Never Be the Same (poem)

From the moment that we met, I ceased to live.

I lost myself somewhere in who you were.

I gave you all of me that I could give,

But who or what did I become? I'm still not sure.

I did EVERYTHING that you told me to do.

If you told me to go, that's where I went.

My feelings didn't matter, and I knew

That if I even I even slightly disobeyed you,

You’d rain down bloody hell

Until not a single soul could tell what was left of me.

That’s what you had always so proudly said --

That no one would even recognize me once I was dead.

So, I learned that early on -- that there was no escape.

That black was orange, your sky was green,

And “come with me,” just meant more rape.

Your brutal acts convinced me hope was dead.

I gave up even feeling; my soul died.

Each time you’d drag me off to another bed,

I’d find a spot inside my head and hide.

I was little more than a child when you came.

I know that I will NEVER be the same.

Whatever It Takes (freewrite)

Today I've been thinking of some of my all-time favorite Bible passages:

"Then Jesus said, 'Come to me, all of you who are weary and carry heavy burdens, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you. Let me teach you, because I am humble and gentle at heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy to bear, and the burden I give you is light.' "
Matthew 11:28-30 (New Living Translation)

"Fear not, for I am with you; Be not dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you; Yes, I will help you. I will uphold you with My righteous right hand."
Isaiah 41:10

"Do not be afraid, for I have ransomed you. I have called you by name; you are mine. When you go through deep waters, I will be with you. When you go through rivers of difficulty, you will not drown. When you walk through the fire of oppression, you will not be burned up; the flames will not consume you. For I am the Lord, your God, the Holy One of Israel, your Savior ... You are precious to me. You are honored, and I love you. Do not be afraid, for I am with you. From eternity to eternity I am God. No one can snatch you out of my hand."
Isaiah 43: 1-5, 13 (New Living Translation)

 I'm beginning to be convinced that God allows difficult or traumatic circumstances in our lives to draw us close to Him and KEEP us there.

You see, I am and have always been, a VERY stubborn, independent person. My pride and desire to be self-sufficient have gotten me into trouble more times than I like to admit.

In my late teens, rather than ask for help when I didn't have money for rent and car insurance, I compromised my moral standards and betrayed the very essence of who I was simply to 'pay the bills.' Why? I was too proud to admit that I couldn't do it myself.  I'm sure my parents would have gladly helped me out (had I let them know that I was struggling financially), but I didn't even give them that opportunity. 

Later, when I found myself in a difficult relationship, I ignored the warnings of those whose wisdom I SHOULD HAVE trusted, and got married anyway. I don't know what I was trying to prove, but I certainly wasn't about to admit that I'd made a mistake in entering into the relationship in the first place. After all, I thought I was a grown woman, and I simply would not tolerate anyone telling ME how to live my life. That included God (at that particular time in my life, at least).

If things had been more of a "bed of roses" from that point on, I might have simply continued to manage everything on my own -- completely unwilling to surrender to the sovereignty of God. After all, what would I have needed Him for?  It was only when life knocked me flat on my face that I was forced to look up and rekindle a faith that had grown cold.

If I had never had to scrimp and save, never wondered how the bills would get paid, and never had to do without or make sacrifices, I might never have learned to trust Him as Jehovah-Jireh, my Provider.

If I had never been shamed, brutalized, and wounded inside & out, I might never have learned to rely on Him as Jehovah-Rapha, my Healer.

If I had never wandered through a maze of confusion and manipulation, I might never have learned to count on my Shepherd, Jehovah-Ra-Ah, for guidance and direction.

If I had never been paralyzed by terror, tormented by guilt, consumed by worry, or frustrated by injustice, I might never have learned to rest in the peace that Jehovah-Shalom alone can provide.

If I had never suffered agonizing loss after agonizing loss, I might never have learned to lean on Him as the divine Comforter.

If I had never felt trapped and alone in the depths of darkness, I might never have searched for the divine illumination that only the Light of the World can give.

If I had never been completely exhausted and utterly spent -- physically, spiritually, and emotionally, I might never have experienced the incredible rejuvenation found only in El Shaddai (Almighty God, the Strength Giver).

Maybe the Lord knew that the only way to keep me

close to Him was to strip me of everything else.

