I grew up trying to be grateful.
Which sounds like a good thing.
When you grow up with an abusive, hyper-critical, likely BPD-stricken parent, this idea of gratefulness can ruin you.
I decided to take the good with the bad at a very young age. Sure, they are doing things in the wrong way, but let me take what they say to heart. So I looked passed the screaming, the hitting, the manic-depressive episodes, and I decided to take the criticism to heart. I thought there really were grave, serious problems with me (after all, I made Jesus die an excruciating death with my sinfulness) and I decided I would fix them.
And I tried, and I tried, and I tried, and I tried. And I could never make them happy.
Until I decided to be a missionary in Africa. I was thin, tan, blonde, young, obedient, stayed away from boys (who would've messed up my future unless they were the ONE, PERFECT man for me), and dedicated to doing the most spiritual thing I could possibly do.
I escaped into things that seemed spiritual. It was the only way I could win.
And just when everything was going peachy keen, my body, my savior, my last unsevered connection to my intuition, began to ruin itself.
I am forever thankful that my body keeps me grounded.
I gained 30 pounds, I started to break out, I couldn't cry while holding orphans dying of AIDS. My body was screaming at me that SOMEthing was very, very wrong.
Looking back, I'm not sure where I found the strength to listen. My willpower was so utterly broken down. But they call abuse survivors "survivors" for a reason. Because I could've just stayed where I was and let my soul die. But I didn't. I fought for it.
Then I found myself in college and refusing to belittle my issues. I was so loud about them. My roommates had to deal with them, my friends, the guys I dated. Even that blasted parent had to. No more would I apologize for being human. No more would I accept whatever shitty way someone decided to treat me. I stood up for myself and tried to stand up for others when I could.
I refused to simply forgive and forget. I might forgive later, but for now, I was going to seek justice, or at least seek to name bad things as bad.
And I named, and I named, and I named, and I named. I couldn't name enough of the atrocities that are committed every day and accepted as a normal part of society merely because they are so common.
And now I find myself starting over with a slate dirtied by the many erase marks. And I name good things and bad things. I am attempting to be even-handed. I will not return to accepting abuse as good. I hope to not reject good things for fear of being abused. I hope to see good for what it is and bad for what it is.
It was sad and angering that I had my phone stolen. I cried on the phone as I told my boyfriend what had happened. I couldn't help it. And I also didn't need to. I spoke to the thief and treated him as an equal, even when my intuition told me not to. It's unfortunate and complicated that my white guilt pushed me to ignore my intuition and not think to safeguard everything around me (although, I apologetically embraced my possible racism and grabbed my pepper spray thinking I was at risk for being attacked, not my phone).
It was kind when the woman at our phone company pretended we had insurance so we would be spared an even more agonizing process. She broke the law for me. The man who stole my phone broke the law against me. Funny how that works.
I grieve the bad and celebrate the good, however small or large.
Wednesday, April 3, 2013
Sunday, March 31, 2013
Happy Easter, I can't go to church.
I woke up early this morning with the intent of finding my way to a little Lutheran church down the road. According to their website they have a folk music liturgy and are ethnically diverse. I like both of those things and thought a liturgical service might not be so bad. I took a shower and had some breakfast and couldn't make my way up off my couch. I have a myriad of reasons why I don't like going to church. This morning it was something between laziness, not wanting to talk to strangers, and definitely not wanting to risk a PTSD episode because it's been a rough weekend already, and I have to work later.
The last post-traumatic event in my life happened just the other day, as I was watching a documentary called, "The God Who Wasn't There." They spoke of how bloodthirsty Christians are and played scenes from that terrible fucking movie our dear diplomatic friend Mel Gibson made. And it threw me back to the good old days. I was a junior in high school and my parents and I went out for a movie night! How fun. I sat behind them because the theatre was packed. And then I became that girl. Who was sobbing uncontrollably the whole time. Because I did it. I killed him. Something frightening happens when you are convinced that you're the reason a rather prolific man had to be tortured because you get mad at your little brother, because you yelled back at your mom, because you don't want to kiss dating goodbye, because you discovered your privates all by yourself and liked it.
Guilt complex anyone?
And then there's the fact that I needed an emotional outlet for all the goddamned ABUSE I was suffering, and the only safe and respected way I could experience emotion was over my own guilt and shame, so all that bottled up goodness was directed toward one night at the movie theatre. What a healthy cycle that produced, guilt and shame fueling emotional depth.
And it's funny to me now, because I occasionally make someone impatient with how much grace I give myself. I give myself "too much" leeway, too much time to recoup, too much freedom. I allow myself to feel sorry for myself.
