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Death by a Thousand Cuts
Life is full of ups and downs, joys and heartache, and lots of moments in between. I feel as though I am all out of energy for the heartache and disappointments. I have fought hard because I love my family, and I always wanted to be there for the tough times in their lives. My kids are grown, and I am not as needed anymore. I am happy for them. My husband has his friends and has little interest in spending time with a broken and tired person. It’s hard to live alone, but I think that it is harder to live with a spouse who ignores you. I don’t exist.
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The Tipping Point
Life for me isn’t about accumulating things or checking off boxes. It is about my family, relationships with my children, and what purpose I serve in the grand scheme of things. There is a balance between tolerance of pain from my childhood and the purpose I have to be here. The love for my family is very great; however, the painful past often weighs too much and saps my will to continue; making me useless to others. Am I really necessary to anyone, or do I just wish to be?
Life isn’t easy for anyone, and I have fought hard against many challenges. Figuring out how to handle the difficulties has left me wiser; however, I have little strength to bear more injuries to my self-worth. It doesn’t take much to tip the scale, and my purpose seems nonexistent.
I know that my family loves me, but I don’t feel at all necessary. At most, I feel like someone who is nice to have around at times. My purpose is more sentimental than a necessity. My heart hurts and longs to be wanted. I pray for answers and strength to be there if I am mistaken.
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Perception
Everything that exists does so without consideration of our belief. Whether we believe something exists or not has no bearing on whether something exists. The Grand Canyon is real and is a sight to behold; however, I have never seen it in person. I have seen pictures and listened to descriptions from others who have witnessed it in person. The pictures and witnesses who describe what they saw are reliable enough to believe that it exists, and I believe that it’s true. Many, many witnesses could not all be wrong. Would something that occurred be less true if it had no witnesses?
The process of dealing with painful memories can circle around in your mind to the point where you question their validity. How could I question what clearly happened, and that which caused so much pain? How can you find peace among thorns coming from every direction? Why would others see these events as anything but horrific? Perception is best understood by the person who experienced the event. Never judge others for what they are surviving because everyone is surviving in spite of some hurdle.
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More Than Feelings
Is pain a reaction to an injury, or merely a form of communication? A warning sign that damage will occur if the cause isn’t removed? How do some people tolerate great levels of pain, whereas others have no tolerance? “What’s it going to take” to manage your pain?
I think pain begins with discomfort and increases until it no longer feels reasonable, which is a personal preference. Some people would prefer to feel some pain rather than to feel nothing. There is something driving the need for feeling even though the feeling hurts. For me, I would like to be free from pain, but at the same time, I don’t feel like I can let it all go.
My emotional pain stems from past abuse at a time when that is all I can remember feeling and what I felt I deserved. Common sense tells me that it isn’t something that I deserve or have ever deserved; however, my subconscious thoughts won’t allow me to feel otherwise. At one time, it was for self-preservation. If I accepted “responsibility” and apologized right away, there were fewer consequences for whatever my mother perceived wrong. I am sure that is why I constantly apologize for everything. Some people have a “swear jar,” but at one job, I had an “I’m sorry” jar. My constant apologizing was annoying to my coworkers. It’s ingrained in my unconscious actions, and I have to work hard to stop myself from saying it, but it doesn’t stop my inner self from feeling it.
If it stopped there, maybe it would not be such a bad thing; but it is a contagious condition that others catch. Our children are sponges who soak up our actions. We need to be mindful of who our actions might affect. It isn’t right for them to feel shame that has previously existed only in our unconscious mind. I pray that my kids (now adults) are able to see the truth because my own mind isn’t prone to change. I prefer to avoid conflict even with myself.
I have learned that I need to challenge faulty thoughts and examine their origin; but it doesn’t stop there. It’s a comfortable thought to “put on.” I slide into this undeserved shame like my favorite slippers. I don’t have to question the validity or give a response that feels unnatural. It’s easier to believe the bad stuff than some positive affirmation. If only I could change my thinking as easily as I change my clothes.