Perhaps He knew that if my life were too 'easy,' I would rely on myself instead of trusting in Him. It's quite possible that God either directly sent me problems or allowed certain difficulties in my life for the specific purpose of bringing me to my knees at the foot of the Cross ..... And KEEPING ME THERE.

And you know what? MOST of the time, I'm quite okay with that (I do have my moments of questioning and doubting like everyone else does). I'd rather go through hell on earth with Jesus by my side than live a life of ease without Him.

Which reminds me of the words to a great 'old' gospel song (youtube video is below the lyrics):

Whatever It Takes
There's a voice calling me
From an old rugged tree
And He whispers, 'Draw closer to Me;
Leave this world far behind,
There are new heights to climb,
And a new place in Me you will find.'

For whatever it takes to draw closer to you, Lord,
That's what I'll be willing to do.
For whatever it takes to be more like You,
That's what I'll be willing to do.
Take the dearest things to me,
If that's how it must be,
To draw me closer to Thee;
Let the disappointments come,
Lonely days without the sun,
If through sorrow more like You I'll become.

For whatever it takes to draw closer to you, Lord,
That's what I'll be willing to do.
For whatever it takes to be more like You,
That's what I'll be willing to do.

Take my houses, my lands,
Change my dreams, change my plans
For I'm placing my whole life in Your hands;
And if You call me today to a place far away
Lord, I'll go, and Your will I'll obey.

For whatever it takes to draw closer to you, Lord,
That's what I'll be willing to do.
For whatever it takes to be more like You,
That's what I'll be willing to do.
I'll trade sunshine for rain, comfort for pain --
That's what I'll be willing to do.
For whatever it takes for my will to break,
That's what I'll be willing to do.

Words and Music by Lanny Wolfe

Be Mine (collage - adult content)

Bits and pieces from flashbacks from one particular Valentine's Day when I was beaten with a coat hanger
and otherwise brutalized in various ways that I won't get into right now.  My ex-abuser was upset because he had
bought me sexy red lingerie and I had my period and had therefore "ruined" Valentine's Day for him. His use of force and punishment was his way of proving that he had total control over me, that I was, in all ways, shapes, and forms, HIS!

Welcome to the Jungle (sonnet)

So welcome to the jungle, this is just
A taste of what awaits you in the weeds.
I'll let you have a sample, if you must,
I always have what everybody needs.
If pain is what you're seeking, I have it.
Stored up inside by the bushel and peck.
Just look down the hole, follow the rabbit,
And soon you'll be in hell up to your neck.
If love is what you search for, look elsewhere,
For I'm not even certain it exists.
I've been hurt so much by people who "care,"
But I don't know if there's something I've missed.
Won't you join me here in the jungle now?
I'm all alone here, waiting, anyhow.

Drunk Driver (poem)

Lured by floating bubbles of flirtation,
Enamored with the thought of being loved,
Stunned by his silky, smooth incantation,
I lost track of any rules that I might have thought of.
I was under age, but he served me just the same.
He didn't care that I was but a child.
He left my heart a tattered mess,
And my mind a circus, running wild.

Another bar, this one deep underground.
Where only the "privileged" were allowed.
They served me there,
Both day or night,
Sometimes there was quite a crowd.
The bartenders came
One after another,
Serving me more quickly
Than I could recover.
I left that bar determined
Never to try to leave the road again
I did my best to steer clear
Of all the stinking, drinking men. 

But then came a man I couldn't resist.
His words were so smooth,
And how sweet was his kiss.
"Drink with me," he implored.
My attempts to say no
Were always ignored.
He poured me one glass after another,
Til I was too drunk to stand.
His words cut through me like a knife,
(I wondered, "why am I his wife?")
He smothered me
Until I couldn't breathe,
Until I couldn't see,
And yet I couldn't leave.

Just when I would start to sober up,
He'd pour another soul piercing drink,
Until I couldn't function any more,
Let alone try to think.
So I learned to drive the road of life,
Though sloshed by the pain he served up.
I kept it between the lines as best I could,
But, oh, how I longed to just give up.
But alas, I could not,
For I had children in the back seat
Depending on me
For love, for direction, for comfort, for meat.
Soon I was reduced
To talking to myself,
For he forbid me to speak
With anyone else.