I'm rather proud of the progress I've made. I, like any idealist, would love to be a perfect balance. And I, like any abuse survivor, acknowledge how far I have to go. As well, I, like any ENFP, acknowledge how far I have come.
What is your experience of Easter this year? Happy, sad, traumatic, deep, beautiful, frightening?
The last post-traumatic event in my life happened just the other day, as I was watching a documentary called, "The God Who Wasn't There." They spoke of how bloodthirsty Christians are and played scenes from that terrible fucking movie our dear diplomatic friend Mel Gibson made. And it threw me back to the good old days. I was a junior in high school and my parents and I went out for a movie night! How fun. I sat behind them because the theatre was packed. And then I became that girl. Who was sobbing uncontrollably the whole time. Because I did it. I killed him. Something frightening happens when you are convinced that you're the reason a rather prolific man had to be tortured because you get mad at your little brother, because you yelled back at your mom, because you don't want to kiss dating goodbye, because you discovered your privates all by yourself and liked it.
Guilt complex anyone?
And then there's the fact that I needed an emotional outlet for all the goddamned ABUSE I was suffering, and the only safe and respected way I could experience emotion was over my own guilt and shame, so all that bottled up goodness was directed toward one night at the movie theatre. What a healthy cycle that produced, guilt and shame fueling emotional depth.
And it's funny to me now, because I occasionally make someone impatient with how much grace I give myself. I give myself "too much" leeway, too much time to recoup, too much freedom. I allow myself to feel sorry for myself.
I'm rather proud of the progress I've made. I, like any idealist, would love to be a perfect balance. And I, like any abuse survivor, acknowledge how far I have to go. As well, I, like any ENFP, acknowledge how far I have come.
What is your experience of Easter this year? Happy, sad, traumatic, deep, beautiful, frightening?
Friday, January 25, 2013
What "They" Say
A dear friend recently spoke of one of those, "you know what they say"s. She said that "they" say, "an abuse victim will often say to her abusers, 'I'll show you, I'll hurt me.'" She warned me against this.
When I think about where the trajectory of my life has taken me, I know a good many people who would say that this is exactly what I've done. I feel the judgements, though they are rarely voiced to me (because I'm not "safe" to confront... DAMN RIGHT). But I know Christian community, and I know what you're saying. That's part of what depresses me about it... that there's very little authenticity in your responses. So much of it is guessable, because apparently, ya'll gots everything figured out, brah. Life is so simple when you're a Christian. Or a Calvinist, or a Dispensationalist, or whatever dogma you hold most dear.
I refuse to shut the religious voice out completely though. Or the "faith-filled" or whatever stupid term we have to use in order to communicate that you got a big spiritual boner for Jeebus. As much as I can deal with post-traumatic triggers and episodes, I continue to read your blogs, your comments, your prayers, alongside all the atheist or agnostic ones. I don't have much patience for the highly simplistic faith that I described above. But I find a beautiful faith in those who refuse to be simplistic. I also find a beautiful doubt there.
And on that point I find atheist, agnostic, and believer to be alike.
It makes me think that doubt and faith are an essentially human experience. Which is not saying anything too new on the state of humanity, I understand. But perhaps I am just experiencing it as new.
Part of me gets offended at the assumption that I might be hurting myself as a way to get back at my abusers. Haven't I spent hours in therapy trying to rewrite the unhealthy patterns I learned because of abuse in hopes that I would not hurt myself and others anymore?
Well yes, but the sad fact is that I have a lifetime of rewriting to do. I am eternally impatient at the fact that my childhood has unapologetically shaped who I am and I cannot escape it.
I suppose the accusation that I am being reactionary is fair.
And I submit that it would be dishonest to be anything other than that. Sure, sure, I can comfort myself with "new" gospel truths, you know, the nice stuff, about Jesus loving me and tralala but it does not rewrite the old stuff.
Can anyone understand my reluctance to take on a new dogma after all the shitty "truths" I once believed, adhered to, submitted to, with every ounce of my being?
It's a painful question for me to ask, and it's a painful admission for me to say that at 25 years old, when I am asked what I believe, I say that I don't know, or maybe I do know, or I'm in a period of transition, or that what I believe changes with the wind, or that I just have no good answer and all my life I've believed that my answer to that question determines my fate, my standing with God and humans, and so I'm A LITTLE FUCKED UP ABOUT IT.
It's just kind of hilariously tragic when all someone wanted was a simple answer.
As "they" say, for the abuse victim, nothing will ever be simple again.
