Missin' Momma

My mom passed away on her 48th wedding anniversary - October 7, 2020. My dad lost his soul-mate. Sweethearts in high school. The only person he's ever known. To say it was a shock is an understatment. My heart yearns to call and talk to her, to hear her voice. Oh, how I miss you momma. I'll never again have that go-to person to help me with the wording on applications, or to help me remember that one recipe she loved to make.

Merleta Martha Anthis, a retired book-keeper and long-time resident of Rose Hill, Kansas died unexpectedly on October 7, 2020 at the age of 66 while on vacation in Branson. Merleta was born in Enid, Oklahoma on January 22, 1954 to Merlin Smith Sr. and Evelyn Smith. She graduated Enid High School in 1972 and held various jobs throughout her lifetime. On October 7, 1972, she married her long-time friend and love of her life, Tim Anthis. Over the next ten years, they had five children together. They lived and ministered in Cashion, Oklahoma before moving to Rose Hill in 1984. She graduated from Wichita Area Technical College in 2002 with an associate’s degree in Computer Information Systems. Merleta was a devoted wife, mom, grandma, sister, and friend. She enjoyed sewing and quilting in her she-shed, as well as shopping, collecting lots of stuff, and traveling. Over the years she had fun threatening to sell her house to visit each child’s home and stay awhile at each stop. She was known for her beans and dumplings, baked beans, relish trays, and homemade ice cream at many family gatherings and her daily trips to Sonic, using only her special skinny straws. She will be deeply missed by her family, her friends, and all who knew her. Merleta is survived by her brother, J. David Smith; husband Tim Anthis, her children: Jeremy Anthis (wife Shannon), Acacia Anthis, Sarah Moore, Ben Anthis (wife Ashley), and Lindsay Drake (husband Nick); her twelve grandchildren: Jadyn Anthis; Jacob, Aaron, Jolene, and Josh Moore; Landon, Hudson, Keaton, and Savannah Anthis; Kaitlyn, Peyton, and Cooper Drake. The visitation will be held from 12:30 p.m. until 1:30 p.m. on Saturday, October 17, 2020 at Living Word Christian Church, Derby, Kansas, with memorial celebration to follow at 2:00 p.m. Minister David Burke will be officiating. Private family burial will be at a later date. In lieu of flowers, the family is asking for memorial contributions to be made to Prairie View Christian Camp, P.O. Box 1004, Arkansas City, KS 67005 and/or Living Word Christian Church, 201 N. Derby St. Derby, KS 67037.

I am left in this world with the hope that you are in a better place now and that you are worshipping at the feet of Jesus. You were always trying to be a better wife, a better mother, a better daughter, a better friend… and you were. You were THE BEST mama! You left us with so many life lessons, so many recipes of our favorite meals, so many beautiful memories, and unconditional love. You left us so many pieces of yourself but you also took a piece of each of us with you. I am wondering if we will ever get that piece back again. Or you are keeping it for the day we see each other again? Even if we get it before then, we will never be whole again until we see you and know for sure that you’re doing great up there, just like you did down here. I have so many things to say to you, but if only I could see you one last time, for a second at least, I wouldn’t spend our time on words, I would just hug you tight. I'm going to miss you mama.

Sweet Hour of Prayer

Return sweet hour of prayer

Draw me away from my world of care

Let me come before You with all my heart

And with You, Lord, make a brand new start

I have known You for many a year

You’ve been with me through all my joy and in every tear

This world with all its stress

Its go here do that

Lord, there are times it leaves my spirit flat

I want to know You more

’cause Lord, my spirit sure gets sore

How I need to return to Your sweet hour of prayer

And find You there

Father, there are so many who have run so dry

They have no more tears left to cry

Let me point them all back to You

Those whose spirits are bruised, black and blue

Let me help them feel that re-surging joy

That’s found in coming before You

With all their pain

With all their stress

With all their fear

With all their doubts

With all their anger

With all their rage

Sharing their every care

They would return to their sweet hour of prayer.

©AAA

Depression & Christianity

Sometimes I wonder if I can be anything other than depressed. After all, dealing with depression is a full-time job for me. It requires putting in an absurd amount of effort in order to simply survive, to do things others find natural and simple. Being diagnosed with depression and going to therapy has improved my life drastically, but in confronting my mental illness, I seem to have made it my sole identity as well. It's a battle. Being alive is a battle. Hope is a battle. Seeking help is a battle. It's a battle I've fought and lost many times. A battle I fight everyday, but a battle is just that, a battle.

Lately, I feel like I’ve lost parts of myself that used to be essential to who I was, and this is mostly because I’m not sure if those parts of me can coexist with my depression. And that doesn’t just extend to my personality but to my beliefs as well. I’ve been especially challenged in my faith. I’ve always thought of myself as Christian; there have been times where I’ve been unsure, but when it comes down to it, that’s what I believe. I love so many parts of the Christian faith, but others can be isolating. Sometimes I feel my faith doesn’t seem to take into account those with mental illness.

Earlier this summer, I was at a retreat with a church. I was listening to the speaker when suddenly the topic of depression came up. The way he saw it, depression was a lack of faith. He felt it was a consequence of a choice that I had made not to trust. Later that day, someone challenged him; he then took it back, saying that there are certain cases where that may not be true. It didn’t matter though. Not to me, at least. I could feel the guilt and shame eating away at me constantly for the next few days. It was my fault that I was depressed. I was selfish. I didn’t have faith. I was a bad person.

That wasn’t the first or last time I’ve heard mental illness categorized as a wrongdoing or sin. I don’t think Christians, or any other group of religious people, come up with these things to hurt or shame people, but they do. Instead of encouraging me to have faith, it causes me to doubt my identity and myself. Am I not allowed to be a faithful Christian and struggle with depression? Am I somehow a bad Christian for allowing my anxiety to influence some of my choices?

This is just one example of how I felt I lost a part of myself after being diagnosed with depression. Some parts that slipped away were like my faith, where I wasn’t sure how to be both depressed and something else. But I’ve come to realize that no matter what anyone else says about depression and ideals, I can make the choice for myself of who I want to be. And I can make the choice to be the same person I was before being diagnosed and face my depression at the same time.

I will not allow myself to be trapped by my diagnosis. It’s about knowing that yes, I am depressed, but that’s only a small part of who I am. I am more than just depression. I am a student, a Christian, a friend, a sister, a daughter, a confidante, and a fighter. I am talented, crafter, compassionate, sassy, empathetic, and strong.

I don’t want to continue making the mistake of allowing myself to believe that I can’t be anything other than depressed. Because if I do that, if I continue treating myself like the only thing I’m good at is being depressed, it’s highly possible that one day that’ll actually be true. And I refuse to let that happen. I haven't lost the war, but I do feel like I've lost a lot of myself, and I hope that I gain those parts back one day. But for now, I am more than my depression. And so are you.

Learning to share....

“I suffer from…” are three words I never wanted to say. I didn’t feel comfortable finishing that sentence. I felt I would be admitting that something was indeed wrong with me, and that meant I couldn’t hide it or push it away anymore. My entire life I’ve tried to run away from myself. I’d think of what was wrong, and I’d come to the conclusion that it was all of me. Nothing felt right or in place. I had these unwritten labels on me: learning disordered, depressed, socially awkward, and more. For so long those labels defined me. More importantly, I let them define me. I was terrified everyone else would see the real me, so I built walls around me to keep others out.

I developed selective mutism & learning disorder long before I developed depression. I started feeling depressed in my latter elementary/early middle school years, in part because I wasn’t allowed to hang out with my best friend anymore, but also because I was finally in those quintessential years of growth. My best friend wasn’t a good influence on me, and I know that now, but she was the only friend I had at the time; losing her meant my cover was gone. There was nowhere left to hide, no one left to run to for safety. I used her friendship to mask the fact that my learning disorder was behind my lack of developed social and communication skills. Now my disguise was gone.

After that, I kept everything inside. It was better to be what everyone wanted of me. It seemed easier despite the exhaustion I faced. I spent long nights awake and days on the brink of a breakdown. I was a mess, and I knew no one would want to deal with the chaos. Eventually life became too much to handle. I didn’t know what to do anymore, so I let a few people in my life; I’m not even quite sure why. I let my walls down to a friend who, until then, was someone I kept on the outside. She was the closest person to me, but he knew nothing at the time. We were both in our own versions of darkness. I had my mind, and he had the barrier between us.

One day we walked toward the river near our college campus. We spent many a time sitting on fallen trees and talking about life. This time was different. I finally said that something was wrong. I told her how I felt. The response was different than I expected. She didn’t run. She didn’t leave.

Everything changed that day. I was ready to build back the walls from the rubble, but I left them down. I learned that I didn’t have to live with the darkness I felt. I didn’t have to live in that pain. My story was mine, and mine alone, but I didn’t have to go through life alone. I was not the only character on this journey. In order to live my life I needed to include other people in it. Not everything was as black-and-white as I had made it out to be. I now understand that we are not alone in these dark places. We do not suffer alone. And in that regard, we do not rejoice alone. We have no reason to hide.

