Fueled Flame

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Jan 312019
 

The Realm of the Dead

I beg the world to just let me be numb, to make the pain from yesterday and tomorrow roll off of me. Like a tsunami that pulls the water away the pain always rolls back in, deeper and harder than it had ever been before.

I try and see the good in life. Maybe I’ve gone blind.

What is the point in all of this hurt? What kind of god or deity says that this is okay. That free will is acceptable when it comes to damaging others. The scars in my brain are lesions that can’t be fixed. Not in this world. Probably not in the next.

I am angry. Angry at God, angry at myself for having faith in the greater good when the reality is that there is no good. It is a falsity, a bald-faced lie that we all look to as some sort of guide to having the best life, when none of us really do.

I hate.

I hate the happy people. The rich people. The people who got to die when I can’t. The people who laid there looking like they were sleeping peacefully ready for their grave with their mouths stitched shut to avoid the look of a screaming slack jaw staring up at the mourners. I envy that person. The person in the pine box, preparing for the flame.

All of this life, all of this hurt, this broken-ugly is hell. The good die young because they are too good for this inferno.

And today, like in years before, I watched the sunrise as if it were my first, and then I said goodbye to the light, knowing it was my last.

I cut myself just to feel the pain.

I bleed just to know I am alive.

I am sorry, every single day.

If God was my tourniquet, what will save my soul now that he has abandoned me?

“No” comes from my mouth so loudly in the darkness of the winters night that I wonder how it’s not heard around the world, I wake myself. The rapist’s in my head alive and well. I am the zombie that can’t get them to go away.

Crazy… I was crazy once…

Then, the brutal hit of life stole the wind from my lungs and snuffed out the flame that I had glowing inside.

Perhaps, I am numb, the pain is so bad I can barely recognize it. Is this a part of the show? This evil game where I am the mouse and I can’t tell who the cat is, so I have to trust no one? Don’t inhale the toxic fumes called air, Marisa. Hold your breath until the darkness creeps in and you close your eyes.

And if you don’t love me now…

Well, you probably never did.

Time…

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Dec 252018
 

I told you I would break.
I didn’t know when.
The tsunami that was coming finally arrived.
The waves are drowning me.
I don’t know if I survived.

The dripping crimson I don’t regret.
All of this time and I feel nothing yet.
Scars rough and tough unlike my soul.
You are the hole that has no light.
I don’t want to fight when it’s not me that’s alive.

Dec 052018
 

I listen real close and I hear words echoing inside myself. I wonder if it’s my own trailing thoughts, or a distorted message that I can’t grasp from the One who created me. He knows I have fallen away from Him. He knows everything. If only I would have got the memo that I would be struggling to stay afloat all of this time later.

Braving the waves can be hard when the water is cold as ice and the tide is pulling you down and out. I admit I haven’t prayed much since my miscarriage. Sure, I have prayed. But not the way I used to. Not from inside the depths of the Word.

I have prayed for children with cancer when asked. I have prayed for friends struggling with their health. I have prayed for car crashes, bus wrecks, murderers, victims and the truth. Yet, I haven’t sat down and humbled myself before the Lord my God.

I haven’t called upon His name and begged that He forgive me, grant me peace. I haven’t asked Him to guide me and each day that passes is another day that I have wandered in darkness.

There have even been days where I have scrolled past the blessings that others have tried to show. I have been envious and even bitter that they are finding joy, when I have found… nothing.

Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.
Blessed are they who mourn, for they will be comforted.
Blessed are the meek, for they will inherit the land.
Blessed are they who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they will be satisfied.
Blessed are the merciful, for they will be shown mercy.
Blessed are the clean of heart, for they will see God.
Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called children of God.
Blessed are they who are persecuted for the sake of righteousness, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.
~Mathew 5:3-10~

Lord, my spirit has been poor, my heart has been in mourning, my thoughts and behaviour have been meek, I have hungered to be right by you and scared to act, I have shown mercy to those who have hurt me, I am handing you my heart knowing it will be cleansed, I have disconnected from the things that cause division and I have tried to bring peace in Your Holy Name, I have been persecuted for being a Christian, and yet, you tell me I AM blessed!

Dec 032018
 

It has been a good long time since I have put words to the blinking cursor. I don’t know why exactly I stopped writing, or rather, why the words stopped flowing, but I think it has to do with loss.