When I think about where the trajectory of my life has taken me, I know a good many people who would say that this is exactly what I've done. I feel the judgements, though they are rarely voiced to me (because I'm not "safe" to confront... DAMN RIGHT). But I know Christian community, and I know what you're saying. That's part of what depresses me about it... that there's very little authenticity in your responses. So much of it is guessable, because apparently, ya'll gots everything figured out, brah. Life is so simple when you're a Christian. Or a Calvinist, or a Dispensationalist, or whatever dogma you hold most dear.
I refuse to shut the religious voice out completely though. Or the "faith-filled" or whatever stupid term we have to use in order to communicate that you got a big spiritual boner for Jeebus. As much as I can deal with post-traumatic triggers and episodes, I continue to read your blogs, your comments, your prayers, alongside all the atheist or agnostic ones. I don't have much patience for the highly simplistic faith that I described above. But I find a beautiful faith in those who refuse to be simplistic. I also find a beautiful doubt there.
And on that point I find atheist, agnostic, and believer to be alike.
It makes me think that doubt and faith are an essentially human experience. Which is not saying anything too new on the state of humanity, I understand. But perhaps I am just experiencing it as new.
Part of me gets offended at the assumption that I might be hurting myself as a way to get back at my abusers. Haven't I spent hours in therapy trying to rewrite the unhealthy patterns I learned because of abuse in hopes that I would not hurt myself and others anymore?
Well yes, but the sad fact is that I have a lifetime of rewriting to do. I am eternally impatient at the fact that my childhood has unapologetically shaped who I am and I cannot escape it.
I suppose the accusation that I am being reactionary is fair.
And I submit that it would be dishonest to be anything other than that. Sure, sure, I can comfort myself with "new" gospel truths, you know, the nice stuff, about Jesus loving me and tralala but it does not rewrite the old stuff.
Can anyone understand my reluctance to take on a new dogma after all the shitty "truths" I once believed, adhered to, submitted to, with every ounce of my being?
It's a painful question for me to ask, and it's a painful admission for me to say that at 25 years old, when I am asked what I believe, I say that I don't know, or maybe I do know, or I'm in a period of transition, or that what I believe changes with the wind, or that I just have no good answer and all my life I've believed that my answer to that question determines my fate, my standing with God and humans, and so I'm A LITTLE FUCKED UP ABOUT IT.
It's just kind of hilariously tragic when all someone wanted was a simple answer.
As "they" say, for the abuse victim, nothing will ever be simple again.
Friday, January 4, 2013
More blogging.
A few people in my day have said that I should have "a blog or something" to express my (many) opinions. I always say, I've got a blog, but heavens knows I don't use this blog to it's maximum capability. So here goes. I'll try to blog more and see if that changes anything. Boom.
I've been getting a lot out of reading blogs and other things (like news articles, books, and the like) over the last year or so. Since I've thrown the idea of daily devotions completely out the window, I guess I've replaced it with reading up on cults, religion, misogyny, child abuse, spiritual abuse, etc. Every time I'm caught reading something, I hear jokes about "light reading" or questions like, "is that for school?"
No, I read up on terrible things that happen in the world because I can relate. That is my story.
Yesterday I had some kind of post-traumatic emotional breakdown that my friends who've escaped Christian Culture totally understood, and everyone else was befuddled by. I essentially was struck with the question, "what if I'm wrong about everything? What if I've taken too many liberties, what if I've gone too far? What if when I die I end up in a dark and lonely place forever?"
Now, I've been snotty to G-d, God, god, the Divine Being, whatever you prefer to call him/her/it. I've told him, if he wants to condemn me to hell for eternity because I didn't get all my theolojizzing (thanks Stephanie Drury for that lovely term) just right, well fuck him, see you in hell. I'd rather live a life of intellectual honesty and emotional health than to submit to abusive theologies in order to make it out of Satan-land.
But two nights ago, I laid awake in bed, afraid for my eternal soul. They say hell is where you're without God and that's the worst torment. There's nothing good and lalala. Well, my relationship with God has been with an abusive God so I don't really want him around right now, and if all He is is a giant sack of tool then I don't really want him around ever. But if hell is really where all good is gone, where I have none of my loved ones with me, then it really would be eternal torment.
So I lay awake and thought about how awful that would be. Then I went through my mantra - I refuse to be influenced by fear. To submit to shitty ideas merely because I'm afraid. Even in the blessed Holy SO NEVER WRONG OR TO BE QUESTIONED scriptures (I'm a little angry today, deal with it), there is a beautiful passage that says:
"There is no fear in love, but perfect love casts out fear. For fear has to do with punishment, and whoever fears has not been perfected in love."