Ask yourself when was the last time you gave an honest, true answer to, “How are you?” I know it took a long time for me to answer truthfully or even believe that those who asked wanted a real answer other than “fine” or “good.” These days I try to be honest, not only with others but also with myself. This is my story I’m living, but these are our lives we’re sharing. I don’t shut others away anymore. I reach out for help when I find myself falling backward again. I’m not ashamed of my story anymore, and I’ve learned the importance in sharing and continuing it. While I’m still growing, I hope one day we all find such clarity. I hope you let other people listen and listen to others. I hope you tell other people how you feel and what you’re going through. I hope you believe things will be okay even when you are unsure.

New Go to Music

I have fallen in love with their words & their music.  My favorite song of theirs in "Yahweh."  When I need a pick me up or simply want to listen to soft music, this is my new go to group.  Enjoy.

Elevation Worship

Another friend gone too soon......

One of my favorite supervisors from work, Jana Davison, passed away this morning after a long battle with cancer.

You know how they say that everyone enters your life for a reason?  I wholeheartedly believe that to be true. I have met some of the most amazing people who will have a lasting impact on my life.  Each person has contributed to who I am in some way, shape, or form; and for that I am grateful.  There are certain people, though, like Jana Moss-Davison, who have a very special place in your heart.  The ones you will never forget and can't thank God enough for crossing your paths. 

I never imagined that good-bye would come so soon. Jana, you were such a great supervisor and friend. Your warm heart, your genuine compassion, and absolute care for your fellow man/woman was unmatched by anyone. I know you're completely healed now and worshiping the God who created & loved you.  And I also know that this really isn't good-bye....but until we meet again.  Godspeed Jana Moss-Davison. 

Here's her life in a nutshell: 

"We all know too well the pain, suffering, and loss caused by cancer, every so often you hear a story about someone’s cancer experience that just leaves you speechless and, if you didn’t know it to be true, you wouldn’t believe it. It’s just too awful and unfair. For me, that’s Jana’s story.

Cancer’s relentless presence in Jana’s life started when she was a child when she lost her mother to cancer and watched many other dear relatives succumb to the disease. Later, as an adult she and her husband experienced the devastating loss of their 3-year old son, Devon, to brain cancer. And, as if cancer had not reaped enough heartache in her life, it came back to haunt Jana again that very same year of losing her son – this time as a personal diagnosis of breast cancer. Jana faced this diagnosis with a fierce determination and won. Sadly, her battle against cancer didn’t end there. Jana went on to face three more different cancer diagnoses over the past 10 years.

No doubt, Jana’s story can be described as tragic. But, I think her story is best described as heroic and inspiring because of her gracious style and amazing attitude. Throughout her journey, Jana remained a positive force with a depth for forgiveness and understanding and warrior approach to get through everything that came her way. It’s clear that Jana was far more than a colleague, she was our friend and one of the most dedicated and inspiring people many of us in the OCFO and at ACS have ever had the privilege to know.

Jana has touched my life in an unexpected way and I will always be grateful that I crossed paths with her.

Jana is survived by her husband, Durand, and their daughters, Haven and Mellini. 

It’s at times like this that we are reminded of the importance of our mission and it is my hope that you all understand the vital role you all play in helping those affected by this disease. Jana often talked about the difference the ACS made in her life and her son’s and she could not have been more proud of the role she played to support our shared mission and her teammates.

Please join me in keeping Jana and the rest of her family in your thoughts and prayers.

Jana, you are such a very special person and I will never forget you, your story, your spirit or your soul. You are indeed a hero and will be with me (and many others) forever. In my opinion, one of the characteristics of a true leader is to inspire others in ways you will never actually know yourself. Thank you for playing an important role in my personal development - you inspire me to be a better person."

-Life in a nutshell & following is from email sent out to everyone at ACS

In front of me stands HOPE!

Principle 2: Earnestly believe that God exist, that I matter to Him, and the He has the power to help me recover. "Happy are those who Mourn, for they shall be comforted." (Matthew 5:4)

Step 2: I came to believe that a power greater than myself could restore me to sanity. "For it is God who works in you to will and to act according to his good purpose." (Philippians 2:13)

                                                     ---------------------------------------------------

When I first came to Celebrate Recovery, not only was I full of shame, but I felt I was hopeless. I believed that I had fallen too far from grace since I felt there was no way a Christian could knowingly continue in sin in over-indulgence.  That burden of hopelessness was too much carry. It paralyzed me during the beginning stages of my recovery.  

But God is faithful and He wrapped his arms of love around me, reminding me that he bore all of my sins - past, present, and future.  Wow. I was comforted by his peace that surpasses all understanding (Philippians 4:7) as He reassured me that I was completely forgiven.  It’s difficult to comprehend, but God not only forgave me, He wiped my slate clean promising to remember my sins no more (Hebrews 8:12).  I no longer felt separated from Him because He lifted the weight of condemnation and shame.  I no longer needed to focus on the greatness of my sins.  I began to focus on the greatness of my Savior. And for the first time I began to have hope again.

My Sponsor kept challenging me not to quit before the miracle happened. That hope is what opened the door to the next level of recovery. By His grace I was finally able to forgive myself; and His grace is what kept bringing me closer and closer to Him. God is now using my story to give hope to others.

Even as I face the largest mountain that I've ever endured, there is still hope in front of me.  God promises me that He has the best intentions for me and that I still have a future (Jeremiah 29:11).  I know that I'm going to be okay because His hands are still holding me.

Change Happens When You Allow It

"Anyone who belongs to Christ has become a new person. 

The old life is gone; a new life has begun!"  2 Corinthians 5:17

Change happens if you allow it.  I was tired of giving my past the power to bring me down. 

The shift was a learning experience for me.  Not only did it represent a change in me heart, but a significant and permanent shift in my perspective and direction. 

It was symbolic in the sense that I was truly letting go.  No longer would I dedicate my thoughts to all the pain, hurt, struggles, or hardships.  My purpose was now fixed on sharing positive things, both to myself and to other people.  I felt the urge to tell others about what God can do in the life and heart of any person regardless of anything that they may consider "too shameful" or "not good enough"......

He can take ashes and make them beautiful.
He can take what you thought was permanent damage, and turn it into a permanent purpose.

Choosing to accept God's love was HUGE. 
By doing so, I chose to believe that God loved me, that I have a purpose that exceeded far beyond the chaos that I was so wrapped in. 

Through Him, I learned how to love others appropriately. 
This was a game-changer.

Instead of refusing to shift my focus, I allowed myself to believe that there really could be another way to look at things.  I didn't have to stay stuck.  I could choose to look beyond everything that I thought I knew.  My feelings were valid, but that didn't mean that the way I saw the outcome of my struggles had to be the only way.  I chose to trust God. 

All of that pain, the scary times, the uncertainty, feelings of inadequacy, the moments I thought "defined" me as a person.......it all began to look and feel different.

God took the very same things that I hated and turned them into things that I can now say I wouldn't ever go back and change or make different.

The beautiful part is that because of every single one of the experiences that I have lived through, they have left me with a little piece of something that I can use or draw from to help someone else. 

God gives us new lives. Through His Grace, we are given a clean slate. We are no longer tied to the heavy weight of the past.  We are tied to our past and it's okay.  It's finally......okay.

We can turn around and look at all the wreckage with happy tears in our eyes and in our hearts - because that wreckage prepared us for better things.

We are now free.... to appreciate the sunsets, to smile, the friends who hold us accountable, to extend our love to strangers, and so much more.  We appreciate every morning that we wake up one day stronger  - we get to see the world in a whole new way.


....... and all this after we had been people who believed in our hearts, that we were nothing more than throw away people......


That, is beautiful.

That.........is a God thing. 

I Still See You

How you see you:

You see failure.

You see right through yourself.

You feel angry when you see what you have become.

Shame consumes you, blinding you from seeing hope for any kind of change.

You see how far you have fallen.

You see all of the destruction you have created.

You can't see your future anymore. 

You don't want anyone to see the real you. 

You wonder if anyone else can see you at all.

How "I" see you: 

I see your empty eyes that were once full of life

I see your dreams.

I see your tears.

I can see the hurt in your face.

I see the regret.

I also see your potential and all your talent.

I remember seeing your smile.

I recall the light in your being when you talked about your goals.

I can still see all of the life that you have left.

I can still see you.

How God sees you: 

Someone who can be forgiven.

Who is worthy of His kind of Love.

Somebody who is enough. 

Who is worth saving.

Who is precious.

Who is capable, through His Strength, to start over fresh, as a new person.

A person who shines.

Someone with a calling and a purpose.

You are much more than what meets the eye......

(so much more than we can even begin to comprehend).

HE sees you.

I hope that one day YOU allow yourself, to see you.......

What God Says...

"Tell me, once again, who I am to You, that I belong to You . . ."

A song that has been touching my heart lately is "Remind Me Who I Am" by Jason Gray.  One of the great things I have learned through Celebrate Recovery is that I am no longer the person I used to be.  Jesus says I am a new creation!  Where the world has labeled me, criticized me, and condemned me . . . Jesus has loved me, accepted me, and changed me!