Simple chants in the back of my mind,
(Where I hid from his ranting most of the time).
I hung on for dear life
To my sanity,
And repeated the simple rules
That life had taught me:
"Red means stop.
Green means go.
Don't go too fast.
Don't go too slow.
Don't leave the road,
Don't be too early.
Don't be too late.
Keep it between the lines.
Hold the wheel straight."

I got pulled over and detained a few times
By those who saw the warning signs --
Like my vehicle swerving back and forth
Or driving right off the road at times. 
"Have you had anything to drink, young lady?"
"Only pain," I said, as though they'd understand.
Hoping that somehow maybe
They were different than every other man.
I would eventually jump through their hoops --
I would touch my own nose
And walk a straight line,
And somehow convince them that I was "just fine."
They'd smile at me,
Pat themselves on the back,
And let me go back for more --
With the lamest of warnings
To drive a bit slower.

As if I could control the speed at which life raced by,
As if I could predict when I'd break down and cry. 
"Just keep it between the lines," I would think,
And please, Lord, let there be no more
That I am forced to drink."

You see, I never chose to put the cup to my lips.
I never wanted a single one of those evil sips.
Now here I am, still sloshed from the shame,
Wondering how to play this confusing game.
Some make it seem so simple,
But to me it's a mystery
How some can walk through life unscathed,
While others end up scarred like me.

Just keep on driving, I tell myself,
Just follow the road and see where it goes.
But at the rate I'm going,
My destination is one that nobody knows.

I often veer from one side to the other,
Trying to find my way.
I hit the curbs, I cross the lines,
And I run a stop sign almost every day.
I try to go when I see green,
I try to stop when I see red.
I try to follow the rules of the road,
But inside I feel like I'm already dead.
Just a dummy behind the wheel,
A crash test dummy --
That's how I feel.

I want to believe there's a higher power
That will guide me along this road,
But day by day and hour by hour,
It seems I carry a heavier load.

What would they say if they could see inside?
There's no way to count the tears I've cried.  
How many years was I Frankensteins's bride?
In the end, does it even matter how hard I tried?

I don't know how much longer
I can hold the steering wheel steady,
How long it will be til I'm stronger,
How long it will be til I'm ready
To face the pain that's intoxicated me,
To sober up,
To finally be free.

I want my life back, and my sanity too.
I don't want to be a zombie
Merely stumbling my way through.
Still I sense that it's apparent to all
When they see me stumbling around
That I must have stayed through last call,
That I'm five minutes from collapsing on the ground.

I watch as other vehicles pass me by,
As I struggle along in the slow lane.
I try not to crash as I break down and cry,
And pray that I don't go totally insane.

Sometimes it seems nobody really even cares
That I'm a multiple trauma survivor.
They look at me and all that they see
Is just another drunk driver.








 

An Army of Many, But One (sonnet)

The war's been over for many years now,
And most of the troops have long since gone home.
A few soldiers still remain, though, somehow,
And continue to battle on their own.
I don't remember when the first draft was,
Or just exactly why it was needed.
I thought the cadets all went home because
The last of the foes had been defeated. 
But apparently the news never reached
The deepest part of my fragmented soul.
Some must have missed the sermons that I preached.
It may take some time until I am whole.
The war's over, but the work's just begun.
I am an army of many, but one.

Never Be the Same (sonnet)

From the moment we met, I ceased to live.
My self became a shadow with no voice.
I gave you all of me that I could give.
You never even gave me one small choice.
I soon stopped even thinking for myself --
My thoughts didn't really matter at all.
It was your way or the highway, or else . . .
Either way, I was up against a wall.
Your brutal acts convinced me hope was dead.
I gave up even feeling what you did.
Each time you drug me off to go to bed,
I found a spot inside my head and hid.
A child was all I was before you came.
I know that I will never be the same.

A Journey Just Begun (sonnet)

Eenie, meenie, miney, mo -- just pick one.
The good, the bad, the ugly; all are there.
Nobody said this process would be fun,
But without pain, I won't get anywhere.
Don't want therapy to be my career.
I will do the work that needs to be done,
Break the bonds of trauma that hold me here,
Won't hide from anything or anyone.
Life is too short to live in yesterday,
Far too precious to wallow in sorrow.
No matter what, I'll try to find a way
To always keep focused on tomorrow.
This journey may be one I've just begun,
But I will not give up until I'm done.

