How do you tell your heart to beat again, when it’s been numb and broken for so long? How do you start living life when all you have done for so many years is go through the motions and try to survive? How do you tell people around you that think you’re doing wonderful, that inside your hurting and not sure how to find God in the midst of the pain?

I have been sort of numb to life the last few months...because the emotions became too much to bear it was easier to pretend and try to forget if only for a few moments....

But deep down inside, I really want to live this abundant life that Jesus bought for me, when He paid the price on the Cross. I really want to walk with my God through the journey of healing, so that I can become the person, He has seen me as, since before I was born. I want to believe I am worthy of love, and that I am beautiful and breathe taking to my Creator.

I know one day I will get to that place and when I do it will be so amazing and this journey I am on will have been well worth it.....

Although right now there are a lot of questions, and a lot of doubts, and many sleepless nights, and tears cried.

For right now I remember the story in Matthew, where it talks about a man who asked Jesus to heal his son, And he told Jesus, “Lord, I believe, help me in my unbelief"...

So today I am choosing to say "Lord, I believe in You and I trust that you are holding me in this and that You will continue to walk with me through all of this, but I ask that you help me in my areas of unbelief and doubts...in Jesus Name...Amen"

Looking forward
Towards a better tomorrow.

A day when I have a better outlook
A day when I feel no pain
A day when life seems less hurtful
A day when I am not plagued with nightmares
A day when I am not afraid
A day when being happy comes naturally.

I am looking forward.

I get lost.  In my own head.  

According to my husband, I have been alarmingly quiet lately.  I don't mean to.  Really.  It just happens.

After a screaming match culminating with said husband telling me to get the **** out of my head; I told him that I am lost in the darkness of my past.

I have wounds that never heal just right. My past sneaks up on me when I least expect it too. It is forever mocking me and making me realize that I will never escape it.

Nobody really knows me.
Nobody really understands me.

I am lost and alone.

And that makes me weird and quiet.

I have nothing audible to say.  My voice is locked inside my thoughts, my hurts, my scars.  I hurt but how does one verbalize horror?  Horror in the movies is simply expressed in screams both silent and audible, twisted faces, running, backing into a corner, all until one is consumed completely by the evil.

To say that I am scared is an insult.  I am terrified.  I am haunted.  I live in horror.  I have joked before about what kind of writer I could be and I always conclude that I would be one hell of a horror author.  I love Stephen King yet the horror of his books is sometimes pale in comparison to my past. However, when I can, I have to wonder what happened to him?  Horror does not come naturally to most human minds.

I am struggling at this moment.  My past combined with the present has sent me reeling.  It is horror in black and white.  Black and white that is vivid color in my memory because it is my life.  These silent times are when depression grows taller and wraps its dense, dark grip around my mind, my body, my eyes.  The darkness is in the corner of my eyes, just out of sight, no matter where I look.

I paint a smile on and talk to people all day long.  But in those same dark corners on my eyes I have to wonder what if they only knew.  And if they did know would they be as lost as me?

Nobody really knows me.
Nobody really understands me.

I am lost and alone.

I find myself tangled in the lump of my throat.  
Trapped somewhere between my mind of logic and my twisted and aching heart I am dizzy with conflict.  
I am worth something.  
I am worth nothing.  
I am worth more than words can offer.

That familiar lump squeezes and twists my weary emotions as I grasp for a momentary breath of logic.
A thought that reassures what kindness says; an understanding that I am so much more than what he said.  
But in that moment his words, his actions; they come crashing down on me as the lump threatens to engulf me.

Pain and bitter bile wash over me
The choices seem so non-existent.  
Why else would his hatred spiral?  
Why else would a child so young bear such deep and burdened scars?

It must be because I am worth so little.

The secrets that we shared.  
The secrets that I keep.  
These are the fuel to ignite a burning lump of torture.  
I struggle to move on
I struggle to let go while the lump clutches its tiny treasure.  
How do I feel my worth when all I feel is the pain wiping away even the smallest doubt that he might have been wrong?

I want to breathe.  
I want to feel the full capacity of worth expand until that lump of disbelief is pushed aside for good.  

I want to exhale until I know that he was wrong.

I miss my big brother so much I ache. He was the world to me. He cared for me when nobody else was there for me. He taught me things that helped to become who I am today.  I miss our closeness and our days spent just laughing and doing nothing. I miss us talking about everything and nothing. I miss sharing our hopes for the future. I wish I could have some of that back, even for just a moment. He was always supposed to be here, but somebody changed that by taking him away from me forever.

