Despite secretly being trash in the eyes of the people that I looked up to, I still clung to the ideals I was taught and tried to box up all the wrongness in me and still be perfect.
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After we left, I remember looking at the sky and being so relieved that I was out of the psych ward–yet so terrified because inside I didn’t know if the worldview I so stoutly defended was really enough to keep me alive.
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“I didn’t want people to think I was dirty—so that’s why I didn’t speak about my sexual abuse for 7 years after it stopped.”
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“i felt a deep shame. if god made christians joyful, why was i depressed. if god gave christians peace, why did i have to get relief from a blade. i knew i was a bad christian. i knew that god must hate me. they said that god loves the world and all the people in it. but he didn’t stop my bullies and abusers from hurting me.”
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“It’s been almost two full weeks since I last wrote. It’s been almost two weeks since hitting a really bad low. A low where cutting (I didn’t cut) was very appealing, a low where I actually couldn’t see up. I hit a low where I did the only thing I could think to do; called my therapist and said I need help now.”
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“I know I’ve made some mistakes, but then again, so have the responsible adults in my life. What happened on my CFC internship definitely messed with my head — I learned that nothing in life is permanent, that people will eventually abandon you, and that talking about trauma is unacceptable (and even punishable.)”
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“The next morning we three were nursing hangovers, but we drug ourselves to the motorhome and tried to pretend that we were fine. I’m sure that one or two of our fellow interns noticed, but no one said anything. That was the culture we lived in – pretend that everything is fine, don’t make waves, and ignore problems. I was a problem to be ignored.”
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“When I was shooting up heroin and stripping, I didn’t care about my life. I would overdose or get beat up and it didn’t matter to me. I felt like I was a fuckup and that my life wasn’t worth living. In rehab I did the hard work of processing everything that had happened with my family, and as awful as it was, I’m a more whole person for all that.”
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“Somewhere I went blind in the conversation — / somewhere between the epidermis / and the angels — / somewhere my stomach lost its way / amidst the tangles of a prayer and an / agony, an anger, and all I hate. / Here is a scar; there, the bruise. / This is the air we breathe.”
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“These bones are too hard. / I can’t break them. /I can’t feel my heart all the way behind them. / If I scratched off my skin, / I could hold these little blue veins in my wrists.”
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Homeschoolers Anonymous 