Purging My Soul (sonnet)

Greeting memories of days now gone by,
Embracing emotions I could not feel.
Questions remain, and I still don't know why
The pain inside feels so real.
Releasing judgment and giving up blame,
I try to find a way to understand.
There's no reason for me to own this shame.
Letting go, I find a way to stand.
Purging my soul of the trauma within,
White-washing the walls of my heart with peace,
Believing that each trauma had an end,
I can fin'lly find some form of release.
From chaos to cathartic expression,
There's healing in each honest confession.

Please, No More (triple sonnet)

Throbbing pain, as I whisper, "Please, no more!"
My silent cries, unheard, fall on deaf ears.
I'm worn out, I'm dried out, I'm torn and sore.
Each throbbing thrust a knife that burns and sears.
I try again, and whisper, "Please be done!"
"You want it in your mouth then, say the word."
Which word must I say? I try to pick one.
But his "logic" is skewed and so absurd.
Gasping for air, I try to find a way
To escape from this hell within a bed,
But  I can't complain, no words I dare say,
Or he'll turn me and go backwards instead.
Oh soul of mine, where have you gone to hide?
How can I find you way down deep inside?

"You're done when I say that you're done," he says.
I shudder and wonder how long this time.
It could be ten minutes, three hours, or less,
There's never really a reason or rhyme.
"You can come again for me now, can't you!"
His words, not a question, but a demand.
"The Lord is my Shepherd . . ." keeps running through
As I brace myself and wait for his hand.
Worse still, I see it coming through the air,
His hand balled up in a hard, tightened fist.
And there is no way that I can prepare
For his slobbery, slimy, cum-filled kiss.
My body has forsaken me at last.
The pain that I should feel just went right past.

"You'll take it all, I know," he says to me.
As if there is some pride he finds in this.
Bigger, deeper, and harder; endlessly.
Until he cannot rise or starts to miss.
I try to shut it out and go away.
"Let's see if this will fit, I bet it will."
My mind throws up a wall and bids it stay,
As I command my body to stay still.
"I cannot do this, Lord," I softly cry.
His hand, his fist inside, is so immense.
Is this my punishment -- for what, and why?
I can't escape the pain, it's too intense.
Awak'ning from the nightmare in a sweat,
Another mem'ry I cannot forget.

Post Traumatic Stress Disorder - Don't let PTSD win!

PTSD ... I'm convinced that must stand for "Pretty Tough Shit Daily" ... the awful nightmares, crippling body memories, intrusive flashbacks, and all the other "fun stuff" that goes along with it.

I had a particularly challenging therapy session today, to the point that I was physically ill & vomiting afterwards. I crawled home so utterly exhausted that it was all I could do to fix supper for the kids before collapsing in bed, virtually catatonic and shaking. I just lay there in a trance for about an hour with the eternal "to do" list running through my mind, trying desperately to will myself to snap out of it, get up, and get busy. But it was no use. My body just wouldn't cooperate. I took a series of deep, cleansing breaths and tried to reground & center myself. Not helpful. Then, from somewhere deep inside, the thought came to me, "So, that's it then, huh? You're just going to let him win? You're just going to give up?"

Not in this lifetime! I drug myself out of bed and began washing the dishes & wiping off the kitchen counters. I checked the kids' backpacks, emptied their lunchboxes, vacuumed, and swept the floors. I unloaded & reloaded the dishwasher ... and was suddenly startled by the realization that I was ... HUNGRY. Had I eaten yet today? I realized I hadn't (aside from the snack I'd eaten during therapy, which I had promptly thrown up afterward). I poured myself a bowl of cereal, sloshed in some milk, and started devouring it. I was FAMISHED. I relished the texture of each bite as it crunched around my mouth, enjoying the wonderful sensation of being ALIVE.

"That's right," I thought to myself, "I'm HERE. I'm alive. I survived. I WON, and HE LOST!"

