Suspicion, Doubt, Fear, and Faith

I often look at life through gray-colored glasses. I wish they were rose colored; I’d be oblivious, but happier. Ignorance is bliss, right? The fact is, a large chunk of my physical and emotion security was ripped away from me when I was molested. Consequently, since then, I have looked at the world with suspicion, mistrust, dislike, envy, and fear. Sometimes, my hyperparanoia has served me well. However, on most occasions it has prevented me from living a full life. There have been countless opportunities missed in my life because I was not facing my abuse. I was hiding it away, too embarrassed to tell anyone.  In college I hid away from the world. On weekends when everyone else was out “being college students”, I was huddled alone in my dorm room, afraid to go outside. I was afraid that I might be physically hurt and emotional hurt again. In high school, it was even worse. Due to other family happenings, and the hormones that go along with being a teenager, my emotions were out of control. I was miserable, afraid and angry 90% of the time. I distrusted my closest friends and pushed everyone away with my out-of-control emotional outbursts. I knew it all along, but I could not control what was happening. With the onset of the interpersonal relationship building years came a whole slew of conflicting emotions-as if those years aren’t horrible enough to begin with. I longed to have a boyfriend. I longed to be accepted my classmates. I longed to have every experience that is a rite of passage for highschoolers and college students. With a couple exceptions, I feel like I missed out on nearly everything. Because, even when I was able to get up enough courage to spend time with friends, I wasn’t present. I had to be on my guard because someone was going to hurt me in some way. I tried to keep a straight face. I am so saddened when I think about the wonderful opportunities I missed as a result of unhealthy coping. A counselor would tell me not to judge myself because I did what I had to do to survive. Well, to that I say, I barely survived those years. I dropped out of college in my fourth semester because I couldn’t take it anymore. I was an absolute wreck. Life was a vicious cycle of debilitating anxiety, feverish work-out sessions, insomnia, and less than rejuvenating naps between the classes that I managed to attend. I left school and came home to loving parents who may have misunderstood the cause of my depression, chalking it up to genetics, but they understood the depression and anxiety and supported me. In the years that followed, I slowly got back pieces of myself, very slowly. I took a step back, started to focus on myself and tried to muddle through as best I could. There were times when I got angry with God for allowing these bad things to happen in my life. I would look at others who have not endured what I have and questioned why he was so easy on them. I doubted whether God would answer my prayers. What is the point of praying for something when we know that even though all things work for our good, horrible things may still happen because the world is sinful? I’m sure my parents prayed that God would keep my safe from harm, but I was harmed. Stupid Satan.

The fact is, I can look back at my life and say, “why me?” or “where was God during all of this?” or “what’s the point” or “WHY?!”…did I mention that I’d like to know why? But, what is the point of such questioning? Does the reason something happened negate the pain it caused? No. Does knowing the end game of a struggle God allows us to endure eliminate the struggle itself? No. Does knowing why God let this happen to you instead of someone else help you in anyway? No. Would you even want to think about it happening to someone else? No! And, where God was during all of this?

He was right by my side, holding me up. He sat next to me in my dorm room and kept me from the brink. He gave me strength to keep going. He did not allow me to lose my faith, even if it dwindled to the size of a mustard seed. He never left my side.

I wake up in the morning with gray colored glasses. Sometimes I don’t take them off for days. But occasionally, I take them off and see the world and opportunities in front of me. As I work through the abuse and its effects on my life, I am able to look at the world clearly with neither gray nor rose colored glasses. And, I am even finding ways to see the blessings in my struggles. Although, this may be true and although I do know that God works all things for my good. (Romans 8:28) And I know that struggles produce perseverance and perseverance produces character and character, hope. And, hope does not disappoint us. (Romans 5:4-5)  Although I know all this, I still mourn for those years I lost. I feel the pain and I give due weight to those hardships. And, I make a vow that I will not let any more opportunities be ripped from my hands; enough has slipped through my fingers already. Struggles produce perseverance and perseverance produces hope. I have hope that no matter how crappy life can seem and how alone I feel at times, God is with me and he is blessing me even in my weakness. I have hope that my struggles are “light and momentary” and when it comes times I will experience “an eternal glory that far outweighs them all.” (2 Cor. 4:17)