Endure to the End?

I've noticed that a lot of my blog titles seem to end in question marks lately. I guess that is because I'm questioning everything about this whole "healing" process. Right now I just want to know "When will it end......?!! The pain in my soul is so intense and I can't get away from it. I can't run, I can't hide, I can't escape. It just goes on and on until I want to die and still it persists and I don't die and I can't breathe; and still I don't die. I'm so tired and I can't sleep for the pain. It comes at me from every direction. Everything causes me pain. Looking, feeling, hoping, falling, trying. And nothing eases the pain. I want to take a handful of sleeping pills so that I can sink into quiet oblivion, just for a while, so that I can have a break from the pain, but I can't do that because I have children who deserve more that what they got from their mother. Asking for help causes me to feel guilty because it requires so much, and maybe I have the right to be helped, but that right runs right over the rights of others and I can't handle that on top of all the pain I already feel. It's too much, too much. Please stop, make it stop.. O God where art thou? Where is thy peace, thy comforter? Why hast thou abandoned me? If there were an end I think I could endure, but this is endless. My hope has sputtered and finally died. There is no light, but I can only go on. One doesn't die from this pain, not like it were cancer or some other terminal illness. I can only exist in this shell, full of pain and lost hope. When is enough, when is the required pain for growth reached. I don't feel growth--I can't look back and say how far I've come. I just see a repeated loop through which I have fallen again and again and again, caught in the whirlpool and unable to escape. I am a survivor, but only as a victim. I only survive. I don't go beyond that and what kind of life is that? I am alone, unable to reach out to others of my kind. I don't know where they are to be found. I don't have the financial resources to seek a therapist. Even if I did, I can't stand the thought of revealing the secret parts of myself to someone paid to listen to me. My heart cries out for help, but I don't know how to accept it if it were available, I wouldn't know how to recognize it if it were either. I am so wounded by my pain, and isolated by the shame of it. How do I endure, but what choice is there?

Angels Never Die

Angels never die, and
Children never lie,
But when the magic is destroyed
And the circle is broken--
Children betray our trust
And kill the angels.

I played a song this morning called "What Heaven Sees in You" and I began to cry uncontrollably. I wept for innocence lost, and for purity that may never be regained. Intellectually I realize that abuse can't take away purity, but in my heart I still feel defiled and unclean. The child I was can never be again. Innocence, trust, the child-like awe for all new things--that was ripped away. I actually don't remember being a child. In my memories I was always grown up; mature for my years. I don't remember laughing with abandon, or running off to play with no thought for anything beyond the moment. I'm sure I did do some of that, or at least appear to, but inside I was always tightly wound and hyper-aware that all emotions needed to be controlled carefully. I didn't know then why that was. When I was hurt, or sick, or sad I wrapped myself tightly in my own protective armour and withdrew to be alone. I knew somehow that that was how to deal with pain. I realize now that I learned that because when the abuse happened, although I was believed and protected from further abuse, I was never consoled or comforted. What happened was never explained, and I was left to sort out the experience with the limited resources available to a six-year-old. I was already an observant, aware and intelligent child, but as I processed the reactions of the adults around me I had no frame of reference and no way to know that their emotions were on my behalf and not because of what I had done. Though she tried to hide it, I knew my mom was upset, but instead of knowing that she was upset that she didn't protect me, I felt guilty because I assumed that she was annoyed that her evening out had been disrupted because of me. When no one acknowledged my pain, I assumed that what had happened must not have been as traumatic as I had felt at the time and so I learned not to trust how I felt and began to take my cues from others. This was a dreadful blow to my self-esteem because I could never please everyone all the time. Learning that, I withdrew myself socially and became introverted and painfully shy. Meeting new people, or going into unfamiliar situations was extremely draining and difficult for me. Inside, however, I was crying out for friends and attention. I wanted to be in the middle of things, but would not allow myself the freedom. I weep now for all the lost time, the lost experiences. I feel wasted, and I feel like it's too late to be the person I was inside. Like the Japanese women of old who wrapped their feet tightly to prevent them from growing because small feet were prized, my soul was wrapped tightly, and now when it is unwrapped it, like their feet, is misshapen and painful and ugly. Then only thing to do is keep it wrapped so no one can see the ugliness inside, and endure the pain caused by not allowing it to grow properly. I'm angry that an experience that lasted less than an hour could so completely overshadow my entire life. There is nothing that is not contaminated by what happened. Everything is a struggle. All the things I would like to be, or feel I could be in my mind are so unatainable because of the shackles placed on my soul by abuse. "They" say that healing is possible, but how do I reveal the twisted, ugly thing that has become my soul to the light? Even for a moment. The pretense seems easier, because I don't want to lose what I have fought so hard to gain. I don't want people (especially my husband and children) to see that ugliness I hide and be repulsed by it--I don't think I could bear the rejection. Even if that soul could be healed eventually and regain most of it's former beauty, how long would it take and what would I lose in the process? The truth is, I can't pretend forever, so eventually the choice will be taken away. The ugliness will rear it's head and I may lose those I love anyway.

