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.
Thursday, June 28, 2012
Tour The Prison: Intake
If you're alive, you have breath and a heartbeat. If that breath has ever been taken away or that heart has ever stopped, even for a moment, you have a testimony. Our lives are filled with moments of pain or decisions that clear us of everything we always believed we were and leave us with the shell of who we thought we were.
When I was nine years old I was living in Memphis, Tennessee and going to an all black school where I was the minority. Having never noticed the difference between people, I paid no mind and tried my best to make friends anyway. I had a girl in my class, Andrea, that had it out for me, and I'll never understand why. She and her friends would tease and torment me in class and I tried to ignore them. One day after school I was heading to the spot to meet my brother and other kids we walked home together with when the books and papers currently in my hands went flying in the air and landed scattered on the floor. As I hurriedly bent to scoop them up, Andrea and her friends were kicking at me and teasing me, and I took off running with them trailing close behind. I passed the spot where I was to meet everyone and I didn't stop running. Raleigh Egypt Elementary was very close to the high school and we had to pass the track to get home. Oftentimes on hot days, our parents would take us out there in the evening to play around. As I continued my escape my side started to hurt and I was nearing the track, so I slowed down, let my backpack fall and bent over to catch my breath.
I never saw them coming. I never knew that a fraction of a second of not being aware could change your life forever. The next thing I know my things are being taken from me and I'm slammed against a hot brick wall by two black male high school students. I was held there by my hair while they both raped me, with their girlfriends sitting on the bleachers casually flipping through magazines. I know what it's like to choke on your own vomit and scream out in pain and fear and not have anyone hear you because your voice is barely audible. It's been twenty-two years and I can still smell the fresh cut grass, feel the heat of the brick on my back and smell the sweat of their bodies so much so that it causes me to gag.
Once my mouth was uncovered, I begged them to let me go because my brother and friends would be by soon, and just when I thought my life was over and hell would be where I remained, a look of sincerity crossed one of their faces and he handed me my backpack. I ran. I ran like my life depended it, and I barely beat everyone home. I went straight to the bathroom, cried, tried to figure out what had just happened, and told my Mom that I had gotten in a fight. My friends backed that up because they saw Andrea and her friends chasing me.
We never walked to school alone again.
When I was nine years old I was living in Memphis, Tennessee and going to an all black school where I was the minority. Having never noticed the difference between people, I paid no mind and tried my best to make friends anyway. I had a girl in my class, Andrea, that had it out for me, and I'll never understand why. She and her friends would tease and torment me in class and I tried to ignore them. One day after school I was heading to the spot to meet my brother and other kids we walked home together with when the books and papers currently in my hands went flying in the air and landed scattered on the floor. As I hurriedly bent to scoop them up, Andrea and her friends were kicking at me and teasing me, and I took off running with them trailing close behind. I passed the spot where I was to meet everyone and I didn't stop running. Raleigh Egypt Elementary was very close to the high school and we had to pass the track to get home. Oftentimes on hot days, our parents would take us out there in the evening to play around. As I continued my escape my side started to hurt and I was nearing the track, so I slowed down, let my backpack fall and bent over to catch my breath.
I never saw them coming. I never knew that a fraction of a second of not being aware could change your life forever. The next thing I know my things are being taken from me and I'm slammed against a hot brick wall by two black male high school students. I was held there by my hair while they both raped me, with their girlfriends sitting on the bleachers casually flipping through magazines. I know what it's like to choke on your own vomit and scream out in pain and fear and not have anyone hear you because your voice is barely audible. It's been twenty-two years and I can still smell the fresh cut grass, feel the heat of the brick on my back and smell the sweat of their bodies so much so that it causes me to gag.
Once my mouth was uncovered, I begged them to let me go because my brother and friends would be by soon, and just when I thought my life was over and hell would be where I remained, a look of sincerity crossed one of their faces and he handed me my backpack. I ran. I ran like my life depended it, and I barely beat everyone home. I went straight to the bathroom, cried, tried to figure out what had just happened, and told my Mom that I had gotten in a fight. My friends backed that up because they saw Andrea and her friends chasing me.
We never walked to school alone again.
Tour The Prison
I have decided it is high time to start giving my testimony. Therefore, if you're reading this, you are looking directly into my soul. Some of it may shock you, some of it may make you angry, hurt or sad, but nevertheless, this is me, and this is my story. I am not looking for opinions, I am just looking to share all I have gone through over the past few decades of my life. My prayer is that it touches someone's heart, because I know I am here for a purpose.