I may have nightmares again tonight. Such is life. But I'm not giving up. I can't. I won't. I didn't come this far to cower in fear because of a few pesky flashbacks & traumatic memories. And that's all they are -- MEMORIES! It's OVER! He can't hurt me anymore! And I'll be DAMNED if I'm going to let the things he said & did to me keep stealing the joy out of my life.

Walking into my daughter's room to tuck her in and seeing her lying there, sleeping so peacefully, I realized that there are some things in life that are worth fighting for.

Tomorrow is another day. I will wake up. I will put one foot in front of the other. I will go on living. I will go on healing. I will go on BEING. I will learn to let myself feel without fearing the feelings. I will learn to share without fearing rejection or judgment. I will learn to sleep without fearing the nightmares. And someday ... maybe ... I will learn to love again ... without worrying about being tormented & terrorized.

I can do this. I am NOT a quitter. I'm a survivor!

Giving up the Fight (artwork; trigger warning)

I apologize in advance if this piece of artwork is disturbing to you.  I'm simply trying to wade my way through all of the perverse images that swirl around my mind these days.  Sometimes it's so hard to fit the pieces together.  What I find the most disconcerting is that in many of these images, I see myself in such a submissive state, as though I had completely given up, as though I no longer cared what happened to me, and had simply accepted what was happening as my "lot in life."  Sometimes I will have a clear recollection of thinking to myself, "If I do this, at least something worse won't happen tonight."  It's like I had lost all will to fight back. 

I've tried to determine when exactly this change took place.  Was there a moment in time that I decided it wasn't worth the struggle, that pain was inevitable and I might as well choose the least painful thing?  Was there a day that I suddenly relinquished any right to my own body? Or was it a gradual process that incidiously ate away at the very core of my being until I had no strength left to resist?  I honestly can't say.

I'm ashamed to admit that I gave up, that I stopped fighting back, that I just lay there and "took it" like a lump of nothingness.  At some point, I guess I quit feeling.  But did I really?  I find it hard to believe that there wasn't at least some internal response to the excruciating pain, humiliation, and degradation.  It's more likely that I dissociated whenever I got overwhelmed physically and/or emotionally. 

This is a very difficult image for me.  I know it happened a lot.  Several times a week, as best I can recall. I can feel my face mashed into him and his hands pushing so hard against the back of my head that my neck hurt.  I can smell the musky smell between his legs and sometimes I wake in the middle of the night with a choking sensation and a salty taste in my mouth.  I chose the swirly background because sometimes I would get so dizzy that the "room would swim" and I'd "see stars" because it was very hard to breathe.  Aside from the fact that I was probably a little low on oxygen to the brain now and then LOL, I would put myself into sort of a trance and visualize something sort of like the swirls in this picture.  I would close my eyes and points of light would go around and around in circles.

And yet, I would just kneel there. Like a robot. Like a servant.  Like it was my duty.  I can see myself just sitting there totally limp and lifeless, gagging, trying to breathe, trying to pull away just enough to take a breath and him smashing himself down my throat.  "Swallow it," he'd order, "Just swallow it."  I can feel the cold tile of the bathroom floor sometimes.  Other times, he'd have me sit on the toilet and he would stand in front of me.  That was a little "better" because at least my neck wasn't at such a crazy angle. 

Truthfully, even though I DETESTED sucking him off, I'm ashamed to admit that sometimes I would OFFER it to him to avoid the more painful alternatives.  I hate myself for being so weak, for thinking so little of myself that I would essentially try to "bargain" my way out of pain.  "I'll give you a blow job if you'll leave me alone for the rest of the night."  I don't know how many times I said that.  The sickening thing is, sometimes I'd go through a half hour of agonizing fellatio, "comforting" myself with the fact that at least for that night I wouldn't get raped, and then he'd go back on his word and wake me up at 2 in the morning ANYWAY and say, "Oh, that was just a warmup.  Time for round 2."  

How did I manage to survive?  Why didn't I go insane?  Maybe I DID go insane . . . a little . . . LOL . . . what "normal" person would spend hours on end recreating disgusting graphic images of horrible memories. 

But at the moment, it seems to be helping me "get it out," so bear with me and I apologize for the content of the "art."  One of these days I'll have to do something a little more "nice" for a change.