Scars

I have a lot of scars on my body. The bigger ones are from surgeries I have had in the past to repair knees, stomach issues, give birth to children, and to remove further possibility of children. I never really think about those scars unless they are going to be exposed to strangers. I like to think my husband does not even seen them anymore, that I am his wife and my heart for him matters more.

The scars on my body that bother me the most are the ones I created. The cuts I have inflicted upon myself out of a myriad of emotions related to my abuse that were not healthy, true, or not dealt with in a productive, safe way. The cuts were usually made in hidden places, places I sometimes I even managed to hide from my husband by withholding sex so he would not see them. This was unfair to him and to myself, as the intimacy we so desperately need in marriage was being tainted and ignored. My husband has now seen them all, and while it bothers him significantly that the scars are there, I no longer have to hide them. The worst are the ones in places other people can see, created out of the same overwhelming emotions without the consideration of placement, mostly created out of a severe lack of control. Believe or not, some cutting is controlled, but that explanation is beyond my scope.

The scars most visible are on my arms. I had a good, plausible explanation the first time these appeared. The only ones who knew the truth were my husband, who had to clean them up; my therapist; and I suspect my group leader. I cannot tell you what was going on when they were made because I really cannot recall my state of mind at the time.

A month or so later, it happened again. I do not recall the emotional force behind it but it was a desire to see how much I would bleed. It was a constant cutting, trying to reach the vein in the crook of my arm. I was unsuccessful but was caught by my husband and required a trip to the ER. I made up a story about being impaled by scissors by a running dog. I begged my husband to stick with the story. He promised no such thing and said he would crack under the pressure of being asked directly, but would keep silent and let me do the talking. The doctor never seemed to question my story and debated on whether to “glue” it shut or use stitches. I asked for stitches, simply because if there was not something physical in the way, I was afraid another attempt would be made to get to that vein.

The last incident this summer (and hopefully the last ever), was a little over a month ago. I remember being in a state of emotional wreckage and blindly hacked at my arm and then traced the veins. It was a mess, but a controllable one. My husband made me go the ER, not because of the cuts but I had evidently taken a significant amount of my anxiety pills with vodka in order to “calm down.” I narrowly escaped being hospitalized. I was constantly asked if I was suicidal and the answer was a truthful “no.” I really was not, just really upset. They hesitantly released me into the care of my husband and insisted I call my therapist in the morning.

Whew, that was really hard to write. Because of the last incident, I wore long sleeves for a solid week to keep the cuts covered. I did not want to have to offer any type of explanation and I knew that lying was not going to be an option. It was just too obvious. Of course we hit the hottest days of the summer and I suffered through the heat to hide my secret.

All the scars on my arms haunt me. Some days they almost seem to glow out of anger. They appear redder, almost purple, and so obvious. Other days they are more subtle, light in color and barely visible unless looking closely. I am sure there is some biological reason for this, like the temperature in the room or whether I am hot or cold, but I was thinking today it might have something to do with the temperature of my heart. Some days I just need to be reminded in a more obvious way of how I lost control and how I need to make sure I look for the alternative, look to God.

Do you not know that your bodies are temples of the Holy Spirit, who is in you, whom you have received from God? You are not your own; you were bought at a price. Therefore honor God with your bodies. I Corinthians 6:19-20. The context of this verse is in reference to Paul speaking about sexual immorality among believers. To me, this verse speaks of everything I do that does not honor God with my body. Destroying it intentionally, bleeding in an effort to get out pain and emotion that I should try to turn over to him, may be even worse. Jesus paid the ultimate price for me to be whole in God’s eyes. Who am I to go against that and disfigure myself out of selfishness? Is the temptation to cut still there? Most definitely. I was recently advised to delay cutting by an hour, or even just 30 minutes, and find something else to do with that time, in the hopes that at the end of the allotted time the feeling will have passed and I would find a constructive way to handle the pain and emotion. It did work. I cannot say I turned it all over to God, but some of it did. I am looking forward to the day when this is no longer an issue for me, when the pain and emotion of abuse is not so overwhelming that I can hardly breathe. If I keep trying, surround myself with people who will encourage me to stay safe and seek God, I know I can get there.