Before I started recovery, I was writing in my journal one night and I traced my hands. Inside of them I wrote, "Someday these hands will touch the lives of many." And I pray that happens.
God Bless,
Chele
Before I started recovery, I was writing in my journal one night and I traced my hands. Inside of them I wrote, "Someday these hands will touch the lives of many." And I pray that happens.
God Bless,
Chele
Monday, March 5, 2012
How I Walk
Through my entire life, I have learned much about faith and it's friends, mercy, grace, forgiveness, etc. Recently, I have been asked several times how I can still stand after being down so many times, be it by my own mistakes causing me to stumble or by being pushed to the ground. No matter what, my answer is always the same........faith. By faith I shall prevail.
Faith gave me the strength and ability to rise and walk through a life of silence and hurt.
Faith gave me forgiveness and changed me into a new person. And one that is silent no more.
Faith gave me the strength to handle the obstacles that came my way with moving and leaving friends and family behind. The best part was, I probably wouldn't be as close to any of them today if it wasn't for that.
Faith gave me the strength to set my own selfish needs aside and remember that God and my girls are number one and that the rest of my life is a long time.
Faith gave me mercy when I didn't think I could make it when the doctor said, "I'm sorry, but there is no more baby."
Faith gave me the strength, grace, mercy and forgiveness when I hurt my good friend to what seemed beyond repair. When I had to take lessons in humility and learn alot about myself. When I had to find new ground to stand on and find a new friendship, which I think could be better than before.......faith was there.
Faith gives me strength to stand against those who oppose me and seem it fitting to 'hit me with their best shot'.
Faith gives me forgiveness when I say or think something that is hurtful and rude to someone else because my flesh rises up in me.
Faith gives me strength, mercy and grace when my phone rings and a girl is on the other end who thinks she can't make it another day and all she needs is someone to listen.
Faith gives me strength on those days when I feel I've failed Him, on the days I get tired of staring at my white walls and I'm not counting my blessings, during the times I feel I've been failed and when I think that nothing seems to be going my way.
Faith reminds me of the strength, mercy, grace, forgiveness, love, wisdom, integrity, dignity and other attributes that my God has bestowed upon me because I am His daughter. I may not always see it and people may not always agree with it, but God does, and I am His and He is mine. There are so many things I have not understood, and yet, through it all, God has always been faithful! Just like Mama Erin has told me for years now......."Keep your head held high and walk in the grace and dignity God gave you. If you do, when you walk through the fire, you won't be burned, and in the end, the truth will always set you free."
And so I shall continue to walk......
Faith gave me the strength and ability to rise and walk through a life of silence and hurt.
Faith gave me forgiveness and changed me into a new person. And one that is silent no more.
Faith gave me the strength to handle the obstacles that came my way with moving and leaving friends and family behind. The best part was, I probably wouldn't be as close to any of them today if it wasn't for that.
Faith gave me the strength to set my own selfish needs aside and remember that God and my girls are number one and that the rest of my life is a long time.
Faith gave me mercy when I didn't think I could make it when the doctor said, "I'm sorry, but there is no more baby."
Faith gave me the strength, grace, mercy and forgiveness when I hurt my good friend to what seemed beyond repair. When I had to take lessons in humility and learn alot about myself. When I had to find new ground to stand on and find a new friendship, which I think could be better than before.......faith was there.
Faith gives me strength to stand against those who oppose me and seem it fitting to 'hit me with their best shot'.
Faith gives me forgiveness when I say or think something that is hurtful and rude to someone else because my flesh rises up in me.
Faith gives me strength, mercy and grace when my phone rings and a girl is on the other end who thinks she can't make it another day and all she needs is someone to listen.
Faith gives me strength on those days when I feel I've failed Him, on the days I get tired of staring at my white walls and I'm not counting my blessings, during the times I feel I've been failed and when I think that nothing seems to be going my way.
Faith reminds me of the strength, mercy, grace, forgiveness, love, wisdom, integrity, dignity and other attributes that my God has bestowed upon me because I am His daughter. I may not always see it and people may not always agree with it, but God does, and I am His and He is mine. There are so many things I have not understood, and yet, through it all, God has always been faithful! Just like Mama Erin has told me for years now......."Keep your head held high and walk in the grace and dignity God gave you. If you do, when you walk through the fire, you won't be burned, and in the end, the truth will always set you free."
And so I shall continue to walk......
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