could hit me. I stared right back at him with challenge raging out of my eyes. One time he did this near our front door. He said this to me, "If you're going to hit me you better make sure I go down and and when I go down, you better make sure I stay down." I made a vow at that moment that one day, I was going to kill him - not just knock him down. Those two images cause rage inside of me like you wouldn't believe.
These are the contents of my mental torture. How can they be torture when they are in my past? Because even as I type this, the feelings of rage, fear, vulnerability and my alertness are on high. My past is not who I am - I know that but it did cause a lot damage to every part of me, physical and emotional. I believe my mental illness is the sum total of all the abuse - not only what I shared but what is inside of me that I won't share. The torture is so intense I go to my cave and stay away from people as much as I can. I don't want to be touched or prayed over or go to AA meetings or have anything to do with my Mom. I had a panic attack on the way to an author's lecture tonight and it was only 25 minutes away. But I used deep breathing and asked the Holy Spirit to come in and breathe out the yuck.
I don't know when I'll come out of my cave. I'm going to my occupational therapy appointments, helping one friend with errands, going "to" church but not into the "room," making sure I get to see Faith (my therapist) and working on/going to my Bible study and writing on my blog. I'm allowing myself to rest when I need to and do the best I can even though this mental torture continues.
It's not mental illness (and she says this in the video). Mental illness for me are things like bipolar, depression, anxiety, PTSD, panic attacks, borderline personality disorder, schizophrenia, and, well, you get the point. Those are illnesses caused by a brain chemical imbalance that can usually (not always) be treated with medication, a great therapist and a smart psychiatrist or another treating physician.
Mental torture, in my life, is played out through images in my head. Again, Beth says some she put in there but some she did not. The same with me. They are so powerful, vivid and at times scary. Let me share the biggies because I know it's going to help me take a step closer to getting out of my cave but I know there are no guarantees (If you don't want to read these for any reason, please don't. I don't want you to get triggered.).
1. It usually starts with the image of me being incested by my Dad in my dark bedroom but the bathroom across the hall has the light on. I'm floating on the ceiling (this is called dissociation) and I can see my Dad on top of me. I am crying but he tells me to be quiet and puts his hand over my mouth and it hurts down there and there's blood. My body is not quite a stick figure but that's as close as I can get to a good description of how small I was. That's the image that stays in my head.
2. Pornographic images flood my mind. The boy who sexually abused me used to read those before, during and after his time with me. He'd show me the pictures of these women and I didn't know what to think. He compared my privates to his sisters saying mine were bigger. I was between 8-10 when that happened. Later, I happened to find my Dad's Penthouse magazines. I took one. One day I was reading it in my bed when he opened the door and saw me. I thought I was really in for it but all he said was, "Put it back when you're done." I still struggle from time to time with pornographic sites, looking for a man who I can have sex with, a total stranger with no strings attached. I've done that twice already even though I know God doesn't want that for me. And the images of the boy and these men stays with me.
3. I see myself taking $10 off our bookcase on the way out the door to school. My teacher finds out because I bought 10 packs of gum from another kid for $10. She calls my mom. When my Dad gets home the three of us talk about it. I admitted I did wrong and said I'm sorry but that wasn't good enough. My Dad told me to go wait in their bedroom. I hear his footsteps drawing near. He walks in, shuts the door and takes off his belt. He said, "This is going to hurt me more than you." He told me to get on the bed and I knew what was going to happen. And it did. He struck me with his belt so many times that I rolled around on the bed trying to get away from him. Nothing I did stopped him. I screamed in pain, I cried in pain and he kept on hitting me. When he finally stopped, I just laid there. Beaten, battered, bruised and broken. I'm on the ceiling again and I see myself rolling around on the bed during the beating. That's the image in my head.
4. One night my Mom packed us up and took us to a hotel. She was taking us for the weekend so that we could see museums and stuff. I remember being in the hotel room with my Mom and sisters but then we came home. My Dad wasn't there but he didn't have to be to put the fear of God into us. We walked in and some of the furniture was broken and had been thrown into the kitchen. It looked like he had a rage fit and I'll never forget it. My mom turned around and said, "We're not coming back yet." But the image of that broken kitchen table and other furniture stays in my head.
Last one.