The world calls us, "addict," "alcoholic," "co-dependent," "victim," etc. . . Jesus calls us, "children," "beloved," "chosen people."

The world tells us we are guilty . . . Jesus tells us we are forgiven!

The world tells us to get even, hold grudges, and refuse to forgive . . . Jesus tells us that He will help us to forgive others.

The world says, "You're gonna pay for that!" . . . Jesus says, "I already did."

The world looks at us with hatred, contempt, and condemnation . . . Jesus looks at us with love, grace, and compassion.

Too often we can get caught up in how the world sees us and what the world tells us.  If we have turned our lives and wills over to God, all we need to be concerned with is how He sees us and what He tells us!

Hello My Name Is … Free Indeed

Hello My Name Is … Free Indeed | The Waters Church

I am free. Indeed. :-)

Grief.

Grief.

Having lost several friends + a grandmother over the last year and a half, it seems as if my grieving process is somewhat stuck. And so....

Some days I feel like I can't breathe.  Most days I feel like a cloud hangs over me. Sometimes this cloud is mostly unnoticeable. Sometimes this cloud pours down on me while it seems everyone around me goes about their day bathed in sunlight.

Some days I feel invisible.  Sometimes I feel so sad that I think I will be crushed under the weight of this.  And sometimes I wonder if part of me will be sad forever.

I have to come to understand so much more about grief in these last few months (and years) than I ever wanted to.  While I am always grateful for the opportunity to connect more with people, to really understand them, the truth is - I don't really want to learn this. Not this way.

And yet here I am. Plodding along.  Asking God to help me grieve well, to leave no stone unturned.  I want to do this well. Not necessarily in a pretty way, but I want to grieve healthy, and to glorify God as I grieve.

So I ask this question over and over again: "God, where are you in all of this?"

2 Corinthians 4:8-10 says, "We are cracked and chipped from our afflictions on all sides, but we are not crushed by them.  We are bewildered at times, but we do not give in to despair. We are persecuted, but we have not been abandoned. We have been knocked down, but we are not destroyed. We always carry around in our bodies the reality of the brutal death and suffering of Jesus.  As a result, His resurrection life rises and reveals its wondrous power in our bodies as well."

I may feel like the air is knocked out from me and the rain pours down, but I will not be destroyed.
I may feel invisible, but I am not abandoned.
I may feel like this grief is weighing down on me, but I will not be crushed by it.
And I may be sad, but I do not give into despair.

"God, where are You in all of this?"

God often speaks to me through the lyrics of music. I was recently introduced to a new song. The bridge says:
Love unfailing.
Never shaken.
Hope awakens in You.

So as I go through the stages of grief, I will question God.  I've learned that it's OK to be sad. And to eat (gluten-free!) cookies. And to cry - to cry until I feel like I can't cry anymore. Along this journey, I'll definitely have opportunities to talk it out and walk the process of grief.  My God is big enough to handle whatever I may feel about Him or say to Him in that process.

But know that you do not stand on shaky ground.  And however shaky you might feel, there is a Truth bigger than how you and I feel.  We are wrapped up in a love that does NOT fail.  A LOVE that is NOT shaken by tragedy, by loss, by sickness, or by death. And from that love....from THAT love, springs HOPE.

Song from Hillsong Young & Free -  Love Goes On
http://youtu.be/0mBm_Fy0Dro

Endure.

EXHAUSTION.

Such a strong word.

But behind it's meaning....such fragility.

I see sweat, tears, pain, aching muscles, tired legs, worn feet, rough hands, empty eyes.

I feel nothing.

It's to this point of exertion that I am numb, without feeling, emotion, responsibility.

Nothing registers.

How dangerous....

But I feel as if I could wander for days amidst this lack of substance.  I am so worn that I have blended into the mix. On autopilot.  

I no longer see the boundary, the finish line, it is long gone.

I see no reason in rest.

No justification in ceasing.

No benefit to discontinue the next step forward.

How long will it last?

I cannot sleep, for fear of the terror that awaits my subconscious.

The agonizing terrors of my inner most fears that only awaken should I retire my last defense.

The screams, and the darkness that haunt the one place I have left as my comfort; my only source of stability, reason, and motivation; continue to poison me. 

I fall.....and fall, and tug at all I have left to save me, but to no avail.

Still I fall. 

Unsure as to when I'll reach the bottom.

Or what lies at the ends of this depth.

I find no comfort in eating.

I consume less and less every day.

It worries me, but I can only force myself so much before I become nauseated. 

It frustrates me so.

I have nothing to fuel me, and so much remains to be done.

Alone time is what hurts the most.

I see to waste away in the emptiness.

I sometimes think better in the company of others. 

I cannot remove my concentration from my surroundings unless I feel safe.

And sometimes I do not feel safe alone. 

No one else desires company in the ways I do

So I deal with solitude as best as I can, but unfortunately I can only last so long at this point.

I'm not sure what makes me so fragile.

I can't explain where my strengths lie waiting.

It only takes so much for them to be exposed. 

And yet it takes so little to send them retreating back behinds my doubts.

My goal is the be the person I am, when I feel safe, all the time. 

I shouldn't change based on my surroundings.

I am strong enough.

Self-doubt has set me in terrible circumstances thus far.

Why continue?

Here I go.

Step one....

How long will I last? 

No really. I'm fine. NOT!

I'm tired of people asking me how I am, only to turn & run when they see the frown upon my face.  So instead, I put on my "oh, I'm fine" face.  Fine in the sense that I'm feeling f**ked up, insecure, neurotic, & emotional.  Of course, I'm not fine, I'm not okay...but I can't seem to get the words out.  And you can't see the pain I'm in or rather refuse to see it.  You don't see how I cry to my self in solitude, the silence around me is deafening, while every part of my being screams out.  Screams out to be heard, to be listened to, to be included, not an outcast, but to be loved.  You say that I am loved, but I don't feel it.  And sometimes I certainly do not see it.  You say that I should love myself because I've been "fearfully & wonderfully made."  What you don't know is that I don't believe that. Or better yet, I don't believe that for myself.  I'd put on that happy face for you, maybe. But its just a facade, a mask.  I grew up learning not to have faith in words or in people, because they hurt you. Deeply.  So, yeah, I've got some self-worth issues to work on. Yes, I'm slowly learning to build trust again, to not burn bridges and run for the hills. Although, today, I would rather run for the hills.
To conquer head on is quite difficult.  I've quit at just about everything that I thought I could do.  Only to fail miserably.  Epic Failure. Quitter. Don't dream big, you'll only fail.  I'm trying really hard not to relapse on the self-injury.  But my soul is numb. My body is ramped up on anxiety and it's exhausting.

Who am I in Christ?

I am the salt of the earth (Matt. 5:13)
I am the light of the world (Matt. 5:14)
I am a child of God (Jn. 1:12)
I am part of the vine, a channel of Christ's life (Jn. 15:1-5)
I am Christ's friend (Jn. 15:15)
I am Chosen & Appointed by Christ to bear His fruit (Jn. 15:16)
I am a slave of righteousness (Matt. 5:13) (Rom. 6:18)

I am enslaved to God (Rom 6:22)
I am a son of God, God is spiritually my Father (Rom. 8:14-15) (Gal. 3:26; 4:6)
I am a joint heir with God, sharing His inheritance with Him (Rom. 8:17)
I am a temple, a dwelling place of God. His Spirit and His Life lives in me. (1 Cor. 3:16; 6:19)
I am united to the Lord and am one spirit with Him (1 Cor. 6:17)
I am a member of Christ's body (1 Cor. 12:27) (Eph. 5:30)

I am a new creation (2 Cor. 5:18-19)
I am reconciled to God and am a minister of reconciliation (2 Cor. 5:18-19)
I am a son/daughter of God & one in Christ (Gal. 3:26-28)
I am a heir of God since I am a son of God (Gal. 4:6-7)
I am a saint (Eph. 1:1) (1 Cor. 1:2) (Col. 1:2)

I am God's workmanship, His handiwork. I am born anew in Christ to do His work (Eph 2:10)
I am a fellow citizen with the rest of God's family (Eph 2:19)
I am a prisoner of Christ (Eph 3:1; 4:11)
I am righteous & holy (Eph 4:24)
I am a citizen of heaven, seated in heaven right now (Phil 3:20) (Eph 2:6)
I am hidden with Christ in God (Col 3:3)

I am the expression of the life of Christ because He is my Life (Col 3:4)
I am chosen of God, holy and dearly loved (Col 3:12) (1 Thess. 1:4)
I am a son of light & not of darkness (1 Thess. 5:5)
I am a holy partaker of a heavenly calling (Heb. 3:1)
I am a partaker of Christ; I share in His life (Heb. 3:14)

I am one of God's living stones, being built up in Christ as a spiritual house (1 Pet. 2:9-10)
I am a member of a chosen race, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, a people for God's own possession (1 Pet. 2:9-10)
I am an alien and a stranger to this world in which I temporarily live (1 Pet. 2:11)
I am an enemy of the devil (1 Pet. 5:8)
I am a child of God and I will resemble Christ when He returns (1 Jn. 5:18)

I am born of Christ, and the evil one, the devil cannot touch me (1 Jn. 5:18)
I am not the Great I am (Ex. 3:14) (Jn 8:24, 28, 58), but by the grace of God, I am what I am (1 Cor. 15:10).