I just keep losing in this game called life. I keep feeling the slashing pain of being gutted by the insides that are supposed to hold onto life and grow the future. What will the future hold when it cannot manifest within the womb that is meant to nurture it?

What will stem from a society run by people largely created in labs? Where our mothers and fathers spend their life savings just to get us here. Will it go to our heads? Will the race to become superior start and end with that money saved and raised to ensure our creation?

Where is God in all of this? Am I God? Is the Dr. God? Is God really the currency we pay that decides life and death for us?

How much money does someone hand to the God that has stopped the blade from slicing too deep, who has stopped an infection from setting in and who has stopped the blood from flowing out before it was too late? How much was that worth?

Is the currency for the numbness that allows me to bleed just to know I am alive the pain and torture I have experienced? The chain that held me all those nights has become the ties that bind me to the past and the past to me, forever.

I don’t know what it is I want. Or what it is I actually feel. I just know that most of the time I am in a stoic place and the other times my heart is racing out of my chest and my anxiety is through the roof. There is nothing predictable about how I will respond, psychologically or physically, to the same thing twice.

Tonight, I have peace in knowing I am not God. I am not the one with the control. I am simply a piece of the puzzle. I can find comfort in that.

Jun 072018
 

Faking it can be easy.
It can also be the absolute most draining thing one will ever do.

It’s like being an actress through most of my waking hours. Smiling when I am spoken to, being polite, saying everything is great, flirting and doing life, in general, all while there is this demon inside of me, telling me I’ve got to beware.

Beware of the guy who said hello, he could rape you, you are a stupid girl, don’t you know?

I have the scars, inside and out. On my wrist too many to count. I am the pale girl who has had too much sun in an attempt to appear a little more healthy. My eyes are often glistening bright from the tears I hold back, or dark and soulless as I give up the fight.

The house is trashed, and I mean trashed because my motivation is lacking. I look around and see the piles of stuff, the dust and I know it’s a fast job to do but can’t make myself do it. I write the lists and those do help. Seeing the checked off boxes of things seems to be a decent motivator.

My meds keep me overweight, so it’s more than easy for me to pass on food or forget to eat and no one even notices. There are days where I binge and get 2000-3000 calories (can we say pizza?) and there are far more days where I am down in the few hundred range at best. I don’t worry about my weight, it’s just another thing to do. Cooking drains me a ton. Even the easy things. Thinking about what to make is like doing an algebra exam. I try to remember to have a protein shake every day, so at least my body gets that.

I had a flashback earlier today about the house we were in. The basement had a sump-pump and there was a cement ridge built up around it with wood covering it. It always reminded me of a coffin. This morning the nightmare/flashback was based on that hole, only in this daydream, he threw me in and closed the lid. Laying there I wondered how long it would take for them to raise the lid to find my body.

PTSD is real. I die 1000 different ways every single year, all in my head, all in traumatic ways that feel oh so real. Much of the time, when I am startled out of my head, I wish that I hadn’t fought so hard to be the survivor girl, that I would have been better off if I had just not lived.

I’ve always been one to have extremely vivid nightmares and flashes of things while awake. When I was little I wouldn’t sleep because I could hear and feel planes flying overhead and dropping bombs. I remember looking out the window one day and panicking when I saw Saddam Hussein’s face staring back at me, the war hadn’t even begun and I am in Canada, and more importantly, no one was even there, just the sunshine.

Once I was held and raped and used and sold, all of those things became even worse, more intense. Because then I realized that evil really did exist. That it was alive and well. That I could be a victim, because I was a victim, and the victim still lives inside of me with extreme guilt. With intense fear and with a logic that doesn’t make sense to anyone but me.

I take a half dozen different prescribed meds and they take the edge off, but they don’t make it go away. I spent years in therapy and eventually had to quit going, the anxiety of having to bring the negative thoughts up each week was just as bad as keeping them inside. The last time I went, I left and cut my wrist in the parking lot. And, I had a great therapist whom I loved. I was ashamed.

My reports say that I am a masochist, among other things. I don’t argue with that at all. When you are taken at 15 and enter into an abusive situation with no escape, it is easy for you to become accustomed to being punished. When I feel like I have hurt someone, or I am useless or no good, the masochist comes out big time and demands the pain. I need it in order to know I am alive.