5. When I got bigger I got braver. Him hitting me was so often that I didn't cry anymore just to spite him. In fact, I'd pick a fight so he'd leave my Mom and my sisters alone. My sisters were never abused by him. I didn't let him. But he and I had staring matches. I remember more than once when he would grab me by the neck and shove me into the wall and hold me there. I could smell the beer. His eyes were bloodshot and beady. He'd be staring at me waiting for me to flinch so he could hit me. I stared right back at him with challenge raging out of my eyes. One time he did this near our front door. He said this to me, "If you're going to hit me you better make sure I go down and and when I go down, you better make sure I stay down." I made a vow at that moment that one day, I was going to kill him - not just knock him down. Those two images cause rage inside of me like you wouldn't believe.
These are the contents of my mental torture. How can they be torture when they are in my past? Because even as I type this, the feelings of rage, fear, vulnerability and my alertness are on high. My past is not who I am - I know that but it did cause a lot damage to every part of me, physical and emotional. I believe my mental illness is the sum total of all the abuse - not only what I shared but what is inside of me that I won't share. The torture is so intense I go to my cave and stay away from people as much as I can. I don't want to be touched or prayed over or go to AA meetings or have anything to do with my Mom. I had a panic attack on the way to an author's lecture tonight and it was only 25 minutes away. But I used deep breathing and asked the Holy Spirit to come in and breathe out the yuck.
I don't know when I'll come out of my cave. I'm going to my occupational therapy appointments, helping one friend with errands, going "to" church but not into the "room," making sure I get to see Faith (my therapist) and working on/going to my Bible study and writing on my blog. I'm allowing myself to rest when I need to and do the best I can even though this mental torture continues.
I'm glad I had one day without those images.
It's gotta end sometime, right?
Thursday, January 28, 2016
I Can See Clearly Now
This blog entry is going to be written in segments as they happened. I'll do my best to tie up any loose ends at the end. I'm going to begin with an email I sent to my mom.
My mom, as I've mentioned several times, is my hero. For more reasons than I can explain, God blessed my life with a woman I once hated to someone I can share my abusive past with and she takes responsibility for those ugly things happening to me because she didn't stop it.
She divorced my Dad (1 of 6 abusers), went to Al-Anon, got me into Alateen and then we parted ways. By that I mean we focused on recovery in our own programs. Nowadays, we've had many talks and she's been persistent about my telling her what happened. Each time I do this, she apologizes. This has only been in the last 10 years.
Because I have suicidal tendencies and self-injurious behaviors, she asks that when she calls me, especially when I'm isolating, to call her back. You see, my isolation includes many people. Not all people but most. She called three times in the past 10 days and I hadn't returned her call. I haven't liked the phone for a long time. Texting and email are a Godsend.
This is the conversation between us:
"Hi mom. Just wanted to let you know that I am working through some abuse issues. These reared their ugly head and I've been keeping to myself pretty much. I'll give you a call when I'm ready. Love you much, flames (my nickname from her)"
Her response: "Phew! Thanks for letting me know and I'll pray for a resolution for you. Keep going! Love you more, Mom"
See? She encourages me to continue on my journey of healing and can spell Phew!! Who knew??
At church this past Sunday, my prayer friend whom I love, spent a long time learning about my childhood trauma. It was more than I could handle but I didn't know that until afterward when the inside of my head was all jumbled up, I had difficulty concentrating and by the time I got home I ran into my cave. I felt vulnerable, exposed and my safety was fading away. I didn't know this at the time (I can be a little slow) but I said too much too early in our relationship. I'll do that to please other people. I'll do that because I think I should. But I didn't check in with God to see if that's what He wanted me to do. I'm sure she and I will be talking about it at some point. Truth be told I want to ditch church on Sunday just to avoid a conversation but I know that is cowardice and not what God would want.
My Bible study group are a great group of gals. I've never felt like I fit in so quickly with any other groups I've been a part of. They are mature in their walks, bring their own perspectives and interpretations to the table and all of us are there each week - rarely is one missing. I had a breakthrough as we watched a video by Priscilla Shirer on "Discerning the Voice of God." It was all about the Holy Spirit. I can't really put into words the transformation that took place so here's an email I sent to the group:
My mom, as I've mentioned several times, is my hero. For more reasons than I can explain, God blessed my life with a woman I once hated to someone I can share my abusive past with and she takes responsibility for those ugly things happening to me because she didn't stop it.
She divorced my Dad (1 of 6 abusers), went to Al-Anon, got me into Alateen and then we parted ways. By that I mean we focused on recovery in our own programs. Nowadays, we've had many talks and she's been persistent about my telling her what happened. Each time I do this, she apologizes. This has only been in the last 10 years.