I remember that horrible phone call like it was yesterday. The day that I was told that I would never have you beside me in this journey anymore. I was stunned. How was possible that I would never get to talk to you again?? I spend days in a daze, unbelief, waiting for the phone to ring and hear your voice on the other end. It never happened, and days slowly turned to months and months into years. It has now been over 6 years since I have talked to you in person.

Day by day I think of you, how can all of this be true? I can't believe you're really gone, I still can't accept it, even after so long. Just the thought of you makes me cry, I never even got the chance to say goodbye. I don't know if it will ever get better. You were my brother and I loved you like no other. I would take your place if I had a choice. But now I have to let you rest, although without you my world's a mess. I miss you with all of my heart!

Someone recently said to me, “God does not give you more than you can handle.” That’s really been weighing on my mind, it inches to the surface, and I feel a surge of anger, then it’s tucked back into the back of my mind. God does not give you more than you can handle?

I know my grandma believed that with all of her heart. Week after week, she would pray for the salvation of my mother, my father, my brothers, sister, and I. Every single night, she was down on her knees praying for redemption, and thanking God for the gifts he has given to her. And she believed it! I admired her strength and her belief in God, because I learned as a small child that God can give you more than you can handle, and when that happens, and you reach out for help, sometimes there’s no one there. I’m not going to sit here and write out examples and questions…such as, really, then why do children suffer and die from cancer?...because I’m sure there are those out there who can provide justification for that.

Sometimes I would ask my grandma about her unending faith in God. “Grandma, what if God doesn't answer? Is he too busy? “ I’d ask. And grandma would answer, “Nita, you just need to pray harder, God will hear you…just pray harder.” And I would remember her words at night, when I was scared and alone, I would think about her words when my father would touch me, and I would pray harder.
God doesn't give you more than you can handle!

Now, in the present, I know that I am “handling” it, but there’s no other choice, is there? Handle it, or give up? I don’t want to be here, facing all of this, and yet, here I am, “handling” it. Is this what it means? That God doesn't give you more than you can handle? Sure, my family and friends have suffered as a result of the abuse of my past. Is God giving them more than they can handle?

I have fears – they are very real to me. But contrary to what the some may think, my greatest fears are not rejection and abandonment.

My greatest fear is that everyone will continue to turn their heads while victims are screaming.

My greatest fear is that survivors will express exactly how they feel, whether verbally, or acting out, and they will continue to be invalidated by being told they need medication and therapy in order to control their behavior, thereby reinforcing what they learned as children.

My greatest fear is that victims will continue to be silenced by therapy, or numbed from medication, and the clinicians, the researchers, will continue to ‘theorize’ and develop treatment that, in the long-run, is not helpful because they, themselves were NOT abused and have no idea what really should be done.

My greatest fear is that survivors will continue to be lab rats in the development of treatment that is not helpful, they will continue to drop out, time after time, and they will continue to self-harm, ‘repeat the trauma’, and possibly commit suicide because they believe no one cares.

My greatest fear is that the statistics will grow and no one will do anything about it because they do not know what to do. These are the facts:
             A report of child abuse is made every ten seconds
             More than five children die every day as a result of child abuse.
             Approximately 80% of children that die from abuse are under the age of 4.
             It is estimated that between 50-60% of child fatalities due to maltreatment are not recorded as
             such on death certificates.
             More than 90% of juvenile ****** abuse victims know their perpetrator in some way.
             Child abuse occurs at every socioeconomic level, across ethnic and cultural lines, within all
             religions and at all levels of education.
            About 30% of abused and neglected children will later abuse their own children, continuing
            the horrible cycle of abuse.
            About 80% of 21 year olds that were abused as children met criteria for at least one
            psychological disorder.

And this reflects only what is reported. Imagine what that percentage would be if all of the unreported cases were included.

And of the millions of children that survive the abuse, many grow up to be adults who are able to put it behind them, succeed and present themselves as an acceptable member of society, and many of them do not. But what are we DOING about it? When will people stop turning their heads? When will we finally stop, look and listen to these children being abused and to the adults who were abused as children?

When will we, society, decide that child abuse, and ****, and ****** assault are important, and affect millions of lives every year, and that it can be just as deadly as cancer. When will we finally stop whispering and turning our heads and actually face it and do something to stop it, and effectively treat those who ‘survived’?

I hope it happens in my lifetime, and I hope I can make a difference!