May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace as you trust in him, so that you may overflow with hope by the power of the Holy Spirit. Romans 15:13.

Seeing the Light

Isaiah 9:2-”The people walking in darkness have seen a great light; on those living in the land of the shadow of death a light has dawned.”

The title of the chapter reads “TO US A CHILD IS BORN.” Even though the subject is the birth of Christ and all he will do for the nation of Israel, but I believe this is valuable to anyone who has seen such darkness that it seems light will never get through. It gives a sense of hope, a hope that so many abuse survivors never see or feels impossible to comprehend.

I was really young when the abuse started. My sense of safety and value was ripped away at the age of 3. It was not just abuse that did this. My whole family was in turmoil and I believe I was just lost in all of it. Nothing was certain and changes happened way too fast for me to even process. I grew to accept that I was never good enough, easily torn down by the words and actions of others even after the abuse stopped.

My parents married because my mother was pregnant with me. She was 16 and my father 19. He joined the Navy 7 months later and was gone for months at a time. When I was 2 we moved from South Carolina to San Diego to stay with my dad for the 2 months he was there and then we returned to South Carolina. When I was 3 we moved to San Diego permanently to live with my dad. My brother was born shortly afterward. My abuse started at 3 with one of my dad’s navy buddies that lived in the apartment with us.. My parents separated when I was 4 and were divorced by the time I was 5. My abuser was evidently having an affair with my mother. Before I turned 6 my mother was remarried and I now had a stepfather, stepsister, and a whole other step-family that tolerated my existence because I came with the “package.”

For years, actually up until this summer, I was under the delusion that the abuse was the only thing that negatively impacted my life. I never connected the family turmoil and upheaval with the abuse. It never occurred to me that no one saw what was happening because they were too wrapped up in their own lives to realize mine was being shattered. The concept that my mother was having an affair with my abuser is something I have not been able to get my head around from any angle. I honestly believe that if she knew, it would not have continued, both the affair and abuse. The most violent attack by this abuser happened when I was 5. Was it out of revenge because the relationship with my mother was about to end. I will never really know this and I have to find a way to live without that knowledge. The details of why will not change anything and will not be justified anyway.

This realization of an unstable family and abuse devastated me. I felt the little girl inside just being ripped apart by all the confusing, painful actions of the adults that were supposed to love and protect her. I felt her sense of loss and how devalued she felt. I remembered all the fights between my parents where the police were called. My brother and I shared a room in that last apartment and I remember my father standing in front of his crib, blocking my mother, saying “I get Adam.” Nothing I had been through was as emotionally crushing as that statement. I did not even matter to my father. He wanted my brother.

Looking at it from an adult perspective, I know my father loved me and that statement occurred in the heated battle of divorcing parents. That child is still hurt and feels abandoned. Those years, from 2 to 6, were probably to worst of my life. Other traumatic events happened in my life of course, but nothing like within those 4 years. Those 4 years marked me and are the darkest. I survived that and it has taken me this long to see the light.

To this day I struggle with the relationship with my earthly father. It was, and still is, hard for me to imagine a heavenly father with unconditional love and acceptance when my earth examples always seem to be conditional, based on my actions. I have to be lovable for them. Learning that God loves me for who I am and unconditionally is stirring a joy in me that I had no idea existed. I tell my own children I love them every day and at least once a week tell them that there is nothing in this world they could do to ever make me stop loving them. Why do I not let myself hear and feel the same from my heavenly Father. God values me, sees me as a prize child, and loves me. He rejoices when I come to Him with praise and sorrow. He comforts me and lets me know he holds me in his hands and heart.

1 John 3:1 See how much our Father loves us, for He calls us his children, and that is what we are!

Jeremiah 31:3 Long ago the Lord said to Israel: “I have loved you, my people, with an everlasting love. With unfailing love, I have drawn myself to you.”

My focus needs to be on this Father, to let that little girl sit on His lap, wrap His protective arms around her, and let her know how much she is loved and valued. He created her and is her true father. She and I have walked through the dark shadows and are ever so ready to feel and see the light of God.