Because I have suicidal tendencies and self-injurious behaviors, she asks that when she calls me, especially when I'm isolating, to call her back. You see, my isolation includes many people. Not all people but most. She called three times in the past 10 days and I hadn't returned her call. I haven't liked the phone for a long time. Texting and email are a Godsend.
This is the conversation between us:
"Hi mom. Just wanted to let you know that I am working through some abuse issues. These reared their ugly head and I've been keeping to myself pretty much. I'll give you a call when I'm ready. Love you much, flames (my nickname from her)"
Her response: "Phew! Thanks for letting me know and I'll pray for a resolution for you. Keep going! Love you more, Mom"
See? She encourages me to continue on my journey of healing and can spell Phew!! Who knew??
At church this past Sunday, my prayer friend whom I love, spent a long time learning about my childhood trauma. It was more than I could handle but I didn't know that until afterward when the inside of my head was all jumbled up, I had difficulty concentrating and by the time I got home I ran into my cave. I felt vulnerable, exposed and my safety was fading away. I didn't know this at the time (I can be a little slow) but I said too much too early in our relationship. I'll do that to please other people. I'll do that because I think I should. But I didn't check in with God to see if that's what He wanted me to do. I'm sure she and I will be talking about it at some point. Truth be told I want to ditch church on Sunday just to avoid a conversation but I know that is cowardice and not what God would want.
My Bible study group are a great group of gals. I've never felt like I fit in so quickly with any other groups I've been a part of. They are mature in their walks, bring their own perspectives and interpretations to the table and all of us are there each week - rarely is one missing. I had a breakthrough as we watched a video by Priscilla Shirer on "Discerning the Voice of God." It was all about the Holy Spirit. I can't really put into words the transformation that took place so here's an email I sent to the group:
"Hello everyone. I pray our study time yesterday filled your Spirits and/or increased your desire to know Him more.
Today I woke up with nothing in my head. No bad memories, no scary thoughts, no unsettling pictures and no desire to scream it out of me. It's now down into my heart where my therapist will step in and help.
What do I attribute this to?
Many things: God's promise to take away from me what He is going to fill in. The prayers of my friends and family. The prayers of warriors who stand guard, like Habbakuk, over the children of God. My open hands to receive or let go of whatever God wants me to do.
I'm learning that obedience, even in the face of things I don't understand, grows my faith and secures my confidence that God never wastes anything that passes through His hand.
I've lost 5 pounds in three weeks, just one pound away from my goal for the month. I'm ready to meet with my group about my book. I'm ready to face whatever needs facing because I want God to be glorified in everything I do.
Have a great week!
Love you all,
Amy"
That was Tuesday, Yesterday was busy with occupational therapy for my hand, running out to buy a printer (Best Buy gift card from Christmas) and staying in touch with my sister about her kitty being sick. I talked to a friend about getting together and I think I'm ready. But I'm not sure if I'm ready to come all the way out of my cave just yet.
The last thing that happened was my other sister giving me a card to go grocery shopping and get everything and anything I wanted/needed. I had just enough food to last a week before I got paid so I gladly accepted her gift. Then I had this feeling of fear come over me. And then I heard the Holy Spirit very clearly say (not audibly), "Free does not mean staying fat."
"Right." I replied. Because I was given carte blanche, I could have easily purchased all the junk food I wanted because I deserved rewards for going through this battle in my head. But was that what God wanted for me? No. I've struggled for decades with the verse that says my body is the temple of the Holy Spirit. Not my body. It's a far cry from any dwelling place I'd want to be in let along a part of the trinity.
I did not purchase one single item that was junk. I bought foods that I've been eating to reduce my weight, I planned ahead for our small group's table to bring in breakfast, I bought foods that were nutritious and then, I couldn't spend anymore. It became overwhelming to have an entire cart filled with food just for me. I was mentally exhausted.
I told my sister about this and she was so proud of me for not buy one junk item. Then I told her I was going to need some things in three weeks and she said, "Anytime, Ames, you let me know."
Our God is such a good God and I am a sinner saved by grace. His grace. And because of His grace, I will be forever grateful for His provision and for His healing care.
Tuesday, January 26, 2016
Been There, Done That
Asking my friends to give me space by leaving me alone to figure this out is not an easy request to make. I don't want them to worry, to feel uneasy or to think I don't want them in my life. Truth be told, I will miss their support but this is something I need to do on my own.
