“You have no right to look with contempt upon yourself when God has taken such an interest in you.”

I am a survivor. I am a survivor of sexual abuse. But that is not all I am.

Some days I feeling like I’m failing, like I’m letting him violate all over again. It is hard to be happy and cheerful and confident while working through all this garbage. I want to move on. I want to be happy. I want to be content. But it is just so hard. I want to be able to forget again. I want to be able to wake up and think of something else. I want to stop focusing on everything that has been taken from me. I want to see the good in life instead of the bad. I want to be able to live life unafraid of what is lurking in the darkness.

 I feel violated. I feel defeated. I don’t want to do it anymore. I want to move on. Surely this cannot be all my life has to offer. I know this is not true. Yet, often times, this is how I feel. I wake up and look in the mirror and see a big sign stamped on my forehead, “Victim: Violated, Wounded, Defeated, Dirty, Disgusting, Ugly, Weak, Vulnerable, Failure”.

Needless to say, I have a bit of a self-esteem problem today. Days like today, I want to stay in bed. I want to avoid the world. I want to erase everything in my brain and just go blank. I want to forget. But, the devil won’t let me. He keeps creeping into my thoughts, making me doubt, making me focus on all the negatives in my life, making me forget who I really am: a dearly loved child of God. Peace.

“You have no right to look with contempt upon yourself when God has taken such an interest in you.”

Who am I to feel disgusting, ugly, weak, wounded, defeated, failing or vulnerable? When God looks at me, he doesn’t see that, he doesn’t see some disgusting lump of wasted life. He sees his dearly love child.

 “What, then, shall we say in response to this? If God is for us, who can be against us?  He who did not spare his own Son, but gave him up for us all—how will he not also, along with him, graciously give us all things? Who will bring any charge against those whom God has chosen? It is God who justifies. Who is he that condemns? Christ Jesus, who died—more than that, who was raised to life—is at the right hand of God and is also interceding for us.” Romans 8:31-34

Though on my own, because of sin, I AM defeated, wounded, violated, dirty, disgusting, ugly, weak, vulnerable, and a failure, because of JESUS I am victorious, strong, beautiful, pure, safe and loved.  

Selected verses from Lamentations 3:

7-26 ^“ He has walled me in so I cannot escape;
he has weighed me down with chains.
 Even when I call out or cry for help,
he shuts out my prayer.
 He has barred my way with blocks of stone;
he has made my paths crooked.

 Like a bear lying in wait,
like a lion in hiding,
 he dragged me from the path and mangled me
and left me without help.
He drew his bow
and made me the target for his arrows.

 He pierced my heart
with arrows from his quiver.
I became the laughingstock of all my people;
they mock me in song all day long.
He has filled me with bitter herbs
and sated me with gall.

 He has broken my teeth with gravel;
he has trampled me in the dust.
I have been deprived of peace;
I have forgotten what prosperity is.
So I say, “My splendor is gone
and all that I had hoped from the Lord.”

I remember my affliction and my wandering,
the bitterness and the gall.
I well remember them,
and my soul is downcast within me.
Yet this I call to mind
and therefore I have hope:

Because of the Lord’s great love we are not consumed,
for his compassions never fail.
They are new every morning;
great is your faithfulness.
I say to myself, “The Lord is my portion;
therefore I will wait for him.”

The Lord is good to those whose hope is in him,
to the one who seeks him;
it is good to wait quietly
for the salvation of the Lord.”

 

49-58 ^“ My eyes will flow unceasingly,
without relief,
until the Lord looks down
from heaven and sees.
What I see brings grief to my soul
because of all the women of my city.

Those who were my enemies without cause
hunted me like a bird.
They tried to end my life in a pit
and threw stones at me;
 the waters closed over my head,
and I thought I was about to be cut off.I called on your name, O Lord,
from the depths of the pit.
You heard my plea: “Do not close your ears
to my cry for relief.”
You came near when I called you,
and you said, “Do not fear.”

 O Lord, you took up my case;
you redeemed my life.”

Romans 8:37 “No, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us.”

Unagi

What is Unagi, you ask? Well, Ross Gellar tells it best. He developed his Unagi while studying karate`. (You should watch the episode, it is hysterical and cleverly titled, “The One with the Unagi.” But, for a quick background, and also so you get the tone of this post, view this youtube video of the Unagi episode...at least to 3:30 minutes. ) Anyway, to summarize Ross, “Unagi” is a sense of awareness about one’s environment. If you have Unagi, you can sense danger coming your way. I have a hefty dose of Unagi.

As I have mentioned before, in an almost paranoid fashion, I am constantly scanning my environment and assessing those around me for threats. It is involuntary, it is Unagi.

That feeling in the pit of your stomach that something is wrong? Unagi. That unease when you meet someone new and they creep you out a bit? Unagi. The three bears had Unagi. They knew someone had been in their home, in their chairs and beds, and eating their porridge. Ok, so they had more evidence than just their Unagi.

