Reflection: Moving to Oklahoma was a dreaded moment in my life. I was in the middle of high school and I wanted to graduate with my friends. But one thing I can say about that move was that it definitely saved my life. It got me out of the prison I had been put in and caused me to realize there was more to this life and that I had been set free that day from those guys for a reason......to live.
Oklahoma is flat. If you live here, I'm sure you've recognized this description of our landscape before. It is sparsely populated with trees that all lean one direction due to the heavy winds during tornado season. It is covered, and I mean COVERED, in red dirt that is impossible to get off of you, and it has a lot of cattle. A lot.
Once we moved to Mustang and started school, we were going to Mustang Assembly of God. I went from a youth group of 15 to 250. It was an overwhelming experience, but I learned so much. I quickly became so involved that I was there almost daily. I carried my Bible with me to school, clad in my WWJD? bracelet and my Crossfire sticker. I felt official. Once again I was building walls that were of things I thought would keep me safe, but they didn't. The church can help keep you safe if you allow God to be the Savior.
Reflection: I thought using my friends and my church as a fortress would help me get past all of my hurts. I still never said a word about what happened to me and I still thought it would go away. That if I could fill my heart, mind and time with something else, I would forget. The thing about evil is that it roots itself into your life and it isn't going to go away until you face it head-on.
I loved my youth group. When I was at church, I was free to be someone other than who I truly was. I immersed myself in every aspect of the church, using it as a shield. It became like my gang affiliation. A badge I wore on the outside of my walls that I felt would protect me.
Monday, July 16, 2012
Tour The Prison: My Parole Officer
I stabbed myself when I was sixteen years old, and I think it was enough to scare me and wake me up to know that I needed help. Having waited so long to admit that to myself, let alone to anyone else, I really didn't know where to start. As I've stated before, my father was in the Coast Guard, and we were scheduled to move from Ketchikan, Alaska to Oklahoma City, Oklahoma. Little did I know that the summer of 1997 would hold many changes for me. One of the very last things I did with my friends in Alaska, was to go to a retreat with my youth group.
Sitting amongst many other students and taking notes like the role of the good little church girl that I portrayed, I was only half listening to what the preacher said. However, when the room became silent, I took notice, looking up to see him standing near me, looking straight at me. I looked around to try to figure out what I had missed when he told me to tell him I was beautiful. I wanted to laugh, to mock him for such an outlandish statement, but I was stunned into silence. I barely peeped out an, "I can't." He gave me his command again, and I accompanied it with the same answer. I didn't really understand what this man wanted from me. I began to get upset and angry for him putting me in such an awkward position, but he kept giving his commands. I finally stood up and said, "I can't, so please stop!" He had me move into the aisle so he was directly in front of me, and said, "I was preaching when God laid upon my heart that I needed to speak to you and that He needs to hear this from you."
Reflection: Now, looking back, I honestly don't remember what my inward feelings about this were, but I imagine I was quite shocked. But what he was saying to me was having an effect, and for so long I had these walls up, and here they were beginning to crumble.
You could've heard a pin drop so quiet the room was as I said, "I can't tell you I'm beautiful because I'm not. I'm covered in sin and shame and not worthy." Tears coursed down his face as he said, "Oh, but you are. I can see the burdens that you bear. They are so heavy upon you that you don't even stand up straight. But they are not yours to carry, place them at His feet and allow Him to carry YOU."
Reflection: I'm sure for a normal person, a person that trusts and yet still is hurting, this would be a relief, yet this man was challenging all I had built. Everything I had made to keep myself safe and he was telling me to give it up, to hand my life over to the One that had truly kept me safe all of these years. I've never blamed God for anything in my life, but this was a challenge to me, and it made me angry.
"If you see the burdens that I have, then surely you see the hurt, the anger, the confusion, the pain, and then after that, surely you see the sin and shame. I cannot tell you that I am beautiful, because I'm not." I've never seen such mercy and grace in someone's eyes before. I may have been crying before, but I was nearly hysterical at that. As though it was literally Jesus standing before me waiting for my answer, I felt this amazing peace sweep over the room. The room still held several hundred silent students, but I paid them no mind. "I can't tell you that I'm beautiful, I just can't.", I stated as I fell to the floor. He met me at the floor and said, "Tell me that you're beautiful. God gave His only Son so that He could cover you in His blood, His mercy, His grace, and it can be yours."
I couldn't do it. I couldn't say those words because I didn't believe them. On a bad day, I still don't. I don't remember much beyond that point because I cried for hours. I do know that I never told him what he wanted to hear, however, he had unknowingly unlocked a part of me that aided in tearing walls down and allowing God in. God gave Him a word, he listened, and he handed me a key to unlock the pain in my heart. I am forever indebted to him and I have three words that he has been waiting years to hear from me. I may not be perfect or beautiful by society's standards, but I am God's masterpiece and I am beautiful.
Two weeks later, my family and I moved to Oklahoma, and God began to change my life drastically.