Perhaps it's because I've lived most of my life on my own. Not alone but without the closeness of a healthy family or friendships. There are two friends I loved who loved me back without condition: Avis, who loved me and helped me into my relationship with Jesus and Bonnie, who loved me and was like my big sister. I was blessed to have them both. But they are no more.
Today I have more than two, many more. So as I enter my cave to process and feel safe, I take with me the depression, the memories, the fear, the shaking and the muddled brain that has scattered thoughts and flashes of my abused past.
This cave has remained a safe place since I began my recovery at 14 years old. It's amazing how long and how deep those caverns have been and how I long to be inside of them. No one knows where they are. I travel there in my hiking boots with my gear and camp in the dampness. I can't be found because I am in a place no one else has traveled.
I light a fire and the cavern has an orange glow that reveals the drawings I've sketched on the walls. I spend time studying them. Yes, they reflect back to me all the abuse that was forced upon my body. I see myself up above my body when the sexual abuse was happening. I see the creeping shadows on the wall when there was someone entering my room at night. I see fights with my dad, the day I ran away from home for two weeks, how he yelled at me to get the f*** out of the house. So I did.
All of this gets triggered. Maybe it's the writing of the book. Maybe it's the content of my last prayer time at church. Maybe this has been inching it's way forward. Maybe it's why I've been trying to act as if I'm okay when I'm clearly not. Maybe it's all of it.
At this moment, the reason why it's happening doesn't matter. It's here, I'm here, so I best get about the business of figuring it out. I don't need any help. In fact, that's the last thing I need. Having someone else speak into it who hasn't been there is more harmful than good. I know what I'm doing. I know I'll be okay in about a week to ten days.
Isolate except for going to church.
Keep quiet.
Avoid the prayer team.
Listen.
I pray before I go to bed for others. Not myself. I'm angry at God and don't want Him in my life right now. I know He understands.
So do I.
Perhaps it's because I've lived most of my life on my own. Not alone but without the closeness of a healthy family or friendships. There are two friends I loved who loved me back without condition: Avis, who loved me and helped me into my relationship with Jesus and Bonnie, who loved me and was like my big sister. I was blessed to have them both. But they are no more.
Today I have more than two, many more. So as I enter my cave to process and feel safe, I take with me the depression, the memories, the fear, the shaking and the muddled brain that has scattered thoughts and flashes of my abused past.
This cave has remained a safe place since I began my recovery at 14 years old. It's amazing how long and how deep those caverns have been and how I long to be inside of them. No one knows where they are. I travel there in my hiking boots with my gear and camp in the dampness. I can't be found because I am in a place no one else has traveled.
I light a fire and the cavern has an orange glow that reveals the drawings I've sketched on the walls. I spend time studying them. Yes, they reflect back to me all the abuse that was forced upon my body. I see myself up above my body when the sexual abuse was happening. I see the creeping shadows on the wall when there was someone entering my room at night. I see fights with my dad, the day I ran away from home for two weeks, how he yelled at me to get the f*** out of the house. So I did.
All of this gets triggered. Maybe it's the writing of the book. Maybe it's the content of my last prayer time at church. Maybe this has been inching it's way forward. Maybe it's why I've been trying to act as if I'm okay when I'm clearly not. Maybe it's all of it.
At this moment, the reason why it's happening doesn't matter. It's here, I'm here, so I best get about the business of figuring it out. I don't need any help. In fact, that's the last thing I need. Having someone else speak into it who hasn't been there is more harmful than good. I know what I'm doing. I know I'll be okay in about a week to ten days.
Isolate except for going to church.
Keep quiet.
Avoid the prayer team.
Listen.
I pray before I go to bed for others. Not myself. I'm angry at God and don't want Him in my life right now. I know He understands.
So do I.
Monday, January 25, 2016
Messed Up Again
I woke up this morning
In rhythm and rhyme
I knew this process will continue
The only question is how much time?
Please don't doubt my love for God
Or His gift I received for eternity up above.
It's just that these memories are now in full swing
And they must run their course just like everything.
It's not as easy as, "Don't let them control your mind,"
Or, "Give them to God to heal and to bind."
If you've never been multiply abused
And abandoned by your parents,
You cannot know how I feel.
You are limited in your comments.
People like me find survival techniques to help us get through.
Sometimes it includes others, it might even include you.
But be it as it may, there's one part that's true:
My life will be upside down, not ended, just blue.
Abuse serves no purpose for the one being abused.
