Oct 062016
 

You look at me with cupped hands
Your thumbs wipe away the tears that slip from my eyes without my permission
You whisper ‘baby it’s okay’
And, I know it will be.

Because, You created this day.
You knew the saltine water that would spill from my eyes
You knew as I struggled to catch my breath the word to escape my lips would be ‘sorry’
I have no reason to be sorry, I am Yours.

I grip onto Your hands and feel the holes in broken flesh and know that my scars are Yours
That as you hung on the cross You were working to purify and heal my inevitable sins.
With the flash of a light You knew from the start that this is how love would truly begin.
And, the Earth trembled as the Father eagerly awaited You at those Holy gates.

I wait on my charges just the same.
That they would walk through the door with lessons learned, full of Love and soul-y unscathed
I have to place their hands in Yours because it is You who holds life’s script
Like me, I know they too will trip.

You reach out that broken-scarred hand and raise us up from the depths
You show us that blind-faith is the only faith
That the answers are predestined, defined
That Your ordination is Love of the purest kind.

A compilation of 150 blog posts from the Five Minute Friday Community. The stories found in these pages span a diverse range of experiences, but share a common thread: A Love For the Bravely Written Word.
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Sep 122016
 

Dust in the Snow –October 11 006 –Marisa Slusarcyk

Overthinking all that should be forgot
Took my blood without a second thought
You lied, I cried
Only wish one had died
The pain inside is obvious to see
Branded into her blood ridden lines of three
Push through the window braking hard to stop
I see you, I feel you
And as I come to a slow
You’re gone,
Like dust in the snow
Forever it feels you’ll bounce in my head
Get out of me, get out now
You’ve played enough games
Please take your final bow
My heart is broken
But for you it does not mourn
The scars on the outside match those on thee in
The life I have led
Because of you
Is buried in sin
One day you will pay as I do now
God is the forgiving type
But for you I don’t see how
In hell you will burn to ashes each day
Forgotten,
Like dust in the snow

Aug 152016
 

Why I write is definitely linked to my past. As many of you may know from hanging around through my ups and my intense downs I have been through a TON in my short life. Most of which was very traumatic. I suffer greatly from PTSD and a boat load of the side affects it comes with, like depression, severe anxiety, insomnia, suicidal thoughts, panic, and even self harm.

I have seen a dozen doctors/therapists/counsellors and I am on about a dozen different medications, all of which to help calm me down and hopefully help me to prevent the above symptoms, from getting worse than they are on a “normal” day.

However, along the broken-road I started to ask these very people who were set out to help me how they grew up, what their trauma’s are and I was shocked and felt more alone than ever when EVERY SINGLE ONE OF THEM told me that they have no experience with trauma but they are “trained to help trauma victims.”

One recommended after the loss of a baby that I go be like a “deer” and grieve in the woods for a few hours, literally shake it off and move on because that’s what animals are born to do. Just shake it off.

Unfortunately, I am not a deer, and unfortunately, I have been in a stopped vehicle while watching a gopher panic as it’s dead spouse lay in the middle of our highway, watching him run back and forth not quite sure what to do, trauma and sadness in the gophers eyes. Finally as he realized we weren’t going to hurt him he grabbed up the one he loved and pulled her crushed body off to the side of the road and into the woods. I am guessing he didn’t shake it off, he was too shaken up.

My heart broke for him as I sat there with a stream of tears remembering my own losses pouring down my cheeks.

I started to write. Not because I felt like what I had to say was of any importance, but because keeping it all in was literally killing me. My heart with an irraddic beat and requiring meds, my body shutting down, the blood stained razor adding another scar or two or three almost nightly. I needed to get the thoughts out of my head, whether they made sense or not.

Years later I call this a brain dump. Where I just open up a word document and let the words flow with no rhyme or reason, or I open a page in my journal and do the same. It’s unfortunate that most of my writings and ramblings are inspired or prompted by pain but it’s my hope and my prayer that in sharing my intimate thoughts, fears, frustration and deep love for Christ that someone who is sitting in a similar situation may find hope, or comfort in knowing they aren’t alone.

Their doctor may never have lost a baby or been raped, or experienced a trauma that they are willing to share, but I am, and its sad and scary how many have reached out to me to tell me they have been raped too, so many men have told me they were abused as a child after reading my words, some of whom claim they have never told anyone. I love that my hurt is allowing other people to hand their pain over and share in it and be understood rather than feeling alone and lost.

I believe the statistics are that 1 in 3 women are sexually abused at some point and 1 in 10 men. Of course those numbers aren’t accurate because they are based on what’s reported and I can sadly say that it is more like 9/10 people have been sexually assaulted or abused in some form at some point in their lives, whether it was a full fledged rape, molestation or something that made them feel uncomfortable, the line was crossed and 90% is simply too high.

