Tomorrow I'm embarking a new journey. I'm headed away from the world for three days. It's just gonna be me and Jesus, no cell phone, no t.v., no facebook, no internet. I'm scared and excited for this time away with Jesus. I think the thing that has me scared is that recently I've been doing some major work in the healing department. I've been hearing songs, reading books, listening to speakers and journaling. Stuff I've been doing for several years now, but these past few weeks have been extremely focused on getting another layer of dirt out of my wound.
Sunday I had the great opportunity to hear from Dr. David Loveless at our church. He talked about "Church Wounds" and hyprocisy. Lately in the class I'm taking on Wednesdays I've heard it talked about as someone "putting on the robe for Sunday, but living differently on Monday." Sunday it was about everyone being a sinner and God's forgiveness. I get it, I understand that I am a sinner and that God forgives me, sometimes even before I ask. But Pastor Loveless asked forgiveness on behalf of all the church leaders and "Christians" that have hurt me in the past. And yet for some reason, I just couldn't forgive the few people that have truly hurt me.
Sure, forgiving people who I thought were going to be there for me and then once again left, not a big deal. But these people who truly did me wrong. Abused me and abandoned me. These "Christians' that are supposed to be like Christ, that not only stabbed me but dug the knife deeper and deeper every chance they got (or get in some cases). How can I forgive them? How can I let the pain of this go? I have no idea. I can't even speak their names.
My therapist has been asking me to do a "trauma narrative" for like a month. I've dodged it every time. So, on Sunday I think, okay I need to try this. I started writing about why it is that I can't talk about any type of details about the things I went through growing up. I wrote it from the piece of me that is guilty and shameful of what I did. Then I started to write it from the piece of me that was hurt and abused and broken. That little girl that just didn't want to make anyone unhappy. I got to this point where a certain word needed to be written and I had a complete panic attack. My heart was racing, I was sobbing uncontrollably, I couldn't breathe and I had to find a way to numb out. I threw the pen down and walked away from the notebook. I just couldn't do it. I couldn't write this horrible truth. I could write the lies that I've convinced myself of all these years. I could easily say it was my fault and that everything happened because I let it and I started it. But the year and a half before that became true, the time I spent as a complete victim in his control, that I can't write about.
Then Sunday, I talked with my dad on the phone for a few minutes. He's so pathetic. He barely knows how to use a computer, he can't hold a steady job. He tells me that he asked to be friends with my extended family and only some have accepted him. He tells me my mother responded to his invite with "leave my family alone." He tells me that he has no food in his fridge, but of course I could hear that he was intoxicated. I just want to send him some money but I don't trust that he'll do anything good with it. He asked me about my "personal" life. I told him "no I don't have a boyfriend" and that "I'm just working on healing from things." He says "I'm so sorry I couldn't be there for you and help you." Then he quickly changed the subject back to how to chat on facebook.
I wanted to confront him and ask him if what my brother said was true. But I just couldn't it. He's obviously a drunk and uneducated. But he's my dad and my only connection to my grandfather - the only man that was good to me as a kid. But you would think that my grandfather's inability to call me should just make me stop caring about any of them. He's my dad. Sure, he's a loser and never supported us. Sure, he hurt my mother but my mother was/is weak and I just don't feel sorry for her. But I started to cry because he noticed the pictures of the kids on my page and he was like "they're your family" and it sucked because he's right. They're my family and he's not and my mother's not and my brother's not and my grandmother's not and my aunts' aren't and my cousins aren't and my sister is only barely my family.
And so the wound in the pit of my being, the very center of who I am, is once again ripped open and bleeding. The past few days have been filled with depression and numbness and pain and fear and tears and heartache. Just in time to go on a 3 day journey with my Father to love me back to wholeness.
I just had to write because it was all stuck inside and I hadn't told anybody and it was causing way too much pain and sorrow in my days and nights. Now, back to work.....
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