The past is a foreign country; they do things differently there. -- Lesley Poles Hartley
I suppose today I should be writing about laziness. Considering, I got dressed in comfy clothes, put on a hat and when I couldn't find my Mp3 player -- found a good enough excuse to not exercise. Though I guess it was more to be a thinking time. A quiet walk with God and me. So I suppose the walk will be taken here, in words.
Today is a special day that I forgot all about, which in a way makes it even more special. Today I celebrating the redemption of my past. A past that is continually redeemed, a heart that to this day continues to be healed in different ways. Six years ago, I let go of destruction and began to walk toward healthiness. Six years ago, I cut myself for the last time in a scary, dark, dangerous and lonely place.
Anniversaries. When I celebrated my first year of Freedom, I had a big barbecue with counselors that had helped me along the way in recovery programs, friends and family. We read things, we ate, there was beautiful music, hugs, flowers, balloons and thanksgiving. I would continue to celebrate life each year and the blessings and healing I was walking in -- sometimes in small ways sometimes in bigger ones.
Lunches and dinners with people special to my journey, days of adventures with new friends who met me as whole and later learned about the girl once in pieces, a trip to Martha's Vineyard (a dream realized), time to write, and lots of love. This weekend I spent three great days with a special person that has been a blessing to my life, as well as healing in my life. I was reminded of my beauty. I was thankful for all the lessons and time that I waited for someone who was right for me. Yesterday, I was preparing to get ready to have a barbecue with my family and I asked my mom what the date for the following day was. My mom that loves me so much, never gives up and supports me in great ways said, Don't you know what tomorrow is?
I'd forgotten. And maybe that is what year six is about, celebrating the forgotten - ness. How beautiful that is it that I don't think of my past enough, that I cannot touch that girl that I once was close enough to dwell? Today it has been six years since I cut myself. And as I write this with tears welling up in my eyes, with an overwhelming since of the truth of what being an overcomer means -- I am so thankful. Thankful for the surprises I received yesterday, thankful for the amazing lunch of celebration with my mom, sister and niece today. I phone call from my Dad to tell me how proud he was of me. Thankful that what was once so secret and painful for not just me but my entire family, can now be brought to light, this life is celebrated because of change, because of the absence of fear, because a new person exists.
Yes, forgetting the past and resting in the hope and victory of this new creation. Year six will be about forgetfulness. And so much love.
This is the piece I wrote for my first anniversary. Thank you for all who have taken this journey with me. We've come a long way. I've come a long way. And if you're struggling with pain please know, it doesn't last forever -- there is beauty in the struggle and there is victory from the battle. Hang on tight, He loves you so.
*****
There are several times in my life when I have been scared of the bathroom. When I was little I talked to an imaginary friend so that I didn’t have to be by myself. When I was in middle school I fainted and hit the tub. I was fearful to go in alone again, sickness, and no one being able to get to me. When I was in high school the fear came from scary movies and the “just knowing” that someone was on the other side of the shower curtain about to get me. But the danger became reality when the bathroom became a place for me to hide.
I’ve turned the lock in many a bathroom to cut, to purge, to cry . . .TO HIDE.
The first crying in a ball on the rug of a floor in a bathroom that belonged to a boy who never really knew what it meant.
June 1st, 2004 I cut myself for the last time in a bathroom that was situated in the most dangerous place of all and I learned what it is to feel criminalized, ashamed, degraded, to be seen as someone that I never wanted to be.
But there is a bathroom that stands out more than all the rest because it was the only scary, dark, cold, isolated place in a building I had learned to find comfort in. Four walls stood the stall, ick green and formed my sanctuary, every summer and Tuesday nights. The bathroom, a place that I had found was safe enough from those who would stop me from hurting myself. They could search me out but there was falsity in the lock and weird hope in the weak lies.