Yet I am eager to learn and to listen and to offer guidance when the person asks.

So I write not only to cleanse my own brain of the pain that has plagued my soul since I was that 12 year old cold in the snow, but I write for those who have never shared and for those who have never been hurt and want to understand what they can do to support the ones in their lives who have been hurt.

I write because it protects me from myself.

I write because it’s a documentation of where I have been and where I never plan to go again.

I write because it’s my pained poetry, a tortured prayer where I know that God can see my soul through the blackness that often covers my heart and He can and will provide me with peace.


Jul 282016
 

“I wanna play outside the grave but Satan’s shackles keep me enslaved”

I feel like a child hidden in the shadows and my eyes strain through the darkness to get a glimpse of the light. My heart races faster and faster still and up my spine climbs a goose bump filled chill.

My eyes see darkness, my mind remembers that all shadows are cast by the light, the Light -ever present, all knowing. Seeing everything and brightening a path for each of us lambs to follow. Shepherded by the crook of His staff that never guides wrong.

I am the lone sheep hidden and lost in the woods and I know the heard is safe and He will come for me and His hook will gently press on me and bring me back to the path out of darkness and towards Him.


When I need rest my eyes will close and the lapping sound of waves will wash over me keeping me safe. When I need to wander He will watch. When I fall He will lift me up. When I thirst He will quench it. When I am no longer hidden, He will shine out of me, through me, and everyone will see.

The moment I prayed for salvation I was pulled out of the grave, the shackles fell and I was no longer enslaved. I am not hidden anymore.

Jul 112016
 

I feel like I am being crushed by the world. My heart is broken. My soul a shadow that doesn’t want to be caught, possibly the only part of me that has escaped bondage and is truly free. I will never find a way to heal my soul or a Wendy to stitch it on.

I cry tears that only a dark angel dares to see, to wipe from salt stained cheeks. And I look to the sky and wonder if God is looking down at the broken mess of me. The unspoken broken a fiery light ablaze while I’m on scraped knees.

No one physical to pull me from the wreck, to rescue me from a tainted reverie. To cup my chin and stop the river of tears flowing from my eyes. To wrap their arms around me, hold me, bring me to life.

I want to walk from the shore into the waters deep. Feel the cold touch me, the sandy bottom moving between my toes, my hair floating along the waters top like a weed let go. I want to exhale deep and sit below the surface while my lungs scream for air that isn’t there.

Look out across the gently stirred water and see legs and feet and faces splashing and playing as I inhale deep below. I want the pain of the rush filling my lungs. To stare up at the sun dancing in a billion fragments across the waters top while what’s left of life slips further and further away.

I am alone.

I am tired.

I am running low on tears and high on fears.

I am broken.

Alone.

Undone.

Maybe someone will reach in deep and grasp my soul, breathe it back to life in a way I can’t. There is a resemblance of hope -that I will wake from this dream. But, you know what they say about hope… It breeds eternal misery. I would hate to have to be eternally miserable when I am perpetually miserable here and running towards every sign with the word “exit” shining red against white.

I am far from fine again. I suspect that even that nonchalance is too hard to grip longer than the fake smile when asked how I am doing. Oh, man, do you really want the truth? Didn’t think so.

I just want to be alone in my own thoughts, the prison that I have created and yet I don’t want to be alone at all because those bars don’t just keep me from getting out, they keep others from getting in. A comfort that covers body, not the roaming soul.

Life isn’t a gentle zigzag like a feather makes when it falls from the sky. It’s choppy, unpredictable, painful and a road I am tired of travelling.

So tired…

Jul 072016
 

They are just trying to build their lives, build their family, have children together alongside the ones that she brought into the relationship all those years ago. And while we aren’t close, at all, maybe seen each other a half dozen times since we were little kids playing cops and robbers with toy handcuffs, my heart is still broken for him, my cousin, yet again. He has had a rough few years.

He was in a plane crash that he narrowly survived a few years back, on that day I was complaining to my mom that everything smelled like fuel, she said I was crazy until the email came saying his plane had went down and that an old boyfriend of my aunts, from 30 years ago, had saw the rainbow on a small lake of fuel and being the nosey man he is he swooped down to get a closer look only to see part of a pontoon sticking out of the water with a body on it, my cousins body. The family friend, Jake, was in a plane too large to land and my aunt and uncle were on the radio trying to find their son when Jake called for someone with a small plane for help. Some American tourists with a small plane were able to make the landing in that tiny remote lake and help my cousin off that pontoon into their plane and back into the sky to meet the ambulance at the docks. His neck was broken, his thumbs nearly amputated from trying to pull the plane up when he crashed and chemical burns from him laying partly in the water with all that fuel and oil pouring out and burning his flesh away. Praise God his neck was able to be fixed and he didn’t suffer any paralysis or anything like that. A lot of healing though and it’s been probably five years and he still hasn’t got his pilots licence back, his thumbs have been the biggest problem.