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The Hiding Place
Hyperawareness feels overwhelming. When I am overly sensitive to things in my environment, fight or flight grows inside, and I start looking for an escape. I am searching for a place of safety, but how do you escape from things that live in memories inside of your mind?
I want to curl up and hide from hurts, and I have an increasing sense of fear. I am sinking into depths where no one else can see. I need to slow the merry-go-round down to a manageable pace. I want to go into the forest where I can lose my mind, but find my soul; if only in my imagination.
The woods have always made me feel safe and at peace. The air is clean, and the sounds are comforting. I don’t usually see other people there, and I can feel the majesty of God’s power and promises all around. Everything works in symbiotic precision as if left to its own ways, it would continue to exist indefinitely. The only way it would lose this harmony is but for the intrusion of man.
The fallen nature of man spoils the purity of life. What was once bright and exciting is now dark and full of dread. I am weak in body, mind, and spirit. I wish that I could sleep and wake with new vigor and purpose, but the grip of weakness and frailty will not let me go.
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The Sound of Silence
The world is whizzing past me as if I am frozen in time. Everything feels distant and muffled; out of reach, yet intrusive in my thoughts. My mind is wandering, and then I am distracted by something; and I am not really capable of holding a conversation in either space. I am caught between feeling the world that is full of angst and a distant space. It seems as though I could become invisible if I sat very still.
Some sounds feel exaggerated. The sound of my dog snoring as she sleeps beside me seems oddly comforting, yet the sound of me walking in sock feet can raise my anxiety. Ear plugs help, but the sound of my steps travel up my body like a wave of sound resonates in a tuning fork. The sound the steps make seem to intensify as they creep up my body.
Deafening silence can be described as an awkward time when someone doesn’t speak and their silence cuts deeper than any words could. In my case, the silence is broken by sounds that send fear, gripping the muscles in my throat and making my heart pound. My heart pounding coincides with raised blood pressure, and my ears begin to hear a distant ringing that drowns out other sound.
Silence can be a lack of sound; however, it can also be the absence of perception. The more withdrawn I feel, the less I am able to perceive my surroundings. I pray that Jesus returns soon because the scarier this world becomes, the more difficult it becomes to bear it.
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Mirror Image
I believe that most people look at a mirror and see both good features and features that they would change if they could. I look in the mirror and see a different person. I see the person who used to abuse me. I can see a few details that are different; however, I cringe and often feel ill when I see my reflection or heaven forbid a picture of me.
Many people say that my daughter looks just like me, but I only see her beauty. I see a microscopic resemblance of me in her, but I see nothing of my tormentor in her image or soul. In a discussion once, my daughter told me that many people tell her that we look alike, and I told her that I didn’t see it. I said that I looked terrible, but she was beautiful, so how could that be? She said that it was because I liked her. I took that to mean that she thought that the difference was that I didn’t like me. While I know that holds truth, if we both stood in front of the mirror, there is no contest. My image brings me pain, and upon viewing it, I need to overt my gaze quickly to end the suffering.
While I would not say this is a healthy mindset, I don’t see that I need to make it a focus of recovery. I actually believe that if it were possible to change my opinion, it would only change if my heart was healed, and I don’t see that happening in my lifetime. I am broken in mind, body, and spirit. I am grateful for God’s gift of my life, but it seems like I am patching a hole in a dike that springs a new leak every minute.
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I Tried
I try not to judge anyone, but I do place people that I encounter in an internal unspoken category. I don’t intend to be unkind or to look down on anyone. I have a poor opinion of myself that would predominantly have me looking up at others, if that was something that I did.
Everyone wants to be loved, valued, and to be a part of a family that accepts them flaws and all. Most sane people don’t want to be feared or disliked. What category would I choose for myself? I think that it evolves daily depending on the day.