Consecrate thy afflictions for thy gain...?

We've all heard the adage "no pain, no gain", but looking at that with sexual abuse in mind just seems wrong on so many levels! That said, I'm now supposed to discover and extol the virtues and strengths that have come to me because of said sexual abuse. I have to admit that I'm having a hard time with that. I don't have an easy time labeling my strengths at the best of times, let alone ones that I have supposedly gained from the pain of abuse. I don't know if it is necessarily a strength, but I am good in a crisis. I can handle last minute craziness fairly well; I don't fall apart under pressure. The flip side to this is that I can't handle normalcy. I need things to be crazy in order to function. I guess that explains why I have seven kids! I couldn't handle one or two--I needed more in order for things to be chaotic enough for me to function at my best. If that isn't ironic, I don't know what is! Other than that though, I'm not sure what else I can say. I guess I am more compassionate; I don't judge as easily as many others, because I am all too aware that appearances are deceiving and that abuse is so much more prevalent than we might think. I tend to think "What happened to her to make her act like this?" where some might just say "Bitch!" and call it good. I'm patient with the normal chaos of life--kids running around and making noise, traveling with kids, getting stuck in traffic. I can keep a lid on my anger. I'm flexible. I adapt easily to changing situations. Are these things because of the abuse or would I be that way anyway? I don't know. I was a child when the abuse happened so most of my life is post-abuse. Nothing really remains untouched by the abuse, so separating myself (or my strengths and weaknesses) from it is virtually impossible. I don't really have a "previous setting" to revert to. It seems impossible to believe that I could be a better person because of the abuse than I would have been without it. I feel like I have lost so much and that the so-called "healing process" will take away everything else. What possible good can come of any of it?
I don't know, I just feel tired and scared and overwhelmed.

"I Give Unto Men Weaknesses...."

I don't consider myself a man-hater. I believe that there are good and bad people in either sex, but it seems to me as I follow the news that there is more evil perpetrated against women than men. In our liberated world one would think that would no longer be the case. Unfortunately, in spite of the fact that women are now considered intellectually equal with men, as a general rule they can never be physically equal. As I read about Elizabeth Smart, the women of the Congo, and young girls being cornered in public restrooms, I cannot help but think--Why? How do I accept and rationalize a patriarchal order when men can be such bullies. How do I believe that God loves and cherishes His daughters when He places us as a "weakness" before His sons to test their restraint? However true it may be that this life is but a moment in eternity, that moment is filled with such powerlessness, shame, fear, pain, betrayal and loss for so many women. Those that die at the hands of their abusers are the lucky ones; those that must live with the repercussions of what was done to them suffer so much. Statistics in the US say that one third of women will be sexually molested before the age of 18. One third! Elsewhere statistics are even higher. No violent act against the male of the species has such encompassing statistics. I marvel at the women who survive this kind of violence and who lead good lives afterwards. I marvel at their strength, courage and compassion, but I wonder if in spite of their brave words they still feel inside as I do--bereft, hollow and unsure. Elizabeth Smart, who in her court testimony told calmly and concisely of multiple rapes every day for nearly a year, is now going on a mission for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints. How does she do this? My trial wasn't nearly so prolonged or drastic as hers, but my testimony falters. I seem to have lost my faith in God and His love for me and she goes to declare it to the world. How did she hang on to that through those pain-filled months? How did she over-come the shame and degradation? Or has she? Is this mission just a cover, a way to convince herself that she has overcome? It doesn't seem so, and I am left wondering why I am so weak. Why can't I let go of the pain? Why am I still a victim? I still rage at the unfairness of it; at the powerlessness I felt and still feel. It doesn't seem to matter if I conquer my feelings because the truth of the matter is is that I am still vulnerable to an attack by a man and always will be. Since ancient days men have used and abused women, no matter how "civilized" our society thinks it is, this is a brutality that has remained constant. The mantras of the "nobility of motherhood" and the "sanctity of womanhood" seem hollow to me when it feels as though God placed women here to survive or thrive at the whim of men. The lucky women get good men, and the unlucky...well, it's obvious. It's often said in the church that there will be more righteous women than men, like that's supposed to make us feel better about things?! To me that means that I have to share my husband in the next life. Since there will be so few worthy men, they get to divide us(the women)up and have their pick, like we're the reward for their being good guys. What's with that? I already feel like my husband doesn't have enough time for me and I struggle to believe he really loves me. What reward do we as women get for our pain and suffering? What recompense is there for "overcoming" the trial of man? Is the knowledge that we are really loved by men enough? Is the knowledge that men will be punished for their crimes enough? Is the knowledge that I'm really not "second-rate" enough if it's just in my own mind and not a reality? I don't know. I'm angry, but what can I vent my anger on--God? The Cosmos? It's useless anger that doesn't change anything, but I can't seem to let it go either.