My pain causes my soul to crumble, my heart to break and my entire self to be crushed beyond repair. I fall to the ground and clutch the dirt between my fingers, I want to dig to find something solid to grab on to. I am toppling over from agony. The pain has swept my feet out from under me like a swift breeze, and it is beating me down with its rocks of sadness. Those rocks continue to pound my body, each hit removing a part of me. I am dissolving to mere dust. I am sinking into this earth, as these rocks called flashbacks pelt me with all of their strength. Each time I remember I sink deeper, and slip further away from happiness. That dirt is swallowing me whole and no one is there to save me or pull me out of this rubble. I shall vanish without remembrance. But I don't vanish. I exist now in the "in-between" place. Half of my body buried in this dirt, stuck in this pain and hurt. The other half wanting to live and be free and know what it feels like to be lifted off of this ground, and soar. But each time I extend my arms and reach for the sky I am knocked back down. That pain wants to drag me back under Its dark covering of dirt and conceal my face and unhinge my smile. Its trying to win the battle that is my life. Sometimes I let the pain win. Some times I have no choice. The memories creep up on me like a lion crawls upon its prey. I am the prey. Today I had to let them in. Today I had to remember that little hurt child. She was hurt in the most horrible of ways. But she was not destroyed, she did not vanish, she is still inside of me, she pumps the blood through my veins. Her strength and power force me to continue this life day after day. She was stripped of her innocence, her trust, her faith, her mind, and her spirit. Every part of her was tainted  by his lies, his words, and his body that forced its self upon her. Making her do things that aren't meant for daddy's and little girls to do."This is how daddy's show their love" he says so I lay and I allow. I allow him to disgrace my body with the same manhood I was made from. I didn't know this was wrong then because it always happened. It was just...life. Daddy came to visit and unlatched my crib bars, had his way, then he latched it back and was on his way. He stole the most from me at four, this the day he decided touching wasn't enough. The day he decided I needed to understand my role as a woman. The day he ***** me. That was the day my world caved in, The day the earth stopped spinning. The sun stopped shining. There were no stars in the night sky. There was no green grass on the hill side. Or flowers in the spring time. My world ended and twisted and turned and contorted it's self into a new kind of world. A sick world, filled with tears, hurt, and pain. Filled with lies and covering things up to disguise from people who "don't understand our love". This new more complicated world was filled with burying secrets and not getting daddy in trouble. I hated that world. But I resided in it anyways because that was the address that I had. I lived there for far to long. But I no longer do. I broke down its walls with a sledge hammer. Shattering its every part like he did to my ****** body. I now run through that hillside with its green grass and I feel the sun shining down on my face, spreading its rays far and wide and enclosing me in its warmth like my mother used to. I feel the earth spin around me again. I took my world back from him and left him to rot in his, to remember what he did, and to die alone.That's what he deserves. And I...... I deserve life, I deserve love, I deserve kindness, warmth, and goodness. I want to shower in it. NO I want to bath in it I want the love to pour its self out on me and lavish  me with its treasures. I deserve to know what that feels like, to grasp it between my fingers and hold on to that and not the dirt that wants to swallow me whole.

I hate nights alone
          So many thoughts
                   Never stopping
                            No sleep…
Thoughts tear through my head like a tempest, never even pausing for sleep.
My past stalks me like the black shadow of death; a shadow as thick as the everlasting night.
She has manifested herself inside skin and bones, deep within a weak and hollow body.
I walk around half dead, half alive, unaware of any truth or peace.
The truth only makes me hurt worse.
It’s a wonderful paradox, really,
That I can search so desperately for something that merely causes me pain.

As I sit alone tonight,
         I feel trapped in a moment.
                   Time moves neither fast nor slow…
Suddenly a force so strong and so surprising burst from within me and I wanted to scream!
My face grew red as I tried desperately to suffocate the terrifying voices inside of me.
The anger and frustration, the memories and regret, the loneliness and terror…
Everything began to surface and erupt.
Tears spilled like poison from my eyes, leaving my face splotchy and red.
I imagined a line dividing my present from my future, floating in space, waiting for me to cross.
But it seems I’m only capable of shuffling along the side of it.
The task seems insurmountable which made me cry harder.
I felt swallowed by pain; unable to speak and unable to breathe,
Longing for someone to hold me~ but there was no one there.
After a long while my cries ceased and the room was filled with a heavy silence
More drowning than even my own tears.
My palms were sweaty and I could feel my chin begin to quiver.
My breathing was sharp and my hands were shaking.
I wanted to write something, needed to write, something.
I picked up a pen and etched two words into my journal: “without hope”.