That bathroom is right behind these doors. Inside this building. A building that when I knew it was nothing like it is now, accept maybe on the outside. So when I visited the Birmingham Baptist Association to meet with the kind woman who would not only lend me the use of this patio, but offered to give me the tour of the building that used to be my safe place. Curiousity and sentiment, memories and wonder led me to follow her through the newly routed hallways, confusing entrances, and through the introductions of people who were trespassing in a place for seeking souls, healing words, and compassionate and loving people. Butterflies do not even begin to cover the emotions welling up inside of me as we trailed on carpet of the wrong color. The doorframes that still remained in the “right” places from the end of long narrow halls lied of their occupants for everything was different -- everything that is except the bathroom.
I finished the walk with the lady who respected me because of my spiritual background maybe, my manners, the place that I now work -- because she had a good heart. And when I turned to leave and had ended the compliments on the rework of a place that had been a falling-apart masterpiece. She was proud of what had become of a building that was never special because of its architecture or decoration but because of the people who were in it and the raw honesty they shared and hard work they were seeking to accomplish. I asked very politely to go to the restroom. Politely because you need to be nice to strangers especially when they’re sharing their building and restroom because my granny taught me it was always the best word choice where my manners were concerned.
She ushered me through the doorway that wouldn’t have been there without the wall that didn’t belong and then realized that having been here before I must’ve known where it was. I thought to myself, you will never know how well. You see I didn’t know if it was psychologically healthy for me to do this nor was I going to use it for its purpose, but I journied into a dark place to face a demon. The stalls were still somewhat rickety though steele now, everything in its proper place a touch or two added here and there. And I stepped with a purpose toward the only door that held a working lock, at least before, and suddenly I was behind it again. I leaned up against the coolness of the stall’s wall and looked at the bumpy painted-over cement tiled one across from me. Something bubbled up my throat. And on another day that had since past, I would have sank a little further down and sobbed. Worked a thumb tack from a sign hanging above the toilet and ravaged my hip, wrist -- free skin. I took a deep breath and breathed out a prayer of thanksgiving. Thank you for my life. Thank you Father for freeing me from the snare of the lion. Thank you for listening and reaching toward me when I cried-out to You. I am able to stand in this place and have authority over the enemy because he is defeated in You, in a place where your child had a hand in her own defeat as the whispers dangled close.
I wondered how one tiny square could hold so much power, emotion. As soon as the lock clicked I was pulled into a scene from two or three years ago, I could see myself there and I knew what was happening. I could here the calls and anger of others. I could feel the rush of not being able to do enough damage before getting caught.
Before I left I took deep breaths, ran my fingers on the smooth and rough of the walls and I immersed myself in being there as I said to my God, “Thank you that I never have to hide here again because now I am hidden in You.” There is no safer place.
I exited the place that stood for a past that will not be repeated and I stared at the door, turning slowly I went to wash my hands, and I let the water run as I stared at my reflection in the mirror. I remembered seeing my face there many times eyes red and puffy swollen from tears, face fuller because of weight gained from medication, face skinnier from weight dropped in the hospital, pale, pasty-faced with red cuts above a right eye, eyes devoid and bugged or even sunken back from chemicals my body never agreed with, an occasional smile, sometimes a small word of encouragement but mostly a different hair color.
On that sunny day though I saw health, love, glowing, happiness, excitement, gratefulness and humble vulnerability. I dried my hands a took one final glance, blowing a kiss toward the mirror as I walked away. When I reached for the handle that would lead out of the land I had lived in for so long once again an old picture flashed behind blue eyes, and as I walked forward I turned off their light. Habit. For the sign asking to take away the light as you exited was no longer there and a laughed lightly as I turned and stared at the shut door. NO MORE. I went toe-to-toe with a demon of the deadly kind and I won the prize, my life . . .my life . . .my life. Glory to God I can now live it. Without fear.
On May 25th, 2004 at a funeral God brought someone special in my life and through a conversation His hand had been in way before that night, I told her I didn’t want to live like I was anymore. A few weeks later, I wrote in my journal, “there will be no more cutting.” Today I celebrate the passing from one life to another becasue there was no more. 365 days of no more cutting. Thank you for sharing this anniversary with me because as it belongs victoriously to God foremost it also belongs to me and in-turn to all of you.
2 comments:
This would be a great beginning to your book. Love you and miss you special one.
Thank you. And thank you for continuing to nudge me about my book. Much love, Breakfast Lady!
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