So if God is big-jerk up there, my last ditch effort to justify my journey is throwing that verse in his face. You said it goddy-god. I'm going to hold you accountable to your words because I'm assuming you're an adult? My education tells me you had to have been around at least 6000 years...
Oi.
Ok, connecting train, here we come. I went through my mantra, I shut the fear out of my mind, I went to sleep after playing this car game I'm obsessed with on my phone. It's embarrassing.
The next day I felt the need to talk about the instance. As I posted, gchatted, and facebook chatted with caring friends about it, I broke down.
I guess it was an oops. I really try not to suppress emotions, but you get damn good at hiding things even from yourself when you've grown up in a spiritually, emotionally, and physically abusive environment.
I am afraid. I cannot recite my mantra and be rid of the fear. The mantra is good, and I'll keep it, but it does not get rid of the fear of being dangled by a string over the fiery furnaces of hell by an angry God. (Read Jonathan Edwards' sermon when I was around 11 or 12? SPIRITUAL ABUSE.) And you know the fuck what?
I'm not raising my children to be 25 and sobbing because God might cast them into hell. It's messed up. I already hear the rebuttals - you should be afraid of moving cars and that will keep you safe yadda yadda. Well, I KNOW what a moving car can do. I DO NOT know what life after death is and no one does. So in the past few days, I've been shaken to my core because of a fear of the unknown. And you can drive yourself mad with that. God knows, an entire group of people who call themselves devout regularly do!
I've been getting a lot out of reading blogs and other things (like news articles, books, and the like) over the last year or so. Since I've thrown the idea of daily devotions completely out the window, I guess I've replaced it with reading up on cults, religion, misogyny, child abuse, spiritual abuse, etc. Every time I'm caught reading something, I hear jokes about "light reading" or questions like, "is that for school?"
No, I read up on terrible things that happen in the world because I can relate. That is my story.
Yesterday I had some kind of post-traumatic emotional breakdown that my friends who've escaped Christian Culture totally understood, and everyone else was befuddled by. I essentially was struck with the question, "what if I'm wrong about everything? What if I've taken too many liberties, what if I've gone too far? What if when I die I end up in a dark and lonely place forever?"
Now, I've been snotty to G-d, God, god, the Divine Being, whatever you prefer to call him/her/it. I've told him, if he wants to condemn me to hell for eternity because I didn't get all my theolojizzing (thanks Stephanie Drury for that lovely term) just right, well fuck him, see you in hell. I'd rather live a life of intellectual honesty and emotional health than to submit to abusive theologies in order to make it out of Satan-land.
But two nights ago, I laid awake in bed, afraid for my eternal soul. They say hell is where you're without God and that's the worst torment. There's nothing good and lalala. Well, my relationship with God has been with an abusive God so I don't really want him around right now, and if all He is is a giant sack of tool then I don't really want him around ever. But if hell is really where all good is gone, where I have none of my loved ones with me, then it really would be eternal torment.
So I lay awake and thought about how awful that would be. Then I went through my mantra - I refuse to be influenced by fear. To submit to shitty ideas merely because I'm afraid. Even in the blessed Holy SO NEVER WRONG OR TO BE QUESTIONED scriptures (I'm a little angry today, deal with it), there is a beautiful passage that says:
"There is no fear in love, but perfect love casts out fear. For fear has to do with punishment, and whoever fears has not been perfected in love."
So if God is big-jerk up there, my last ditch effort to justify my journey is throwing that verse in his face. You said it goddy-god. I'm going to hold you accountable to your words because I'm assuming you're an adult? My education tells me you had to have been around at least 6000 years...
Oi.
Ok, connecting train, here we come. I went through my mantra, I shut the fear out of my mind, I went to sleep after playing this car game I'm obsessed with on my phone. It's embarrassing.
The next day I felt the need to talk about the instance. As I posted, gchatted, and facebook chatted with caring friends about it, I broke down.
I guess it was an oops. I really try not to suppress emotions, but you get damn good at hiding things even from yourself when you've grown up in a spiritually, emotionally, and physically abusive environment.
I am afraid. I cannot recite my mantra and be rid of the fear. The mantra is good, and I'll keep it, but it does not get rid of the fear of being dangled by a string over the fiery furnaces of hell by an angry God. (Read Jonathan Edwards' sermon when I was around 11 or 12? SPIRITUAL ABUSE.) And you know the fuck what?
I'm not raising my children to be 25 and sobbing because God might cast them into hell. It's messed up. I already hear the rebuttals - you should be afraid of moving cars and that will keep you safe yadda yadda. Well, I KNOW what a moving car can do. I DO NOT know what life after death is and no one does. So in the past few days, I've been shaken to my core because of a fear of the unknown. And you can drive yourself mad with that. God knows, an entire group of people who call themselves devout regularly do!