“And I don’t want the world to see me
‘Cause I don’t think that they’d understand
When everything’s meant to be broken
I just want you to know who I am
And you can’t fight the tears that ain’t coming
Or the moment of truth in your lies
When everything feels like the movies
Yeah you bleed just to know you’re alive”

~Iris, Goo Goo Dolls

 

Jun 062018
 

Panic attacks have been progressively getting worse. The past comes back and haunts me in the weirdest places. I think I have become a bit of a hermit in a way. My phobias and anxieties over certain things have progressively become worse over the last year or so. I think when I lost the baby I lost more of myself.

The idea of ringing the dr for an appointment causes my heart to speed up, the cracked or broken tooth I have hasn’t been checked out or fixed because I can’t stand the idea of feeling trapped in a clinical setting, even though I’ve known my dentist my entire life. I struggle to even bring my kids, but for them I can do it, because I have too.

Having to go into stores and pick things up or run errands like getting the mail drains me, like a soul sucker drinking me up from a giant straw.

My fight or flight has never left, but I did go a good year or two without cutting myself, now I bare more scars and the mere idea of certain things causes suicidal thoughts to flash into my head as the way out of something as simple as running an errand.

Mom helps me a ton. She is the one who goes places with me and while I can still force myself, it really drains me until I am sick with migraines and feel like death has already come.

When I got pregnant over a year ago I had stopped several of my medications and was handling things “okay”, not great, not even perfect, but “okay”. I thought I could push through, but have realized that pushing through isn’t living life, I am fearing life.

I got up to close the curtains the other night and sheer panic kicked in. I ended up sobbing, hard, until I fell asleep. My fears of things I love dying are extremely high. The idea of any sort of change is paralyzing.

I started two of my meds again yesterday. I know that with them I will be tired, likely to gain weight, and have less spoons to help me through the day. But, without them, I don’t know how much longer I can keep pushing myself through these murky waters.

I often feel like I am in a state of mania, where I am hyper and unstoppable, followed by a depression that keeps me in bed for several days as I recoup that energy that was wastefully spent. I’ve never been one to be balanced. I struggle to even know what happiness is. I see glimpses of it, but I am not familiar with it.

If anything, happiness is an enemy, taunting me about what could have been and never was. I envy it. I loathe it. It is what I am not.

The degenerative disc disease and arthritis in my back, hips and pelvis are a constant reminder of the trauma my body has experience and it’s protesting against, standing, sitting, laying for too long is a painful one. Tylenol will likely kill me before anything else.

In summary, I have been, and I still am, a rancid mess.

 

Feb 092018
 

*If you are reading on my homepage, you can mute the song I’m singing with a friend by hitting mute on your open tab!*

I don’t know when I wrote last, I think it’s been about a year since I joined a link up. I don’t even want to check. I am finally sitting here staring at an open document and my fingers are moving, so that’s a plus, right?

Today I am going to be linking up with my friends from the Five Minute Friday crew. Don’t forget that about a year ago a bunch of us used some of our favorite posts and Susan Shipe made a book collaboration with all proceeds going to some really important to our hearts charities! Check some of the best of us out and help make an impact!

Today’s Prompt is “PRIVILEGE”

It has been a privilege to have got to lead groups for Hello Mornings over the years, to get to hang out on Thursday night Twitter parties waiting for the prompt to drop and create fellowship and relationships over topics like brownies in a mug (which are amazing), Gilmore Girls, love, loss, prayer and the crazy good and crazy bad that makes us raise our hands as we fall to our knees and give thanks for the God-given privilege of one another, being honoured to pray for one another when we otherwise may never know that someone needs that extra boost.

This year has been a HARD year for me. A stressful year. A painful year. Yet, I had the privilege of being able to ask for prayer when I needed it. I felt beyond loved, beyond blessed when I announced I had miscarried in the spring and my DM’s blew up with similar stories and words of encouragement from the women that I have grown spiritually with over the years as part of this Five Minute Friday community.

I have watched and prayed as friends moved homes, switched jobs, had babies, lost babies, grieved their own losses and grieved alongside others.

I may have taken a long break, simply because the words don’t want to flow, but I have had the privilege of being a part of this family anyway.

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