When I was living in Florida, my already hyperactive Unagi was in overdrive. Everyone creeped me out. I didn’t trust anyone. Then, while working at a restaurant, this huge guy would not leave me alone. When he wasn’t staring at me from his perch at the bar, he was following me around the restaurant. Then he came in repeatedly asking for me and trying to find out when I worked. Several times he refused to leave unless I talked to him…um, yeah, like that was going to happen. My Unagi really didn’t like him. Even more creepy was when he showed up with a girl who looked eerily similar to me…

Some months later, I had just gotten home from work around 930pm and was talking to my sister in her bedroom (she’s a teacher, they go to bed early). I heard a noise at the door. Knowing my Unagi was sensitive, I shook it off. Then it happened again. My sister asked if I heard it and if I locked the door…um, of course, who did she think she was talking to? Anyways, she went to sleep and I hopped in the shower. Shortly thereafter, I was watching TV when I heard a noise at the door like someone hand grabbed the doorknob and inserted a key. I ran to the door and punched it, denting the door. (Yay me!) But, when I peered through the peep hole, I saw nothing and no one. I thought I may have gone crazy. I grabbed a can of wasp spray and dared whoever it was to come back and try to mess with me…but nothing. My sister didn’t really believe me when I told her the next day. Aah, salmon skin roll. I can’t blame her; my Unagi is much more sensitive than hers. For the next several weeks, I slept with that can of wasp spray by my bed and a light by the door-The Light of Unagi to be exact. Weeks went by and nothing happened. Then, when my sister was visiting her now husband out of town, I returned home from a graduation party around 10pm. I was talking on the phone with my mom, when I walked in the door and got an instant spike in Unagi. Something wasn’t right, but I didn’t want to alarm my mom, so I blew it off. About 30 minutes later, I was on the phone with a friend in Michigan when I heard the sound again at the door. Recognizing it immediately, I told her that I thought someone was trying to get in. She was yelling at me to get something to hit him with, when I saw the lock turn open. I ran to the door, and a nearly unrecognizable voice from somewhere deep inside me yelled, “GET THE F*** AWAY FROM MY APARTMENT!!!” I hung up and dialed 911. The poor dispatcher had to stay on the phone with me in my panic until the police officers arrived. Who, by the way, knocked on the door without identifying themselves…uh, yea, like I’m going to open the door. They found no signs that anyone had been there but mentioned that the complex had a voyeur and had a rash of burglaries in recent months. Awesome. I called some friends to come pick me up so I didn’t have to stay alone there. The next morning they returned with me to make sure there were no recording devices in the apartment, which there were not. I had to fight the feeling that I was crazy, that my Unagi was too sensitive. I know what I saw, I didn’t hallucinate the lock opening like that. It was awful, I couldn’t sleep for months. In fact, I don’t think I slept even after we moved to a new second story apartment. I still left the lights on during the night and a TV on while I was gone to convince said threat that I was not alone. I also developed the usage of “The Rock of Unagi.” The Rock of Unagi was a little rock that I would put in front of the door in a very particular place, one that couldn’t be reached from inside the door. If that rock was moved, I knew someone had been or was at that moment inside. It gave me great comfort. There were no other incidents that I know of. I chalk up the lack of incident on both occasions to the efficacy of my Unagi.

My Unagi helped me again when I noticed a man following me around Walmart. He literally followed me everywhere in the store, through checkout and out into the parking lot. It was daytime, so I wasn’t too scared and my Unagi had prepared me for action. This girl has no flight in her, I fight. And, I was ready to fight should he attempt to touch me. He ended up following me to my car and commented on the appearance of my derriere. He was on the receiving end of a few terse words. Other than that exchange, it was a nonevent. Thanks to my Unagi, I was prepared for him and I’m sure the look on my face told him to F*** off. My Unagi had saved me again.

All joking aside, I do believe that those of us who have been violated in some way, whether it is sexual abuse, robbery, stalking, have an increase sense of awareness of our environment. We are on alert for threats, we don’t want to be violated again. Some days it drives me crazy, other days it is an invaluable tool. I like to think that am working on developing my Unagi to a point of maximum effectiveness without hyperactivity. I am aware of the environment around me, but I am less fearful than I once was. Progress. I also have the confidence that if someone were to mess with me, I’d most likely rip them to shreds. Which is a good feeling.

I love my Unagi. 

In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world.

I kill houseplants. I may be able to tend a garden, but I murder every plant I bring into the house. My major downfall: overwatering. It never fails. I think a plant is dry, so I water it. I come back 20 minutes later and there is water everywhere. It seeped down through the soil, the plant taking what it needs-and then some. Then, it pours out that little hole in the bottom of the pot and floods my windowsill. That hole only lets so much out; even it can’t keep up with my relentless urge to water the plant. Even worse, pots with no holes, then the soil gets oversaturated and moldy, suffocating the plant. Then, inevitably, I get frustrated and refuse to water this poor, mistreated bit of greenery, and it shrivels and dies. I can’t ever find a happy medium.