Tuesday, December 4, 2012
Monday, October 15, 2012
i am not one of those people that give God my efforts with conditions attached. "i'll do this so that you will give me that." nope.
i gave God everything and i got nothing. worse than nothing - i got so incredibly hurt by that.
ok, not the full story. i did get good things from it. i am who i am because of my experiences and i like who i am. but i'm also suspicious, bitter, angry, and hurt.
i am not rushing back into the place i've been hurt the most. i need to protect myself. i don't want to not learn from my mistakes and jump back in.
i've tried at my church and it's a good church with good people who i have good relationships with. but i am too messed up for church.
"blah blah the church is for the broken blah blah." i'm not saying i won't be accepted there. i am saying i am too unfit for the relationship.
if it was a dating relationship people would understand. i would be considered wise to stay out of a relationship for a while after i broke up with a bad boyfriend.
but it's God, and we are afraid to step away from God lest we stir up his wrath and spend eternity in torment or something worse... and so we insist that all i need is more God. right-o.
i insist on dignity and respect. and that takes time.
i've broken up with a bad religion and i'll take that time before i get into another one.
i gave God everything and i got nothing. worse than nothing - i got so incredibly hurt by that.
ok, not the full story. i did get good things from it. i am who i am because of my experiences and i like who i am. but i'm also suspicious, bitter, angry, and hurt.
i am not rushing back into the place i've been hurt the most. i need to protect myself. i don't want to not learn from my mistakes and jump back in.
i've tried at my church and it's a good church with good people who i have good relationships with. but i am too messed up for church.
"blah blah the church is for the broken blah blah." i'm not saying i won't be accepted there. i am saying i am too unfit for the relationship.
if it was a dating relationship people would understand. i would be considered wise to stay out of a relationship for a while after i broke up with a bad boyfriend.
but it's God, and we are afraid to step away from God lest we stir up his wrath and spend eternity in torment or something worse... and so we insist that all i need is more God. right-o.
i insist on dignity and respect. and that takes time.
i've broken up with a bad religion and i'll take that time before i get into another one.
Saturday, April 28, 2012
milling around.
had dinner with one of those world-traveling friends last night. we played catch-up, relating hilarious and awkward stories, sharing sorrows and joys from the past months. the conversation drifted to our Christianity and what has been learnt or un-learnt since we last met. she said something i want to remember and i'll do my best to sum up here:
figuring out and knowing what you believe is important, sure, but the main thing, really the only thing that people need is to know that they are loved.
re-read that one if you need to. let that statement settle into your being so that you can understand how revolutionary that is. (or click the 'x' at the top of your browser.)
i escaped bible college to realize that my beliefs had been dashed to pieces and then thrown around. i have slowly been milling around all the other parts of my life and finding a piece of belief here and there. i pick it up, examine it, sometimes put it in my pocket for a while, sometimes i throw it out.
i never thought i would have thrown this much out.
on occasion, i find a piece of belief that i find beautiful. overwhelmingly beautiful. i've been brought to tears at the beauty of what i believed in, or sometimes just the beauty of my own fervent belief.
on an even more rare occasion, i keep that belief close. i find that it was always there, grafted into my skin.
typically, though overwhelmed at the beauty, i still throw it out, or put it in a place i can remember to go back to.
my friend's statement that the most important thing is to know we are loved is a beautiful belief.
i will be staring at this one for a long time, maybe forever.
figuring out and knowing what you believe is important, sure, but the main thing, really the only thing that people need is to know that they are loved.
re-read that one if you need to. let that statement settle into your being so that you can understand how revolutionary that is. (or click the 'x' at the top of your browser.)
i escaped bible college to realize that my beliefs had been dashed to pieces and then thrown around. i have slowly been milling around all the other parts of my life and finding a piece of belief here and there. i pick it up, examine it, sometimes put it in my pocket for a while, sometimes i throw it out.
i never thought i would have thrown this much out.
on occasion, i find a piece of belief that i find beautiful. overwhelmingly beautiful. i've been brought to tears at the beauty of what i believed in, or sometimes just the beauty of my own fervent belief.
on an even more rare occasion, i keep that belief close. i find that it was always there, grafted into my skin.
typically, though overwhelmed at the beauty, i still throw it out, or put it in a place i can remember to go back to.
my friend's statement that the most important thing is to know we are loved is a beautiful belief.
i will be staring at this one for a long time, maybe forever.
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