The Bad, the Good, & the Grateful

My journey through my past hasn't been an easy trip, but rather a long drawn out process. I have written my story below (in a memory graph sort of way), hoping that somehow, somewhere it would help someone in need.  Although I have left out all the descriptive episodes of the abuse, some parts of it may still be triggering.


The Beginning…

      I was born into a Christian family, the second oldest and the oldest daughter of 5 kids. My dad was a minister at the small church where we lived.  I only have a few memories of my childhood prior to age 7, when we moved, leaving behind the only few friends I knew.  (The remaining stories that I've been told prior to age 7 have been told to me by my family).

     My dad uprooted his family in November of 1984, to move to a suburb of Wichita so he could be the minister at the local Christian church in town, about 4 blocks away from our new house.  I was 7 years old when we moved to Kansas.  I met my new classmates in gym class. I was a VERY, very shy girl.  So shy, that according to my dad, I 'hid' under my desk during kindergarten because I didn't want to be called upon to talk.  So shy, my teachers at school didn't know how to 'handle' me because I was uncooperative with them.  
      I had what they now call Selective Mutism. The first day of school in this new town was brutal, but what made it worse was that I had an accident in my seat (because I was too shy to ask to use the restroom), was sent to the nurse's station for a change of clothes and on the way back to class, the bullying began.  


      My 2nd-4th grade years in school were a blur. Depression set in after we moved to KS. I never grew out of my shyness.  The bullying continued throughout the years.  Teachers were no help in controlling all the bad words being lashed & directed towards me.
During the summer months, my parents would pack up & head down to the farm, where I would spend countless hours building forts and tree houses, exploring the pasture lands, help in moving cattle, driving/riding the 3-wheeler, swimming in the stock tank, fishing down by the river... 

      I played not with my sisters, but more with my younger brother, in the dirt pile that sat by the garage. With cars, GI-Joe, and  Transformers. A true tomboy.  And since I didn't really play with girly things as a kid, I didn't really hang out with my cousins who lived down the pasture like my sisters did.  I simply loved the outdoors and helping grandpa with the farm duties, until.... 

      Starting at age 8, my grandfather started molesting/abusing me when we would come for a visit.  It started in the old green pickup on the way to get a bale of hay.  He commented on how cold his hands were (even though it was hot outside) and would stick them up my shirt. He knew that since I was the "quiet one" - I wouldn't tell.  And I didn't. 

      Sure I tried a couple of times to get my dad's attention by crying when grandfather asked me to help, only to be told that I should, "honor thy mother & father." As the summer months and years went on, so did the abuse. It gradually got worse. Sometimes the abuse happened in the truck, on the 3-wheeler down in the bottom pasture out of sight, in the barn and a few other places.  I learned how to dissociate, to go numb inside my body.  I didn't feel anything, but I remember it all. To add to that pain, bullying became a horrible disease for me that didn’t go away, even when I told teachers.  They did say something to the bullies, but in return it only got it worse.  It didn’t matter where I tried to hide, they would always find me.  And so, I put up barriers and wore masks to distance myself from other people - including my family.  

      In 5th grade, I met my only friend in school in band. We both played the flute. While she was a friend that I could actually talk to, I felt bad for her wanting to be my friend, because she would have to endure the bullying as well.  I spent a lot of time over at her house a mile away, because not only did I endure the verbal bullying at school, but at home as well – by my younger brother and sisters. We did what friends did – we hung out after school, went to church camp together, concerts. She tried really hard to teach me the game of chess, but I didn’t understand the game then and to this day, I still don’t understand the game.

     Camp was my home away from home. I didn’t have to worry about the bullying. And it was my one week of freedom from my grandfather’s hands.  Oh, how I loved going to camp. To go swimming, or float a tube down the Arkansas River, to go exploring in the woods, or sitting still and listening to the creek as it flowed.  And at night, I loved to watch the bonfire flames as they danced around. And the fireflies.  Some years were worse than others.  I always seemed to do my own thing, to be alone.  I was still quite shy. Didn't talk much to anyone, unless I was spoken to first.  I learned that a long time ago.  My freshman year of high school, I stepped forward to give my life to Christ for all the wrong reasons. My thought was that if I killed myself later, I would spend eternity with him.  My dad came down and baptized me on a rainy day in the swimming pool on June 8, 1991.  My thoughts at that time were that I wished I would have stayed underwater forever. 

       One day during 5^th grade, I was called into the school counselor's office because he noticed I "wasn't doing well.” He asked me what was going on. As much as I wanted to tell him, I knew I  couldn’t because I learned at such a young age that I couldn’t trust anyone….anyone in a authority position. He in turn called my parents & told them that he was concerned about my grades and about my attitude in life.  So, that began the whole mess with seeing counselors on a weekly basis.  It first started off with Mr. Jay.  Mr. Jay would try different ways  to get me to talk to him - for example, playing Battleship and letting me win all the time, taking me to Dairy Queen for anything I wanted, going for walks.  It bothered me when I would tell him some things, then he would turn around and talk to my mom about them, which in turn would come back to me through her.  I learned that I couldn't trust him either, nor could I tell him how I really felt inside. Simply put….I hated life and I wanted to die, that I was so afraid of going to school because of all the bullying, about the abuse by my grandfather (which he had started touching my developing breasts, pulling on the nipples, saying, "the bigger they are, the better."); and that I cried myself to sleep either under my bed or in the closet every night.  So, I began making up stories for him - 'normal' stories about girls having boyfriends and other friends than just my one. 

     One of the worst school years for me happened in the seventh grade.  Ah the joys of Quest class....NOT! For those who don't know, Quest is basically a curriculum that focuses on seven skill-building units. In a nutshell, it's sharing & learning about yourself and others. And for a girl who was still shy and severely depressed, it was one of my worst classes in school. It was a class that I couldn't B.S. my way through. On that particular day, we were talking about improving peer relationships. The icebreaker game was tossing a ball to a classmate and then asking a question to another peer.  I didn't want to participate. I just wanted to watch until I felt safe enough to play along, but the teacher wasn't going to have it. She told me to go down to the counselor's office and wait there until class was over. But, being the stubborn person I am, I refused. She literally dragged my chair (with me in it) out of the classroom. Told me that I was being uncooperative and closed the door behind me. I became so upset with her and the people around me, they just didn't understand. Feelings of shame, hatred, and anger filled my body.

     And so, I headed to the girls bathroom where I proceeded to throw a punch that would break the mirror into pieces. While my fist was reeling in from the pain, I picked up a piece and without thinking about it, cut into my forearm. It felt exhilarating! I was set ablaze with rushed emotions, so I did it again and again. Not wanting to get into trouble, I headed to the corner stall where I stayed for the remainder of the day. My teachers never missed me because they didn't come looking for me.  Thus began my years of self-injury behaviors.

     It was also during this year that I thought out and planned my suicide.  I figured life would be better on the other side of life than this one.  But I never followed thru with it. All those years of being taught in church about ending one's life sends you to hell and not heaven - well, scared me more than dying.  

     While so many things happened that I would rather forget than remember, one single day stands out to be a memorable day.  It happened one day when the whole 7th grade class took an overnight field trip.  We slept in tents, had a campfire, and explored nature.  I remember I didn't get to climb the highest hill in Kansas because a tree limb attached me and left a rather deep scratch under my left eye (which I still have today). It started bleeding and was escorted back to base camp. The EMT that had accompanied us on our trip put a butterfly closure on it and was told I wasn't allowed to join the rest of my classmates.  When they got back from the hike, everyone started asking me about my eye.  It was great because for the first time in my life the bullying ceased and I felt like a part of the group.

     My hopes were high when my mom announced to me that I was going to stop seeing Mr. Jay. I was glad!  I was running out of stories to tell him. I thought when I entered into high school that things would get better. But they didn’t. The bullying continued as did my self-injury. I not only cut myself, I would throw punches against the studs in the walls. I cut to drown out the awful pain I felt inside, to make sure I was still alive on the outside, even though I was living life in numbness. It was a year that I was fondled by one of my bullies during drafting class each day.  He would take his shoes off and feel me up with his feet. I felt disgusted.  I would move to a different table, but he followed.  I would say something to the teacher, but it didn’t do anything. Only made it worse.  And the molestation from my grandfather grew too.  I felt ashamed inside and out when my body enjoyed being touched by his hands.