Without hope…
          darkness begins to choke me.
                    I feel completely powerless.
Fearful…
Fear has been stitched into my spine for so many years now.
          Fear of the past,
                   Fear of rejection,
                             Fear of failure,
                                       Fear of being alone,
                                                  Fear of feelings…
How do I face this fear? What am I supposed to do?

I sat there, still shaking, staring up at the dark sky,
I could not find a single star hovering,
And I took that as a sign that more darkness is yet to come.
As the moon hid behind the clouds…
         I continued to stare into space…
                   No star to wish upon…
                             No light to follow...
All is strapped in the shadows of night, where skeletons rise from the dead to moan at the world.

And she and I sit together in the darkness, my past and me, the only friend who has never left.

God please help me. I come to you because I no longer feel deserving of your love. I am ***** and I know that you cannot accept me. I am used up like trash and there is nothing left of myself to offer to you. I feel forever tainted and unworthy of your guidance and love. I am as a phony in your house. I should not have come to your place of worship. I feel like an outsider there not deserving of the information that so many others take for granted. I am sorry that I am unholy, that I am the sin of this earth. The filth of my hands should not grip your Bible. My mind is destroyed with the images that play in it; I can no longer absorb your truths. Please God forgive my unrighteousness.

God~ Help me remember that no matter what the crisis, no matter how much pain, and no matter how hopeless, Your goal is to always bring me closer to You. I don't know who or what will cross my path today. But I do know that You are my Rock and my Fortress. Anchor me to You today. Teach me how to stand strong in You and choose Your way today. Help me to walk by Your truth and not my feelings. Help me to embrace anything that comes my way as an opportunity to see You at work and as an opportunity to point others to You. Thank You that You love me and nothing can ever take that away from me! Even if I fail today and fall short, You whisper Your unconditional love deep in my soul.

There are many things I cannot speak aloud, but writing about my fears, anxiety, and sadness seem to bring me closer to them. Seeing them on paper somehow makes them more real. I don't know why that is. When something troubles me, I seem to bury my words in a hole and cover them. My emotions are too strong and highly strung for me to word them sufficiently at a moment’s notice. My brain is not equipped to process the instantaneous rawness I feel. Wonder what is wrong with me and I will be unable to tell you, my mouth will remain silent. Even though my mind is screaming at me, my tongue will cease to work. I'm unable to voice my thoughts, unsure of the purpose. But writing, seeing my thoughts on paper, allows me to voice my opinions and insecurities with confidence and with purpose.

I have always been private about my grief and my feelings because I did not want to show I was weak. It is a force of habit to keep secrets, a habit I developed long, long ago. I was never one to trust easily, I never let my guard down. I was not always silent, but no one heard me. There was a time when I was a child crying and needing my mother's attention, but I never had the courage to ask for it. I never got to the point where I felt I had the right to ask. The same holds true of me now.

But through my writing I can guide through the rooms of my past. And I can allow you to see the shame and embarrassment on my face as we step around the images of the memories best forgotten. I can pick up the harsh old photo albums full of black and white pictures, faces you have yet to see, words you have yet to hear, memories I have yet to remember. I need help prying open the leather bound covers, seizing together stubbornly, trapping the faces of people and the images of times I try to forget. The photos reveal my family, everyday achievements, insane images that make me recoil, morbid times that fill my eyes with tears.

And as I continue to write my thoughts, I hover at the shrine of those in my life, their own set of memory albums and images project through me. I recount their loss, their story, and salty tears swim down my cheeks. Tears of sorrow and rejection tears of pain and suffering. I sometimes feel my hands tense, my muscles go rigid, I sob in self-pity but then smile remembering that they are just that- memories, never to be relived. At times the air is thick with raw emotion, vulnerability on the highest level.

I don't count myself lucky for all that I have lived and seen. At times I feel all rationality and normalcy slip through my fingers like sand pouring through each digit; the air thick with uncertainty and indecisiveness. And yet, the grass still grows, and the sky is still blue. My words still have meaning and beauty still exists. But my silence overwhelms me, forming words no longer achievable. I should be able to walk away, but the fear of not knowing what may be waiting for me is too much.