That's why people go to jail when they hurt a child and bruise.
Sexual abuse is "worse" for the abuser at least they get on a list.
These people can abuse again for no needle goes through their chest.
I had six sexual abusers and I don't say that with pride.
That's why I get messed up, that's why I crawl inside.
My feelings about the abuse have been neatly tucked away.
I have to turn them off because a lot of them are strays.
I love God with all my heart yet my feeble eyes only see,
The abuse he allowed to have happen to my family and me.
I was the protector, I picked fights to protect my siblings,
I guess that's why I am the hero, although I feel like nothing.
In rhythm and rhyme
I knew this process will continue
The only question is how much time?
Please don't doubt my love for God
Or His gift I received for eternity up above.
It's just that these memories are now in full swing
And they must run their course just like everything.
It's not as easy as, "Don't let them control your mind,"
Or, "Give them to God to heal and to bind."
If you've never been multiply abused
And abandoned by your parents,
You cannot know how I feel.
You are limited in your comments.
People like me find survival techniques to help us get through.
Sometimes it includes others, it might even include you.
But be it as it may, there's one part that's true:
My life will be upside down, not ended, just blue.
Abuse serves no purpose for the one being abused.
That's why people go to jail when they hurt a child and bruise.
Sexual abuse is "worse" for the abuser at least they get on a list.
These people can abuse again for no needle goes through their chest.
I had six sexual abusers and I don't say that with pride.
That's why I get messed up, that's why I crawl inside.
My feelings about the abuse have been neatly tucked away.
I have to turn them off because a lot of them are strays.
I love God with all my heart yet my feeble eyes only see,
The abuse he allowed to have happen to my family and me.
I was the protector, I picked fights to protect my siblings,
I guess that's why I am the hero, although I feel like nothing.
Sunday, January 24, 2016
Memories Messed Up
Seek me O, God, for I cannot find,
The healing you bid me from
The horrors in my mind.
Reflections and pictures and snapshots I see,
Of my small framed body
Staring back at me.
Is she four no six no eight,
But does it really matter?
I can't think straight.
Deliverance? Trust? Are you kidding me?
I was all alone
In great physical and mental agony.
You were not there when all hell broke loose.
You did not protect me from the abuse.
Instead you stood idly by
While sexual and physical abuse made me cry.
No comfort from you,
No protection from harm,
Just lots of bruises on my little arms.
You did not care even though you could see
Exactly what was happening to me.
I don't care for your cape, I'm not impressed,
For you saw me, too, like they did, undressed.
So go away from me, I'm not your child.
If you really cared you'd have driven me away for miles.
But that you did not do, no you ignored my requests
And instead gave me a life of strife and unrest.
I have no need for you so now I will go.
I don't care about Jesus and His glorious throne.
You turned your back on me you didn't do what you should.
Instead you did exactly what I thought you would.
Abandon my innocence, steal the trust,
Make the abusers smile with each thrust.
Tolerate their sin and then set them free.
But what about my hurts???
What about me???
I long to be cleansed, I long to be set free.
Right now it's not mine to have,
For the pictures in my head are very very bad.
I can get past it, alone I always do,
So go help someone else,
I don't need you.
The healing you bid me from
The horrors in my mind.
Reflections and pictures and snapshots I see,
Of my small framed body
Staring back at me.
Is she four no six no eight,
But does it really matter?
I can't think straight.
Deliverance? Trust? Are you kidding me?
I was all alone
In great physical and mental agony.
You were not there when all hell broke loose.
You did not protect me from the abuse.
Instead you stood idly by
While sexual and physical abuse made me cry.
No comfort from you,
No protection from harm,
Just lots of bruises on my little arms.
You did not care even though you could see
Exactly what was happening to me.
I don't care for your cape, I'm not impressed,
For you saw me, too, like they did, undressed.
So go away from me, I'm not your child.
If you really cared you'd have driven me away for miles.
But that you did not do, no you ignored my requests
And instead gave me a life of strife and unrest.
I have no need for you so now I will go.
I don't care about Jesus and His glorious throne.
You turned your back on me you didn't do what you should.
Instead you did exactly what I thought you would.
Abandon my innocence, steal the trust,
Make the abusers smile with each thrust.
Tolerate their sin and then set them free.
But what about my hurts???
What about me???
I long to be cleansed, I long to be set free.
Right now it's not mine to have,
For the pictures in my head are very very bad.
I can get past it, alone I always do,
So go help someone else,
I don't need you.
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