Sitting amongst many other students and taking notes like the role of the good little church girl that I portrayed, I was only half listening to what the preacher said. However, when the room became silent, I took notice, looking up to see him standing near me, looking straight at me. I looked around to try to figure out what I had missed when he told me to tell him I was beautiful. I wanted to laugh, to mock him for such an outlandish statement, but I was stunned into silence. I barely peeped out an, "I can't." He gave me his command again, and I accompanied it with the same answer. I didn't really understand what this man wanted from me. I began to get upset and angry for him putting me in such an awkward position, but he kept giving his commands. I finally stood up and said, "I can't, so please stop!" He had me move into the aisle so he was directly in front of me, and said, "I was preaching when God laid upon my heart that I needed to speak to you and that He needs to hear this from you."
Reflection: Now, looking back, I honestly don't remember what my inward feelings about this were, but I imagine I was quite shocked. But what he was saying to me was having an effect, and for so long I had these walls up, and here they were beginning to crumble.
You could've heard a pin drop so quiet the room was as I said, "I can't tell you I'm beautiful because I'm not. I'm covered in sin and shame and not worthy." Tears coursed down his face as he said, "Oh, but you are. I can see the burdens that you bear. They are so heavy upon you that you don't even stand up straight. But they are not yours to carry, place them at His feet and allow Him to carry YOU."
Reflection: I'm sure for a normal person, a person that trusts and yet still is hurting, this would be a relief, yet this man was challenging all I had built. Everything I had made to keep myself safe and he was telling me to give it up, to hand my life over to the One that had truly kept me safe all of these years. I've never blamed God for anything in my life, but this was a challenge to me, and it made me angry.
"If you see the burdens that I have, then surely you see the hurt, the anger, the confusion, the pain, and then after that, surely you see the sin and shame. I cannot tell you that I am beautiful, because I'm not." I've never seen such mercy and grace in someone's eyes before. I may have been crying before, but I was nearly hysterical at that. As though it was literally Jesus standing before me waiting for my answer, I felt this amazing peace sweep over the room. The room still held several hundred silent students, but I paid them no mind. "I can't tell you that I'm beautiful, I just can't.", I stated as I fell to the floor. He met me at the floor and said, "Tell me that you're beautiful. God gave His only Son so that He could cover you in His blood, His mercy, His grace, and it can be yours."
I couldn't do it. I couldn't say those words because I didn't believe them. On a bad day, I still don't. I don't remember much beyond that point because I cried for hours. I do know that I never told him what he wanted to hear, however, he had unknowingly unlocked a part of me that aided in tearing walls down and allowing God in. God gave Him a word, he listened, and he handed me a key to unlock the pain in my heart. I am forever indebted to him and I have three words that he has been waiting years to hear from me. I may not be perfect or beautiful by society's standards, but I am God's masterpiece and I am beautiful.
Two weeks later, my family and I moved to Oklahoma, and God began to change my life drastically.
Sunday, July 1, 2012
Tour The Prison: Sentenced to Life
If you would've asked me what depression meant, at the age of nine, I wouldn't have known. I did, however, feel depressed, I just didn't know it had a name. Sad, scared and lonely is how I spent the next several years of my life. I made friends and started to emerge from that cocoon of fear. I was all about attention. For someone that had been hurt in such a horrific way, you would think I wouldn't want a watchful eye on me, but I felt that if all eyes were on me, I was somehow more safe.
I fell into a dangerous web of self-abuse. I would inflict wounds upon myself to try to ease the inner pain. I cut myself on my inner thighs and under my arms. I stabbed myself with my earrings and hit myself with anything metal that would leave a mark. Sometimes it was the weights I had to lift, or the rubberbands that I did physical therapy with. My curling iron always left marks, and then I would wrap my arm up with some story about how I had hurt myself.
Reflection: I can look back and see God's hand in my life everywhere, because there are so many instances that most people would call coincidence and they are to numerous to count. I don't believe in chances, circumstances or coincidences. I believe in God, and that belief never left me, no matter what.
This abuse went on for a few years and then it got to the point that what I was doing wasn't enough. One night while my family was sleeping, I slipped downstairs and swallowed an entire bottle of pills. I never intended on taking my life, but I didn't look to see what the prescription was. I just needed to hurt myself more. I wanted to hurt like I had that day so many years before so that maybe I could take it all back; maybe it would just all go away. I'm very blessed that whatever I took was something that only caused me to vomit, and didn't cause any more harm.
At the time, my mother was a teacher and my father was still in the Coast Guard. My Mom had a meeting after school and left me instructions to put in a frozen pizza for my brother and myself. As I pulled it out of the oven, I grabbed a large knife instead of the pizza cutter and without another thought, I plunged it into my stomach. Now, mind you, my Mom was supposed to be at a meeting, but just as that knife broke my skin, I heard the crunching of gravel beneath tires. I looked up to see my Mom, whose meeting had been cancelled. I threw the knife in the sink and ran to the bathroom, cleaned it up, and it's my only reminder that I still have today of the hell I lived through.
I was trapped inside of myself; a prisoner with my own man-made walls, and I needed a reprieve.