As I walk along this road, curves and crossroads slow me down and thoughts of past experiences flash before me, panic settling into my chest. I try to live for today but what about tomorrow? How can I stand tall enough to see the future when the barricades of yesterday haunt me into submission? I step forward, my mind temporarily strong, until the point when the nightmares of the past wash me in dread and nauseating self-doubts. The past creeps up behind me, its cold breathe breathing down my neck, paralyzing me. Occasionally I feel someone grab me and guide me, the grip of their fingers giving me strength and certainty. And spirits are lifted to see beyond my past, and I know where my road leads.

Someone once told me life is about faith and second chances. I believe that. And so I try to keep my eyes focused on the sky so I can see the sun when the clouds separate. Then the torrential rain of my inner turmoil will stop and it will cease to drench me in pain, and I will be dried in a towel of contentment.

Someday......

I haven’t been sleeping well for over a week…Nightmares, tossing, turning – it comes in waves I can sleep for a few nights – then it starts again. The tossing and turning – I can’t lie on my side because my hips & chest hurt, so I try to lie on my back – but then I feel like something is crushing me and I can’t breathe…and I toss and turn back and forth – for hours.

Sometimes I cry and try to talk to myself, tell myself that it’s okay to cry, that it will pass, and I’ll be okay – I try to forget the pain in my hips and my chest- remind myself where I am, repeat my address...I’m a grown up now. This is my house, and I’m okay.

Sometimes I lie down in the guest room and open the window to feel the cool air on my body and listen to the sounds outside. Other times I lie on the floor in the bathroom, feel the cool tile on my face.

Sometimes I fall asleep but then I wake up, startled, from a dream…sometimes I can remember the dreams, sometimes not. But it’s been a really long week, and I’m really tired. I am sooooo tired. And nothing is working now. I’m so tired. And I can’t sleep.

And the lack of sleep exacerbates everything else. The anxiety, the anger, the panic and fear. And there’s no relief…no help. My problem, I get it – at night when everything happens it’s just me here – by myself. No one else. My problem. My issues…all mine – I own it. Me. No one else’s problem – why bother even talking anymore.

I don't even bother calling DT for help anymore - because really - it doesn't matter. It just "is" and nothing can be done about it. And maybe I'll get a "good" night soon - a night where I actually sleep...a night with no body memories or nightmares, no panic attacks or anxiety, no voices, no SI...and then maybe that will be enough to get through another few nights of hell. Maybe - Maybe not.

Just "riding the waves" as you say, DT - I won't call - I won't ask for an "extra" session or bother you on your weekend off. Because it doesn't matter. It doesn't matter anymore. I've ridden the waves for 40 years now! BY MYSELF! Has it gotten any less turbulent? Um, no - so again, I have to ask the question: Why ******* bother? I sure don't have an answer to that question, do you?

And I wish I had the courage to STOP all of it. But I don't today...and even if I had the courage - I don't have the energy.

***...I am not well…I cannot keep up…I plug one leak and another has sprung somewhere else – my crazybrain is out of control…it is tiring.
I am forever waiting for a “better day”.
Tomorrow I will feel better...Tomorrow will be a better day…What if tomorrow never comes?
Like I said I am not well…I cannot keep up... I am about done.

There is so much running through my head and it is preventing me from sleeping. Which I suppose is okay since we are 4 days from Christmas and I have yet to do any shopping. The therapist would tell me to stop “indulging” and live up to my responsibilities…(Like anyone ever “mirrored” that for me!) The therapist would probably tell me to stop listening to music that seems to make me feel even more depressed…but here I sit, anyway, head phones on, listening anyway.

But I feel so effing worthless and sad right now.  Here I sit in the midst of two Christmas trees, a mantle full of poinsettias and lights, garland strung on the banisters, frosty jingling behind me and I cannot FEEL any of it.  And I want to FEEL it right now!  I want to feel all the good things in my life…and I can't, which makes me even more frustrated.  And the only way to force it is to hit the liquor cabinet (which I have not yet ruled out).  

I don't think I intentionally planned it this way but the holidays are usually very busy here...which adds to my stress level as I deal with “family” events. Three birthdays to celebrate as well as the 26th being my 23rd anniversary. And I can't get caught up in it this year!  I want to and I can't.  

And here I sit thinking how I have been married to a man for 23 years and he does not even know me and I'm wondering how that happened.  But the reality is, no one really knows me... He loves who he "thinks" Nita is...but I am not really that person at all.  And it's really tiring for me to keep pretending to be her after 23 years.  

It's been a long long week…I got caught up in the suburban fantasy...it happens...I have fallen and the past can't be undone.

I messed up...I don't feel well at all tonight...not at all...

...I think it is time to go check out that liquor cabinet...