     In high school I had more freedoms, but really didn’t take advantage of them, because all I wanted to do was sleep…and die.  I thought about death every day.  I thought of different ways I could end it all. My parents never really saw (or wanted to see) the red flags in my life.  I remember being compared to my other siblings…asking me why I couldn’t be more like them and why were my grades so low.  It didn’t matter how much I studied, I always struggled with tests, and usually got near failing grades in every class. English class was my favorite class. When I could write stories, I felt free on the inside. And when we read stories, I would use my imagination and play out the stories inside my mind. When I couldn’t self-injure, the class was my way to escape.  

     To say the least, I questioned God in the midst of all my struggles with life - finally deciding that He really wasn't real and that His care was for everyone else but me.  Yea sure, I attended youth group at church every Sunday night, but only because I had too. Neither the youth minister nor the volunteers were able to see through to the pain. My pain. 
      I remember a time when the youth group went to CIY in Boliver, MO for a week. Even when I didn't want to go, my parents made me go.  As a group, we had a prayer circle each morning.  When it came around to me, I tripped and stuttered over my words quietly with a simple prayer the first time; but kids can be mean & made fun of me the next morning when i started to pray.  I gave up in trying to get my words out and stopped praying out loud.  To this day, I still trip and stutter with words and would rather not pray out loud, even when asked to do so. 

     In my sophomore year, my dad bought a short bus from the school auction for $125. That would be my fake first car, and I had to share it with my older brother.  Although we had some fun times in it - we took out most of the seats and would pretend to surf, it was quite embarrassing to drive around town. Even though we lived 2 blocks from school, I was forced to take my younger siblings to school every day. But it was another avenue in which to escape the world around me.  It was another hiding place, a safe place to run too when I thought I felt I couldn’t go on.

     I was happy when in my junior year in high school my grandfather stopped molesting me after asking me a question in the barn. Apparently I didn’t answer it correctly and he stopped.  Although he never touched me again, I wondered if he was hurting another sibling or cousin. 

     I was quite surprised when I graduated with my class in May 1995. I was sick and tired of being bullied day in and day out, that I wrote fake notes to get me out of class.  I skipped school a lot!  At least half the school year both in my junior and senior years. I had major depression episodes where all I wanted to do was sleep. And sleep I did.  It wasn’t uncommon that I slept from sunup to sundown.  I rarely watched TV or ate.  Even though I prayed to God asking Him to take me away from this evil world, I was also angry at Him for allowing my grandfather to hurt me in so many ways.  I questioned how a man of God, an elder in the church, could do such a thing.

College Years

     I attended Ozark Christian College in Joplin, Missouri, because I wanted to follow in my dad's footsteps and also because I thought by doing so, would have those beloved words my dad often said to my siblings, but never to me. “I’m proud of you.”


     Before going, my dad bought me my first ‘real’ car.  A white, 2 door Buick Regal with mag. wheels.  It didn't have a muffler, so it was loud. So loud that the neighbors knew who was coming and going. The friends I made at college named it the "Screamin' Onion".  We laugh about it now. 

     The depression in college came more than it went.  I was struggling with classes from the get-go and would often find myself in the Study Skills class.  I was still self-injuring. I worked as a on-campus custodian (and made $5.15/hr).  And made friends with my first roommate.  We shared the same birthday, but she was an year older than me.  Soon I met her other friends and we were inseparable. On many occasions, I would find myself traveling with one or more of them to their hometown and staying at their home. Their parents had graciously allowed me to enter into their world and become a part of it. 

     In the summer of 1996, I learned that my grandfather had had stage 3 leukemia and the doctors couldn’t do anything about it, as the chemo would have killed him.  So off to High Hill Christian Camp in High Hill, MO.  I went with my roommate and 2 others from O.C.C.  I was a paid employee to help work in the kitchen as well as the canteen and absolutely loved being there.  And the kids who came loved it too. On the weekends, we would travel to St. Louis and shop. Of all the places in St. Louis to visit; my favorite place was a discount book store.

      My grandfather passed away on July 17, 1996.  Although I was sad, I was also happy because he would never hurt me again.  I never got to tell him that I forgave him.  And after the funeral, I headed to back to camp to finish off the season.

      Problems really arose during my 2^nd year at Ozark.  One of my friends sat me down and explained to me that she was a multiple, now referred to as Dissociative Identity Disorder.  It was difficult to hear and to understand, but I was strongly aware of when she changed personalities. I enjoyed being a child and coloring, playing alongside her child personalities. It was frightening when she was driving and they would switch and then suddenly the new person wouldn't know how to drive a standard.  She worked in the library, so one day, she summoned us to watch “Sybil” in the video room. She failed to mention it was an ‘R’ rated movie. And that it was not allowed on campus. That got us all into trouble by the Dean of Students.  One by one, we were called into his office.  He called me a liar and told me not to do it again. I later learned that I had told him a different story than my other 2 friends. 

      By that time, I had settled into Deaf Communications as my degree of choice.  I was a slow learner, but thankfully, my teacher was patient with me and helped me learn.  I never really got over my shyness and the anxiety that surrounded it.  I did okay with my signing until I had to stand up and interpret in chapel/church, then my anxiety level would skyrocket and I would freeze or flip out.  I remember a group of us from class went to Tulsa, OK  for Week of Evangelism to work with a deaf church down there. We held VBS for deaf kids. Who can say they interpreted an entire Veggie Tales video.  We also went ice-skating and had great fellowship with the folks.  They are very patient people to new learners of their language.  

      One day while at college, I was called into the school counselor’s office after taking a pair of shoes.  I had found them in the trash and I justified that since they were in the trash, they were another man’s treasure. Like the last time I was called into a counselor’s office in middle school, she was concerned about me. She wanted to know all about me, but I could not let her into my world.  She seemed disappointed in me when I told her that I couldn’t trust her.  She in turn asked me why.  I sat there motionless and quiet, wishing I was anywhere else but there.  Turned out, the shoes that I had found, were placed in the wrong place and that I had to return them.  I returned them to her, went back to my room, locked it, and cut until I felt satisfied enough. After this incident happened, I was accused for many different things disappearing – things that were of no importance to me.

      After my first roommate graduated, I roomed with one of my other friends.  Although she never really came out and told me, I learned too that she was a cutter.  I would often find our door locked and she telling me to wait.  And then finding an alcohol pad in the trash covered with blood.  Here we were, two friends who shared the same secret about cutting, but ashamed to tell each other. It just reiterated that what I was doing to my body was okay.

      In the summer of 1997,  I lived with my grandma on the farm and drove into work every morning at 1:30 am to make donuts.  It wasn’t a great job, but it was a job. While there, Les, a co-worker, asked me if I ever played golf.  I said yes, that I loved to play.  He asked me to come play some time with him.  As much as I wanted to go with him, I was afraid of what he might do.  So I turned him down every time.  A year later, he had to resign due to medical reasons from the store.  By that time, he was married and had one small child. 

      In October of 1997, I got kicked out of Ozark for stealing and moved home. Worst thing about it was that I had to tell my parents and my roommate. And the hardest thing I had to do – leave without saying goodbye to my beloved friends.  I finally realized that these people who had opened up their hearts & homes to me weren't out to hurt me – but loved me for who I was, no matter the circumstances.  They truly were friends.  I stayed in touch with them after the ordeal, learning how to use email for the first time.  I spent time with them one week during the summer in Tulsa.

      In November 1997, I started working at Hobby Lobby in the frame shop. I quickly became friends with one the older gals and to this day, I still go in and harass her.  I worked for Hobby Lobby, transferring from Wichita, KS to Joplin, Mo to  Springdale, AR til I got fired for eating a rice crispy bar without paying for it (hey, my blood sugar was low & I didn't have money) in September 2002. It didn't help that I here I was, a cutter, and all around me were sharp things in which to do some major damage to myself.  I was questioned a few times about where I got the cuts on my arms. I made up excuses to settle their wondering minds.

       As a request from my parents, I returned to counseling in 1998, to deal with the letter to which I had written my parents explaining why I had gotten kicked out of school.  They suggested I see the two counselors that were at our church.  I did….just to satisfy my parents’ wishes. 
       One of the counselors was a guy and I felt very uncomfortable around him.  They asked me to share with them the names I was called throughout my childhood days and about the fondling that took place at school.  While I wrote down a few of the names I’d been called, I couldn't speak them, nor could I give the list of names to them.  I ended up burning the page after leaving the session. And I couldn't do the latter, not without bringing out all the pain I received from my grandfather too.  
        After 4 sessions, I quit seeing them. I didn't trust them, nor could I trust them.  They knew my parents.  And somehow, either they asked my dad about me or my dad asked them about me – I don’t know; but my dad asked me why I had stopped seeing them.  I told him he wouldn't understand.  And that was that. 

       Also in ’98, my second roommate at Ozark, wrote me a letter stating that she left school because she had feelings and had actually kissed another girl.  That she was declaring herself to be a lesbian.  I didn't really know what to say to her, except to say that I would still be a friend.   After finding out the news through the letter, it made me uncomfortable to think about all the times I had undressed and changed in our room together.  I didn't want to be any part of that for I knew it was wrong.