I fell into a dangerous web of self-abuse. I would inflict wounds upon myself to try to ease the inner pain. I cut myself on my inner thighs and under my arms. I stabbed myself with my earrings and hit myself with anything metal that would leave a mark. Sometimes it was the weights I had to lift, or the rubberbands that I did physical therapy with. My curling iron always left marks, and then I would wrap my arm up with some story about how I had hurt myself.
Reflection: I can look back and see God's hand in my life everywhere, because there are so many instances that most people would call coincidence and they are to numerous to count. I don't believe in chances, circumstances or coincidences. I believe in God, and that belief never left me, no matter what.
This abuse went on for a few years and then it got to the point that what I was doing wasn't enough. One night while my family was sleeping, I slipped downstairs and swallowed an entire bottle of pills. I never intended on taking my life, but I didn't look to see what the prescription was. I just needed to hurt myself more. I wanted to hurt like I had that day so many years before so that maybe I could take it all back; maybe it would just all go away. I'm very blessed that whatever I took was something that only caused me to vomit, and didn't cause any more harm.
At the time, my mother was a teacher and my father was still in the Coast Guard. My Mom had a meeting after school and left me instructions to put in a frozen pizza for my brother and myself. As I pulled it out of the oven, I grabbed a large knife instead of the pizza cutter and without another thought, I plunged it into my stomach. Now, mind you, my Mom was supposed to be at a meeting, but just as that knife broke my skin, I heard the crunching of gravel beneath tires. I looked up to see my Mom, whose meeting had been cancelled. I threw the knife in the sink and ran to the bathroom, cleaned it up, and it's my only reminder that I still have today of the hell I lived through.
I was trapped inside of myself; a prisoner with my own man-made walls, and I needed a reprieve.
Tour The Prison: The First Night
Even at the age of nine, I had still seen plenty of Lifetime movies with my mother. You know, some cute guy sees a pretty girl, charms her, marries her, beats her, she leaves him and he kills her. They're all the same, just different pretty faces and names. I had also seen many rape victims stay victim all of their lives, and I refused for that to happen. I was scared and lonely, hurting and I didn't know what to do, so I did nothing. I didn't want to be "Poor little Michele, rape victim." for the rest of my life, so I stuck with the story my friends told, the one where I was chased by Andrea and her friends.
The probelm with one lie is that it spirals out of control and becomes multiple lies. I wasn't okay. I was scared, I was scarred, I was merely a shell of my former self. What was taken from me that day was some of the most valuable things a person can have. I didn't trust anyone, certainly not myself. I wasn't racist, I know abuse knows no gender, race, age, etc. I dreaded going anywhere, I always wanted to stay with a group.
I know what it's like to scrub your skin until it bleeds. I know what it's like to scream and not hear your own voice. I know what it's like to look in the mirror and see nothing. The worst feeling in the world is lying in your own bed wishing for your own death, because you know the pain of that would be much easier than the daily pain you walk with. What those guys stole from me that day was irreplaceable. What they did was horrid, unfair and a punishment I didn't deserve.
In the years after my rape I was like a caterpillar stuck in a caccoon. I would wake up drenched in sweat, barely able to breathe, feeling like I was pinned down, but knowing that I wasn't. I hate the smell of fresh cut grass, the smell of sweat still makes me gag, and the heat has caused me to panic on many occassions. The worst thing I ever did was stay silent about what happened to me. I needed help, I just didn't realize it at the time. In my child-like mind that originially trusted too much, I felt like I would be treated like an invalid, and I was so scared no one would believe me, that silence seemed like the best option.
Freedom costs, as does restriction. I wish I would've known at that moment how much restriction would cost me.
The probelm with one lie is that it spirals out of control and becomes multiple lies. I wasn't okay. I was scared, I was scarred, I was merely a shell of my former self. What was taken from me that day was some of the most valuable things a person can have. I didn't trust anyone, certainly not myself. I wasn't racist, I know abuse knows no gender, race, age, etc. I dreaded going anywhere, I always wanted to stay with a group.
I know what it's like to scrub your skin until it bleeds. I know what it's like to scream and not hear your own voice. I know what it's like to look in the mirror and see nothing. The worst feeling in the world is lying in your own bed wishing for your own death, because you know the pain of that would be much easier than the daily pain you walk with. What those guys stole from me that day was irreplaceable. What they did was horrid, unfair and a punishment I didn't deserve.
In the years after my rape I was like a caterpillar stuck in a caccoon. I would wake up drenched in sweat, barely able to breathe, feeling like I was pinned down, but knowing that I wasn't. I hate the smell of fresh cut grass, the smell of sweat still makes me gag, and the heat has caused me to panic on many occassions. The worst thing I ever did was stay silent about what happened to me. I needed help, I just didn't realize it at the time. In my child-like mind that originially trusted too much, I felt like I would be treated like an invalid, and I was so scared no one would believe me, that silence seemed like the best option.
Freedom costs, as does restriction. I wish I would've known at that moment how much restriction would cost me.
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