An overall description for me would be that I tried. I tried to pull my own weight without depending upon others to bail me out of the hard times. I tried to be a good mother and wife, but I often failed at both. I tried to help others with the gifts and resources that God blessed and entrusted me with. I tried to be compassionate with everyone because I know that struggles in our lives can affect who we are on the inside and on the outside. I tried to love others unconditionally; however, sometimes it is harder to love someone who pushes you away. I tried to be a good person who would be eligible to be held in good esteem. I, of course, am flawed and often fail miserably in one or more of these areas.
In the grand scheme of things, I am not essential to others. If I disappeared, there are some details that I take care of, but I am under no illusion that I am irreplaceable. I think that my adult kids and a few others might miss me, but I serve no real purpose. It doesn’t seem to matter or affect the daily lives of others if I am not there. I don’t know of many who would be affected by my presence or my absence. Is it enough to want to have a purpose? Is it okay to just hide in the shadows to observe life from a silent vantage point? My innermost self is so tired of trying to be useful and not someone with a token existence. Please, Lord, give me a purpose, and equip me for that purpose, or please take me home. I am weak from great pain and a broken heart. I know that you will never reject me. 🙏
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When September Ends
This time of year, as the temperature cools and the days grow shorter, it feels as though the world has a palatable slowness in the air. The summer sounds give way to crickets and cicadas as the trees and gardens slowly change into their late summer attire. Their season is coming to an end.
Fall is my favorite time of year. I love the cool, crisp air, brightly colored leaves blanketing the ground, and all that accompanies the cooler weather. It’s a celebration of all things cozy. Being outside, especially in the woods, has always been my safe place. Over the last few years, with my physical limitations, I can only take a few steps before I feel my legs refusing to go further. My favorite quote by John Muir is, “Into the forest I go, to lose my mind, and find my soul.” But I can no longer go into the forest, to that sanctuary; my place to feel safe. I am losing my mind, and I can not find my soul, or at least my place of safety.
Loss and disappointment are a part of life. I can accept most things and move on. God has been good, and I am grateful for His blessings. But this is different because it is more than loss or disappointment. I no longer feel that I have a genuine purpose. I feel like something you pull out on a special occasion. I am a greater burden than a participant in life. It feels like my season has changed.
I used to listen to my son play his guitar in the next room, and I would fall asleep to him playing. He often played the song “When September Ends” by Green Day. He didn’t sing along, but the melody was something that grabbed my attention every time. In the past, September ending was a time when fall was swinging into its full glory. Now, each year, I feel like everything is slowing down. It feels like my season is ending, or maybe I should just let go and shrink into the tapestry.
I am tired, I don’t feel safe, and pain is not a friend. To quote a piece of the song, “Summer has come and passed. The innocent can never last. Wake me up when September ends.”
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Can’t Let Go
Anxiety and nausea are building up inside, and I have to remember to take breaths. I am hurting both physically and emotionally, each feeding the other; however, the emotional pain definitely appeared first. I want so badly to stop hurting, but it is tied to something deeper. I have learned that my father was aware of the abuse from my mother and chose to pretend that it didn’t happen. How can you hurt a child or turn away when you know that it is happening?
I have tried many times to rationalize the why. I don’t expect to ever know the answer because I could never hurt anyone on purpose, let alone see them hurting and not try to help them. I have thought back to the times when I had misbehaved and wondered if that could have justified my mother’s abuse or my father looking the other way, but this began when I was very small. Was I deserving? If my own parents didn’t believe that their little girl was worthy of love and affection, how could I ever want those for my life now? If they didn’t care, why should anyone else? I believe that is at the center of my hurt, and I don’t want to let it go. I don’t want to look in a mirror. I don’t want to be here. I want to curl up in my closet and cease to exist. I don’t see a purpose. Sleep, please come hide me from myself.
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What's Inside Will Leak Out 