        In 2000, I packed up my things and moved in with my D.I.D. friend from O.C.C. in Joplin, MO. She had rented a nice 3 bedroom, 2 bath house and needed a roommate.  I was happy that I would get the chance to build our friendship.  I would go with her many times to her therapy appointments in Springfield, so if she ‘switched,’ I would be there to drive her home. She would spend money on me. She corrupted me into drinking alcohol. I learned a lot about her. She loved to write music and poetry, plant flowers, and she loved to laugh.  It wasn’t all fun & games. There were things that she did that worried me – like disappearing for days without a phone call, or did other things that would make me upset. I mostly ignored her on those days.

       I moved with her, when she decided to move to Siloam Springs, Arkansas to be closer to her family.  I enjoyed being welcomed into her family of aunts & uncles, cousins, and grandparents. I could talk to her grandma when I was feeling down knowing that she wouldn’t tell my friend what I had said. Also, during this time, my friend had transferred to another school online and talked me into attending as well. It was called Southern Christian University in Montgomery, AL. 

       One day in the summer months, my friend asked me if I would attend a church with her in Sand Springs, AR.  She said it was for  a research paper she was writing.  I felt no harm in joining her, until about ¾ of the way there, she mentioned to me that it was a church for lesbians. And it was. Everything that the pastor said went against what was in the Bible.  I could sense evil all around me and I immediately left the building.  I sat out in the car from over an hour waiting for my friend to return. When she did, she apologized for not telling me before we left.  She then treated me to a tiny little Italian place and then went and bought a leather jacket. She tried to buy me one too, but I refused.  All I wanted was to put the incident behind me and leave.

       Prior to purchasing my own computer, I would often use my friends’ computer to do school work.  Well, one day as I was typing a paper, an email from her friend popped up asking her if she had had any luck with me. 'Luck?' About what I asked myself.  Curious, I opened the email and read (from my friend), “that she was still working on me.”  I had to double read what I had read, knowing that I couldn’t bring it to light with my friend because I had stepped over the boundary by reading the email in the first place. Oh man was I pissed. I knew she was dating other women in the community. And I knew that she was telling her girlfriends that ‘she was working on me’ because a few of her girlfriends would nonchalantly ask me out.  It was then when I started questioning my own gender identity. Here I was, two of my best friends from Ozark admitted they indeed love other women. What? Was I next?  It was then that my life truly took a tailspin dive into uncertainty.

       Things changed for the worse when she decided to let her mother come and live with us.  Our house was definitely not big enough, so in February 2002, we moved to Springdale, AR.  The strain her mom put on me was horrible. They both entrusted me to feed their animals, mow the lawn, keep the weeds out of the flower beds, plant new flowers, take out the trash, and so much more.  I constantly heard from her mom that she couldn’t do it because she was ungraceful when walking, even though she walked everywhere.  And that my friend couldn’t do it because she had a bad heart and wasn’t supposed to strain it.  In some way, I felt like Cinderella and my friend  and her mom were the sister and wicked step-mother.

       In October 2002, I was out driving on a dirt road in the middle of nowhere, when I had the urge to end it all. I pushed on the gas and took off,  traveling to about 70 mph and aiming for a large Oak tree…but at the last minute told myself this wasn’t the way to do it and swerved, missing the tree by a few feet.  With my heart pounding inside my chest, I cried out to a God I didn’t want to know.  When I arrived home, I was shaking.  My friend had started a fire out in the chiminea. It was where I came out and rocked back and forth quietly for the longest time. My friend finally asked me what was going on and so I proceeded to tell her what I had attempted to do earlier that day.  She got up and left.  (I now know that she went and called my parents).  It was there in that moment that I realized that I couldn’t stand life anymore, that I couldn’t be her friend anymore, and that I needed to go home.

      Seeing my parents arrive to take me home was a blessing.  I was so stressed out that I had hives all over my body.  I left Springdale on a bad note, both with my friend and more especially with her mom.  Her mom told me she wanted her money for the late rent and bills, which I had already paid on time – to my friend – since the agreement was between her and me, and not her mom.

       My parents asked me to return to counseling in January 2003, but I refused.  Told them I couldn’t afford to pay for it, which was true.  They never learned that I was fired from HobLob, only that I had quit. 

        I started working for Heartspring in February 2003 as a Para in the group homes. I enjoyed working there.  When I first started, I had one of the toughest kids at the school.  He had to wear a foam helmet because he would beat his head against anything that was hard, including you if you weren’t careful. He would also punch, kick, pull hair, and pinch when he didn’t get his own way.  Every other day, I put on catcher gear to protect myself from his angry ways.  There were other students that I worked with too. Another student hit me so hard in the head that I fell to the ground.  I didn’t have time to react. He was a wrestler and in the end,  it took 15 other people to hold him down in a restraint. He was transported to the psych ward only to be released a short time later back to Heartspring. He thankfully returned after my shift was over. And I put in a request not to work with him again.

        I left Heartspring in August 2003 to move to Oklahoma to live with my grandma until I found a house in which to live. I found work at a local daycare center, working as a pre-k teacher. The year went on. I was still cutting, but not so much. Depression episodes went in waves. Family holidays were tough. I always felt out of place. Like I’m the ugly duckling or the black sheep of the family. My December birthday comes and goes.. This Christmas, however, was different.  While I’m not quite sure when my 5 year old cousin was diagnosed with leukemia, she passed on to heaven just two days after Christmas.  My grandma was devastated. According to her, my cousin was her only great-grandchild (which in fact she had 3 others).  After the funeral, my grandma said some angry words to me that I was trying to ‘control her life.’  It hurt. A lot. So I wrote her a note, dropped it under her door and left to go to the movies.  It was probably a good thing that my parents were there, otherwise, I probably would have been kicked out of her house permanently.

      A year passes. I receive a .25 raise at work, only to be fired once again 5 months later of an incident that was beyond my control. So after I had loaded my cheery classroom items into my car, I headed to the church to bawl my eyes out.  It was a safe place for me to go. Sure there were people there, but not very many.  And most of the time, they didn’t even know I was there. Another firing, another wall built.  I was beginning to think this was going to be a trend.  One night when I was at church, I reached out and emailed Focus on the Family.  A few days passed and I was surprised when they called me back to talk. The person on the other end was caring and kind. He put me in touch with a lady from Idaho who, like me, had dealt with similar problems and had already gone through all the pain and was now free from it.  She mentioned something about going to a program each week called Celebrate Recovery. And it’s for those who have dealt with hurt, habits, and hang-ups.  She encouraged me to find and attend a CR nearby.  Although I still asked her certain questions about different things, I blew off going to CR. 

       A month later, I was hired at Target as a night-stocker. I worked mainly in soft lines with the clothes. Almost every article of clothing was wrapped in plastic, which had to come off and then hung up on hangers. It was a very mundane task.  To make it worse, each department had a time limit and it had to be finished within that set time, otherwise there was hell to pay.  I starting training other newbies within 90 days of my own hiring, which I felt wasn’t right. While it paid well because I worked overnight, my boss and I didn’t get along too well. We had almost the same personalities yet she came from a military family.  She did everything that I kindly asked not to do – to set boundaries. And so I asked to be transferred to morning hours in the shipping & receiving department.

      On December 22, 2004, I signed on my house and was moved in before Christmas. I was so excited to be moving out of grandma’s house.  Little did I know that I was beginning to fall into a very deep depression.  Living alone in a house brought many fears.  So to help with those fears, I got a puppy that I had trained.  A full blooded black lab and I named her Zoey.  At first Z stayed inside the house when I was home, then I kenneled her when I went to work.  Then as she grew bigger, I left her out during the times I was gone. That only brought more problems – mostly chewing & urinating problems – things I could deal with. She eventually ended up outside in her dog run. And even though I had a dog for protection, I found that I had a really hard sleeping because of night terrors and nightmares. I would be drenched in sweat, exhausted, and I’d often sleep with a light on.  During the day, I would get angry at the littlest things. Go into a rage and throw something. Sometimes, I would hit Z in frustration, only to regret it after I had done it. And make up for it right then and there. Thankfully, Z always came back for a snuggle or two.

      As always, the holidays came and went. I didn’t care about them.  I spent many, many days hiding at the church, even sleeping there overnight because I didn’t feel safe at my house. Somehow, I justified that if I were in church, then the devil couldn’t harm me. And when I couldn’t stand it anymore, I finally got the nerve to talk.  It was on February 9, 2005, when I confessed to my minister about my cutting and that I wanted to stop.  I also told him that the night before while watching television, a thought popped into my head saying that I could hang myself and no one would take notice til I was long gone. He tried to lay his hand on my wrist, but I retreated.  He didn’t know that I had a fresh cut there.  I was so very numb inside.  And he said he knew of someone who could possibly help me. She was in Stillwater. To finalize it, I gave him one of my blades; thinking if I gave it to him, he would actually believe me.  I also knew that the moment I stepped outside those doors, that I would end up cutting. While my minister was waiting for the counselor in Stillwater to call back, he asked me if it was okay for him to call a few of the elders to pray for me. I told him not to mention it to anyone in my family, as they wouldn’t understand and would judge me even more. He also asked me if it hurt when I self-injured and my response was, “No. I’m so numb inside that I don’t feel it on the outside.”  Before I left, I promised to him that I would be okay. As far as calling the elders, he called just my associate pastor (a.p.) and filled him in on the situation. Both my a.p. and the counselor called me later that evening.  I was grateful for the church during this difficult time, as they helped pay for my counseling sessions.  