Since then he has went on and continued with the woman who stood by him during all of that healing, and all the years before that, and they had a baby girl, named Aurora. Only, Aurora was born directly into the hands of God. They were trying to build a family and God is building Himself an army of angels. It was close to the due date for little Aurora when the placenta broke free and before they could get to a hospital the baby had passed and the mama almost did too.


Now its been a few more years since that happened and I had a vivid dream about a caesarean going very wrong. When I went to tell my mom about the dream she was reading an email saying Aurora’s little sister was also in Heaven. I didn’t even know they were expecting another baby, I guess when you have experienced the pain of losing one you might want to be hushed about another just in case. They had a scheduled c-section planned and their little girl whose name I don’t know, was moving fine and had no reason for concern, but when they arrived for their c-section they couldn’t find a heartbeat. They did an emergency delivery and couldn’t revive the baby. And another little soul was born right into the arms of God.

My cousin though? In his building a family and a career as a pilot and all of that feels like the world just keeps knocking him out of the sky and while I sit here and cry over a baby I didn’t even know existed until the other day when she was already gone he is struggling with drinking and drugs and finding any way he can to dull the pain of living, and living comes with a lot of pain.


And somehow my vivid dreams have always mimicked life. I have been accused of killing because I dreamed it, the first time at the age of 9 when my cousin took his life in our back yard, found splayed after three days missing, at the bottom of a cliff. I was blamed because I had said he was going to die about 3 months earlier when he had crashed a truck after my great uncles funeral, and that blame has never left me.

So when my cousin crashed his plane and I was being haunted by the odor of fuel and couldn’t figure out why until I got the news I felt like had I not smelled that smell that he would still be flying.

My dream the other afternoon during a nap about a caesarean gone wrong left me feeling like if I hadn’t fallen asleep, she would have been born safe and healthy and alive.

My sanity is lost and I have no clue where to search, and I don’t think I want to, because like I said, life hurts, especially when you blame yourself for things out of your control based solely on the fact that someone decided to place the blame on you when you were a child instead of accepting responsibility for their own child.

I have been a mess, I am a mess. I don’t know if I am coming or going and I have pulled into myself, far in because exposing the flesh wounds leaves me open to judgement and battle scars and frankly, I don’t have enough unscarred flesh left to successfully go to battle again.

So maybe I am throwing in the towel, or maybe it’s like the Mr. says and that I am not the cause of the problems, I just feel them and see them in a way that most people can’t. It’s hard to say, but I don’t know if I want to risk it. I don’t know if I want to get close to anyone or anything if all that I am going to experience is a painful hurt and a loss.

You see, you can build up walls instead of bridges to peace and you can be isolated and alone or you can build that bridge and put yourself in the cross hairs of the man with a fully automatic weapon. Maybe Trump is right with his wall. Maybe isolation is the best way to protect yourself, your body, your soul, your heart. Maybe if we all place that figurative wall around us the billions of emotions flying through the air won’t hit so hard, or at all. Maybe they will bounce off my imaginative force-field and leave me alone.

Alone with my thoughts, my anger, my depression, my sadness and hurt. Alone to wonder and hope and to pray and to hide. Alone to not love because if I embrace the olive branch then I am guaranteed that new pain will eventually follow.

Maybe some of us should be alone, because loneliness is what’s best for everyone.

Day 6 | Lost Pain

 Tagged with:
Jul 062016
 

My brain isn’t getting along with itself and I can feel myself crawling inside while simultaneously trying to escape. I am shutting down. Pulling away. From what? I don’t know. I suppose from everything. Given my recent struggles with flashbacks and dreams and nightmares and not being sure about any of it, I feel like it is so much easier, and even necessary to slip inside my shell and allow this ragged hell to run its course.

Nothing in life, or death, makes sense anymore. I am done trying to put pieces together. The puzzle isn’t complete, or maybe I have the pieces to more than one at once. Darkness vs light. They say everything has an opposite. Can I be the opposite of myself? Do I want to explore the dark side of the moon or do I want to admit that even though I don’t see the dark side it doesn’t mean the light doesn’t touch it.

I suppose we all have our intimate spots and our dark sides. Is it bravery or stupidity that causes some of us to embrace them?

“And one sweet day,
you’re gonna drown in my lost pain.

Do you wonder why you hate?
(Our burning ashes, Blacken the day)

Are you still too weak to survive your mistakes?
(A world of nothingness, blow me away.)”

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