Apparently, this is how I deal with more than just houseplants.

Initially, when I stood up for myself at the young age of twelve, it was like the first watering of the little seedling in its new pot. I picked up a guitar and I was ready to swing. I stopped him with just a threat. Victory. My young brain then associated that type of defense as the only way to live. So, I kept that guitar at the ready in every aspect of my life. Even my family was on the receiving end of the threat, even if they didn’t realize it. Friends had it even worse. The slightest faltering in loyalty, perceived or realized, they were put on warning in my mind. A simple glance from a boy had me ready to swing. (And, unfortunately for some, I actually did swing.) Increasingly, I kept more and more people further and further away. I thought I had to keep everyone at a guitar’s length to keep myself from being violated again. Every time I thought I was growing and learning, I was suffocating myself. There was no outlet for me in those years except perhaps athletics. A coach once told me intensity was my big key. I was intense alright; the court or field was where all my angst was released. My intensity was often over the top. I shudder to think about my attitude on the court back then. But that wasn’t enough, that hole wasn’t big enough to handle everything being poured into that pot. Some would argue that it is barely large enough to handle normal teenager tears, let alone that of a severely wounded child. My frustrations, my defense, poured out to those around me. My attempt at surviving washed anyone close to me away. Until, I was alone on the windowsill, praying that the Sun would dry up the mess and keep me alive.

When I went away to college, I had no outlet for my frustration. I kept everything bottled up inside. I could barely attend class. I was afraid of everyone and everything. I was far away from home and scared. Hearing stories about college life made me equally excited and terrified, and completely overwhelmed. I was barely present mentally, even if I went through the motions. I was gripping the guitar so tightly; I couldn’t concentrate on anything else. I could hardly speak. I was drowning. Water logged, moldy, and tired, I came home, and slept for about a year and a half.

Ironically, what followed in my life is a different kind of watering. I spent much of my time at a local watering hole. (Pun much?) This time I was literally drowning myself in alcohol. Bordering on alcoholism, I drank my way through my early twenties. The only way I could socialize was with a drink in my hand. The only way I could stand being alone with my thoughts was with a drink in my hand. Trying to forget what happened to me caused me to dry out while drowning myself in alcohol.

I know I have come a long way from those days. I have grown. God never allowed me to be scorched or drown completely.

I still find myself grasping that guitar more than I would like. Even sitting at home, driving down the road, shopping, socializing, I have my hands clenched, literally. I’m always ready to swing, if necessary. I sleep with a switchblade under my pillow. I lock my bedroom door at night. I make sure no one follows when I leave work or school. I’m constantly scanning my environment. I’m still suspicious of every male that looks my way. Even when I am in a room with male friends who’ve known me for years or male family members, I am unnerved.  

My coping has nearly flooded my whole identity. The slightest mistake at work or school and I’m in a panic. Even the anticipation of the mistake and I’m a nervous wreck. I lack self-esteem. I immediately invalidate any achievement or compliment with a denial or redirection to a failure. I feel ugly, fat, and unlovable.

I feel like my life is a disappointment because I am missed out on so much because I have been so busy surviving.

Then, I get anxious about that. I start panicking that I will never be able to turn my life around. I cannot enjoy my life now because I feel like I wasted so much time and now it is too late.

I pray for contentment regularly.  I pray that whatever God has planned for my life that I will learn to be content with it. This would give me peace. Because, with all this guitar holding, I’m anything but peaceful. I’m angry.

I tend to get so down and depressed about 28 years of struggling and I get frustrated and anxious, almost to the point of overwhelming. Then I realize I’m angry. I’m so angry. I’m so angry that I could swing that guitar over and over and over again.

Instead, I go into the scary part of the basement and break stuff. I save every ounce of glass that comes into this house. Forget ten cent refunds; I’ll whip that beer bottle at the wall. That release is worth for more than ten cents.

Perhaps I’m playing out what I wish I would’ve done all those years ago. I’m swinging the guitar instead of just threatening. Although, I’m thankful I never needed to be violent. God wouldn’t approve of unnecessary violence.

This is my outlet now, the hole at the bottom of the pot. It is incredibly effective…when I recognize that I’m the anger is bubbling up again. I’m still working on that. But, I’m headed in the right direction.

In the mean time, I pray that God will help me forgive myself for the ways I coped, I was just a child. I pray that God helps me find contentment in all the blessings he’s given me. I pray that I will focus on those blessings instead of the disappointments in my life. I pray that I can move forward and not pour so much of my life into this survival. I pray for peace in this world.

When I am most discouraged, drowning in agony, ready to give up, hoping for an end. Praying, begging for any relief. I remind myself that no matter what happens here, no matter how bad things seem, I will spend eternity in heaven and these light and momentary troubles will matter no longer.

“I have told you these things, so that in me you may have peace. In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world.” John 16:33