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