My voice

(This is a long one - we'll see how much this program can hold - if you have a lack of time, please don't start reading - this needs to be read in it's entirety to be understood...)

When I was very young, I used to go out to the swingset and scream. Top of my lungs, all out, loud as I could, bloody murder screams... regularly. It confused my family. Scared my mom. Made my friend laugh at me. But it felt good. I have few memories of when I was that young. I'm guessing that's mercy, considering where I came from. But I just don't know. But I remember sitting there on the swings screaming and how good it felt.

Funny, when I got older and really needed it big time, when I know I had things to scream over, I couldn't. By then, my dad was drunk A LOT and angry all the time. The unwritten rule, strictly enforced, was to never let anyone know our family wasn't perfect. EVER. The pressure was intense.

Years we lived that way - getting worse all the time but never showing it. I was miserable. And very alone. But it never mattered. We looked good.

After the rape, I was so overwhelmed I couldn't see straight. Moving and functioning but like a zombie - just going thru the motions...trying to appear perfect but broken and empty inside - just a shell.

Not too much later, my father came to me (this I remember vividly) and told me that all of the problems in his life were because of me. The way he saw it (he was so composed and reasonable when he said this - like it was a normal conversation to have), I needed to be gone and his life would be better. If I didn't leave, I really only left him two choices, he said. He could divorce my mother or kill himself. I was stunned. But he was my dad, so I believed him.

I tried to leave. I had nowhere to go and no money to go there. Praise God that I didn't because my reasoning at the time (I was into acting - a good way to escape - I was great at being someone else) was that I should go to New York City and live there doing whatever I needed to until I could make it on Broadway and be a big star. Fat chance. I wouldn't have lasted long on the streets of NYC - a child alone and looking for attention...

So when leaving that way didn't work, I reasoned that my only other choice was my own suicide. No one loved me at home and I was already an outcast at school (Jr High social structure stinks when you enter wounded and dysfunctional to begin with) - so there was no hope for a good life anyway - why continue? Just get out of my dad's way and all would be better for everyone.

I planned it carefully. Picked out which knife I'd use. Figured out the ideal time time to use it. How many stabs it would take to do myself in... all the details... made it to the very day I had chosen. When I got home from school, no one else would be around and it would all be over.

Inside I was screaming for help, "Somebody care! I don't want to go this way! Help!" But by then, I couldn't scream with my voice anymore. Too many years of fear. I'd been taught well enough not to bother anyone...everyone was more important than me - it was simply my job to try not to mess things up for everyone else. Scum has no rights or value and I knew it. So the only way I knew how to scream was weak little comments, quiet and out of the way, praying to be heard. The best I could do was, "Can I die now?" Bold as I could get, shaking in my shoes, I asked everyone - anyone that would listen. Everyone that I passed in the halls, even the popular kids that teased me relentlessly - even the teachers. The response? Unanimous. "Whatever" "Go ahead" "I don't care" "Sure"
I was walking in a fog. Amazed but not surprised. Miserable.

Someone must have heard because I did end up being called to the guidance office and asked about it. Scared and relieved, I lied and told them I wasn't suicidal. (After all, what kind of trouble would I be in for bothering the world like THAT?!) To this day, neither the guidance counselor nor the person who told have any idea that they saved my life. I personally believe that it was God Himself who stepped in on my behalf.

I realized today that I've been angry about that day ever since. Not that God spared my life. I'm grateful for that...

Angry at the world around me at the time for not caring. For not hearing. For not understanding. I was screaming with all the being I had left for a reason to live and all I got was, "Sure. Go ahead. Kill yourself. We don't care!" I felt so worthless. So empty. So alone. HOW COULD THEY NOT CARE???!!! THIS WAS LIFE AND DEATH!!!!!

But I realize now that they were simply wrapped up in their own worlds. How could they know what was happening in mine? From their perspective, I was simply having a bad day. Because of the image of perfection that I was required to display, nobody knew about what life was like in my house... in my room... in my heart... How could they?

I've also been mad at me. For turning my world upside down for my father when he chose to be so evil. For wrapping my world around trying to get him to love me. For loving him anyway so deeply, so strongly, so obsessively. For being willing to literally kill myself at his whim. Wipe myself off the planet because my life was inconvenient to him.

But here's the deal. He was my FATHER. I needed him. I was only acting out of that need. It isn't wrong to need love from your parents! Even in the midst of the torture that was my life, I still only sought that which most people consider to be a basic human need - to be valued and loved by my dad. To be pleasing. That's it. That is NOT unreasonable.

So how does the story end? I lived. I didn't go home and try to kill myself. Just marked it up as but another failure on my part, cried my eyes out and zombied some more... Praise God for His mercy - one of my father's girlfriends saw how miserable I was and introduced me to Jesus. When I gave my life to Him, He gave me the hope I needed to hold on for 2 more years under my father until God helped us to escape for good and move across country to start a new life far away from my dad. My father ended up keeping his promise and divorcing my mother and then killing himself.
But that's another story...

That was 20 years ago last month. And I am JUST NOW REALIZING it's okay to get my voice back. To stop trying to be perfect. To let myself breathe. To wake up from the fog and come out of hiding and live again.

This blog is my first vocalization of that new beginning. Okay, so it's not actually out loud but it's a start. I have to start somewhere...

Holy God, my Heavenly new Father, thank You for Your love. Breathe Your life into me with it. Bring me back. Heal my heart. Help me to live again! Thank You so very much for being so patient and gentle - You have waited decades for this moment. I'm ready. Let's go. In Jesus name, let it be so.