     The next day, I went to see the counselor in Stillwater.  She asked me about my cuts and wanted to see them.  I couldn’t show her because I was ashamed of what they had become to me. She also wanted me to explain to her what I had told my minister. And at the end of the session, she asked me who had hurt me. I sat there awhile thinking whether or not I should tell her. And in the end, I figured what the heck, she didn’t know my parents….so I told her. At the end of the first session, she drew up a contract stating that while I was seeing her, I couldn't self-injure. I told her I would do my best for that’s all I could give her. I signed it.

      In the following months, talking about everything was difficult.  My depression well, stayed around.  My counselor diagnosed me with PTSD and Major Depressive Disorder.  In August of 2005, I quit Target and was hired as the secretary at my church. I couldn’t complain, because I was working part-time but getting paid full-time.  My boss at Target had stepped over the last boundary that I had requested she not do.  So I left a very long letter to her and her boss stating why I had left.  I found out later that she was given the option of resigning or transferring to another store.  She transferred to a store out of state.

       I continued to see my counselor at least twice a week over the next five months. Then gradually, I saw her only weekly, and then monthly until it was agreed that there wasn’t much more she could do for me unless I opened up more about the abuse and shared the hardest details with her.  She understood when I told her that I couldn’t, that it’s wasn’t time  So, it was in October ‘05 that I stopped seeing her and moved on with my life.

       A month prior to stopping seeing my counselor, I got a second job working with clients with mental, physical, and developmental disorders. My passion has always been working with special needs children.  I fell in love with my first client and his family.  They would take me on trips to be a ‘nanny’ for him and his baby sister.  We went everywhere…to Pensacola, Florida; New Orleans, Louisiana; Kentucky and North Carolina. I was so grateful for them and their kindness that they showed to me. I worked with him for a little over 3 years and saw improvements. It excited me to see that I had a part in his change.

       In May 2006, I finally graduated college with a B.S. degree in Bible/Ministry, after taking many months on and off of school.  I decided that I would travel to Montgomery, AL to walk with my other classmates and I’m so thankful that my parents joined me on my travels. Afterwards, when I heard my dad finally say those four beautiful words, “I’m proud of you,” nothing else in life mattered.  I had waited a very long time to hear those words.

       Much of 2007 was a blur.  I was cutting again and depressed.  Isolation occurred almost daily unless a friend dragged me out of my house.  I justified taking money from the church – telling myself I needed it and I would pay it back (which I did).  I quit my church job and eventually my second job in 2008 when I was hired on at a quality control company that worked with mortgage companies. I would be detecting fraud on appraisals. I thought I was doing the right thing to better myself in the world.  Here I would get paid more and have full coverage insurance that the company paid for.   And when my insurance kicked in, I made the decision to return to counseling once more because I was cutting much deeper than usual and it scared me that I couldn’t feel the pain. 

       A year later, I was fired from my job because I was taking a break at my desk – which there wasn’t anything in the handbook against it.  Well, the vice president thought I was stealing company time and I was fired for it. It made me angry beyond words. I was to meet an life insurance agent the day I was fired and although I was reluctant to go, I went anyway to explain to him why I couldn’t buy life insurance at that time. He was a blessing in disguise and told me a little about his life and invited me to a place where I could feel safe. It was called Celebrate Recovery he said.  I told him about the lady who had mentioned it to me earlier in life and that I blew it off.   He was persistent and invited me to join him on the following Thursday, as he would be giving his testimony.  And so, one week later, I showed up for CR at MRCC to listen to his testimony, only to learn that I had missed it.  He had gotten his dates mixed up.  I questioned and felt very out of place in a church that didn’t have instruments. So I searched the internet until I found another CR at a church closer to home, but yet far enough away from my friends and family knowing about it. And so, in October of 2009, I started attending CR at HHBC, using my nickname as my real name and wore a mask until I felt safe enough to share who I really was. I didn’t talk much to anyone…unless I was spoken to first. That was the engraved rule in my world.

       Since I was unemployed for 6 months after getting fired from my previous employer, I found myself volunteering in all different areas of CR – getting to know the lay of the land. Little by little, I began to come out and play with the others.  To talk and smile more, but inside I still had walls built.  I continued on with counseling, first starting off with a male counselor that I had heard on my radio every Thursday morning.  I called his office and his secretary set the appointment.  Eventually my insurance ran out, and was told I could not see him anymore. However, I was told that he had an intern that would work with me on a sliding scale.  I was desperate to stop the memories inside my head, so I began working with the intern.  She was quiet. I told her upfront that if she wanted me to talk, she would have to ask me questions. And so we talked.  A little at a time I told myself.  Not too fast.  Don’t spill it all at once I told myself out of fear that she may not be qualified enough to work with me.

       In March 2010, I was so desperate for a job that I took a CNA training course from OSU-OKC because they offered it for free in return for 2 years of work in a nursing home. The class in general was fun.  I was surprised to learn that I had graduated in the top percentage of my class, which made me ecstatic!  I took an overnight nursing home job in Guthrie on April 7, 2010.  I thought it would be easy since I loved to be around older folks and most of my friends were older than me.  I also loved to hear their stories about pastimes and whatnots.  I worked there for 2 months and then had to quit because I couldn’t work with men. I was dissociating a lot and was cutting more and more. I explained to one of my co-workers why I couldn’t work with the men anymore and we switched whenever I had to work with them.  My head nurse found out and asked me why. And so I told her.  I was told by her that I was incompetent to do my job that I had been hired for. I was angry, ashamed, and actually felt pain inside.

       I was continuing to see my new therapist-in-training as all this was going on. My depression worsened. I would tell her about my nightmares. She helped me create a ‘safe’ box for every time I wanted to run and hide and cut – which was often.  Every week, she asked me for my blades.  She didn’t ask me to sign a contract to stop cutting, but she did ask that I call her each time before cutting.  Some days I did, and other days, I didn’t.  We talked about almost everything. She helped me build a support team from the people at CR, which I was still attending every Monday night.  It took me long, long time to trust the people at Celebrate Recovery, especially the minister and his wife, but I eventually came around. I made friends. I stepped way out of my comfort zone and joined a women’s step-study group.  Things were going pretty good for awhile.  I wasn’t as depressed as I had been. And like always, what goes up must come down.  Enter flashbacks, frozen with fear, pain, numbness, hatred of me, dirtiness inside, must end it all. 

       I wanted to truly end it all in June 2010. I had the plan and the means to do so. It was all arranged.  And if I hadn't gone to my counselor that fateful day, I probably wouldn't be here to tell my story.  After conferring with her mentor, she came back and told me that I had 2 options to choose from. Either go to the Crisis Intervention Center in OKC with a friend driving me or she would have to call the police to come get me.  And since I didn't want to get the police involved, I called a friend that I had trusted, told her what was going on and what I needed her to do.  She came and got me and after dropping off my car at her house, we left.  I was scared. I’d heard stories about those places and now I was going to one.  I spent 6 long, heavily medicated days in the crisis center - having not ever been in one of those places before, I didn't know what to expect. I slept the majority of the time I was in there. I rarely ate the food that was prepared for me there. Thankfully, I had friends that would bring me real food from the real outdoor world. And then one day, one of my friends brought me art stuff - and I got busy.  They wanted to keep me an extra day, but I wasn't going for it and signed out against medical advice.

      Unbeknownst to me, the minister at CR was working on getting me into a inpatient treatment center in Arizona on a scholarship. The treatment center not only worked with clients with drug & alcohol addictions, it also worked with clients who had trauma issues. They all agreed and it was set. Now all they needed to do, was present it to me. 

      Soon after my release from the CI center, the minister called and asked me to meet him and his wife at their house on day in the last week of June.  The minister caringly described to me what he thinks about my trauma – that while most people go through life with little “t’ trauma, I’d been dealing with big ‘T’ trauma all my life and that he had found someone to help me deal with it.  At first, I didn’t want to accept it, because I knew of other friends that could have used it.  But after those friends persuaded me to accept it, I did.  Speaking of friends, I was not allowed to sleep at home alone.  I was to spend the night at someone’s house at all times until I left for AZ.  That made me feel even more inadequate inside because I couldn't fully take care of myself. 

      He asked me what day I wanted to go. I told him it would have to be after the 4^th of July because my family throws one hell of a party (without alcohol) each year out on the farm and I’d already been roped into helping.  Plus, I needed to tell my parents about the decision & all the stuff that had happened over the last few months.  

      The following day after the 4^th, I told my parents that I needed to talk to them in person and they agreed to come to my house early the next morning.  I told them about my cutting issues and my stay in the CI center in OKC.  I also told them about my decision to go out to Arizona for help. I asked them if they could afford to help pay my mortgage and my car payment. And if they couldn't, I would rather lose the car than the house.     

The Old has Gone…and the New Has Come

      Then on July 10, 2010, I headed off to my first (and hopefully last) treatment center where I got the help I needed.  I arrived at Decision Point a shy, frightened, anxious, and depressed church mouse. From the day I arrived, I finally had people who would listen to me. In the beginning week of treatment, I met with a psychiatrist who indeed diagnosed me with PTSD, Recurrent Major Depressive Disorder, and Anxiety Disorder - NOS, and prescribed new medications for my anxiety and depression, as well as prescribing a sleeping aide that I could take when I felt I needed to.

      The two apartment style dwellings held men on one side of the fence and women on the other side.  The ‘center’ was a mere 4 blocks away from the apartments. And in the early stages of recovery, we had to ride to and from the apartments in vans for just about anything.  We also had to attend an AA meeting each and every day, whether out in the community during the weekdays or as a group in the managers’ suite on the weekends.  To be honest, I found it to be very boring. We were to follow the schedule at all times unless we had appointments with our therapist. There were a few times I bailed out on the schedule thinking that no one would notice.  Boy was I wrong.

      I was put into a group of other newbies whose group leader was a male. At first, I was hesitant to look at him, let alone talk to him. He knew about my cutting issues and told me that I didn't have to stop if I didn't want to.  He knew that I would stop when the time was right.  I soon discovered that he wore his heart on his shoulders and was a good guy. There were days in the late evening hours, when I contemplated cutting myself on the deck of my apartment, I heard his concern in his voice about the scars I would leave behind if I so chose to take a part in my actions. When he would laugh or smile at me and try to get me to do the same. I became a part of his group for about a month.  He made such an impression on my soul that I couldn't erase then and still can’t to this day.  Soon, it came time for him to split us up according to our addictions/problems.  That meant I had to trust yet another person.  It was hard to leave that group not knowing how trustworthy the next one would be.

       Even though I didn't talk very much in my new I grew group, I learned to like them.  They would be my group for the majority of my time spent at DP.  The people in the groups were always changing, as people come and go each week.  One of my two group leaders also became my regular therapist on top of my trauma therapist.  One day, I asked my therapist if I could attend CR on Thursday and church on Sunday as one of my meetings.  Not being a Christian treatment center, they hesitated at first because no one had ever asked them that before. And after a talk with all my other therapists, they agreed that I could.  I was happy and scared all at the same time. In the end, they saw that Christ could mend something broken into something beautiful.

       It took me awhile to start opening up – more than what the scholarship was worth.  I was grateful for receiving it in the first place. I decided that after the scholarship money ran out, I was going to stay until I felt I was ready to face the world again. Thankfully, I was in the right place. And eventually, I gave up on trying to control the madness within and broken down and shared my thoughts, feelings, and the horrible pictures that played in my mind. I spoke of words that I was called by my bullies and released them from my soul. 

       While I was there, I was fortunate to have a chance to be a part of the art therapy group at a treatment center in Arizona. Unfortunately though, it was cut due to the lack of participation and cooperation from other clients. I enjoyed a lot and it helped me to put my words onto and into projects, which helped me explain what it was in therapy. Art and poetry have always been a part of my life.  After all, it was, (along with books) a way I could get ‘lost’ inside myself.

        I really liked it when we got the chance to go rock climbing/repelling. It was another chance to put a fear to shame. It was ‘DARE’ week during my freshman year at high school camp. They had gotten permission to repel off the Arkansas River bridge.  I went three different times thinking I could overcome my fear, but on the last time, another youth group leader, who was belaying, told me that I was, basically, a sissy, that he wouldn't help me over the ledge, that I was wasting his time, and told me to move over for someone who could actually repel off the bridge.  Well, I have words to that youth group leader….booyah! I scaled up and then down 70 feet!

       I also had the amazing opportunity to take part of Equine Therapy, otherwise known as hippo-therapy (horse therapy).  And at first, I was scared out of my mind to step foot in the arena. But as the weeks went on, my bravery showed, and I gradually went further and further out into the arena. There I met a horse.  A horse like me.  A horse that had trust issues. And had been hurt.  I knew how he felt.  Took him a little while to trust me…but I never gave up on him. I protected him and he protected me.  And so we bonded.  That bond strengthened.  He gained love and respect, as did I.  And today, I miss him dearly for the love and bond we shared together.  I’ve heard great things since working with Bolero.  Great things like he’s no longer the frightened horse in the arena, but the free-spirited one. 

       My first group leader was right, I would eventually stop cutting when the time was right. I gave cutting and burning on January 11, 2011.

       In February 2011, after 8 months of therapy, I graduated the program.  My life and its feeding frenzy finally started to settle down.  I moved back home to live with my parents until I could stand on my own two feet again.  It was a new world for me. I never imagined in my life that I would be able to have a "calmer" side to life. I’m no longer that shy and timid church mouse. No, I’m a free-spirited, loving life church mouse!

        I was hired on again at Heartspring as an Intensive Individual Support Provider in April 2011.  I currently work with children with the Autism Spectrum Disorder and loving every moment of it. It's challenging and rewarding altogether - it keeps me busy.  Busy enough to take my mind off of me and give it to someone else.

2013 Update:

       I’m proud to say that it’s been 2 years, 5 months, and 23 days since the last time I self-injured, but who’s counting. Sometimes, I find myself thinking about the past and what may have become of it, if the friends that I love and trusted hadn't stepped in at the right time. I was caught up in my past life, the abuse, the bullying, the PTSD, depression, anxiety, and more. But by the grace of God, He has set me free!  And yes, I still think about cutting when life gets too difficult to handle. It’s when I pick up my phone and call or text someone, get myself busy and start working on craft projects, or go for a walk.  I know I must get myself out of that rut otherwise; I will be sucked back down. 

        I've lost quite a few friends that I made while at D.P. due to the raging addictions of drugs and alcohol.  Getting a big head and thinking that one more shot or one more drink won't hurt. Losing two of them that I connected to the most has been on the hardest things I have had to deal with after leaving Arizona, as they were both way too young to leave this world.  They left behind countless numbers of friends and families.  

        While I don’t have current clients at Heartspring, it gives me a chance to have good times with my best friends. The world is beautiful when you let it come.

2014 Update:


       Many things have changed since I wrote this.  I moved to Oklahoma City in Oct. 2013 to accept a full time position at the American Cancer Society. I am currently working at ACS as a Sr. Data Capture Associate II (a fancy title for data entry) in patient information. While I do love my job, it's hours and the people I get to work with, it can be sad & tedious. 

       My best friend from childhood has gotten married and we have gone our separate ways. I knew it would happen.  I tried to set a boundary with her while she was dating, but to no avail she talked me out of it - saying that our friendship would live on even after the marriage.  I knew better.  So now, I feel as if I've been abandoned. Don't get me wrong, I do have other friends, just not as close.  

       Issues with self-worth & depression, or therefore, lack of self-worth have taken a hold of me. I'm trying to find yet another therapist to help walk with me through this. Thoughts of cutting have been rampant for the last week and a half.  Just a little scratch I say to myself - surely that won't count. But it does. I've been clean for 3 years, 8 mos, and 4 days.  I've tried cycling again, but it seems like a failure to me.  Something that I once loved, has been lost. I'm trying to find it - the love - again. 

       I've lost 4 more people that have been a part of my life.  One introduced me to Hippo-therapy and allowed me to fall in love with the horse named Bolero.  She passed away from a stroke last November 2013. She will forever have a part in my life.  On April 27th, I lost my grandma. I knew that in advance that she wasn't doing good, as she's been at 30% heart function for many years.  It was inevitable, I knew that.  But that doesn't help with the pain and the heartache. And on Jun 18, 2014, I lost another friend from D.P. She was a roommate and had an contagious smile. She had such a loving & caring quality about her. I hope her spirit finds what she was looking for. And finally, I lost a uncle on my mom's side. One that I feel bad for not visiting more often. My mom was the only 'real' person of the family who knew him. Sure, I'd go visit him when I was with her; but that wasn't enough and I feel guilty for it. His body cremated, no service, no words of love to fill that void. Only death. 

       And so, I believe that I've lost a part of myself overall.  The love of life is gone....for now. I still find myself questioning the One who made me in all this mess....to say that I've had a steady relationship with Him from the get-go...well, would be lying. My relationship with Him has been rocky. It's been a rather slow progress.  I still find myself envious of other people's faith; wishing too that I had their similar faith - a faith deeply rooted in Him. 

       Within the past year, I've had a major falling out with a church here in Edmond - one that I had been a part of for many years.  It too, has added not only to the questioning of my faith, but to the Christian people as a whole. How do I trust the minister/leaders of a church again? I've been hurt by an elder of a Christian church and now I was deeply hurt by this church & its leaders.  How do I get past this?  Day by day, hour by hour...trying to believe in the One who created me.  Since the falling out, I have been going off and on to numerous other churches in the OKC/Edmond area. It will take time to forgive them, but I know its something I must do in order to go forward.