of silent things

Here I sit. Lukewarm coffee and blinking cursor. And, as often is the case, I am not sure how to start. But writing helps immensely. It has always been cathartic.

............... 

And fifteen minutes later.....

So, it's pretty astonishing to me that there are things, like major things, about myself I am just now discovering. It also astonishes me how deeply one can bury something and how easily that "something" can rise, uninvited, to the surface. 

Here it is:

I have abandonment issues. I mean, I have lots of issues, but never would I have ever said that abandonment was one of them. 

It's true, so much of who we are as people is shaped in childhood. 

And sometimes your childhood is effed up. 

My grandparents practically raised me and my twin brother because my parents divorced before my first birthday. And when you're 21, having two babies puts a significant damper on the single lifestyle. 

Growing up, I would overhear stories, like my mom would often drop my brother and I off at my grandparents, then leave and not come back for hours, or even days. 

She went on, lived her life, put a baby up for adoption...

She was in and out of my life like a relative who visited a lot. 

It's strange, even now, she will see a picture or hear a retelling of a story from my childhood apart from her and say that she remembers it, too, but I have no recollection of her being present. I think guilt has an unbelievably remarkable way of allowing people to remember things differently than they actually happened. Because, the truth is something they can't accept. I would never have the heart to tell her otherwise. So, I leave her with her recreated memories. They are a comfort to her. I have a feeling she'd never believe me anyway. 

My dad was absentee. He tried to justify it once to me when I was around twelve. He just said, in a very matter-of-fact kind of way, "I thought you'd be better off without me." 

Huh, okay. And because of this, we aren't close to this day. Which is sad. It was also devastating to not be able to point out which man was "Daddy Mike" in a room full of strangers at Christmastime. 

And I thank God for my grandparents. I miss them. I shudder to think how I would have ended up without them. 

Things were stable for me until I was ten. 

My mom had remarried someone who was ten years her junior and ten years my senior. She got pregnant right away with a second set of twins. After the babies were born, they wanted to relocate to Northern California. 

She wanted to bring us with them. I didn't want to go. At all. Looking back, I can only assume that it was out of sheer selfishness that she forced us to go. She needed help with the babies. And she didn't want to be alone. 

I think I have honestly blocked out a lot of what happened to me that year. The year an already timidly shy girl lost her voice completely. The memories I do retain I wish I could somehow un-remember. I remember getting up on our own. I remember having to wear damp clothes to school and trying to dry them before the bus came by swinging in the chill of the morning air. I remember lying awake at night, terrified I'd hear the doorknob turn and the creak of the door again. Terrified of the darkness and the shadows and the man. I remember in the darkness disconnecting myself from my body and asking, no begging, God to just take me. I felt abandoned by Him, too. I'd listen to "Everybody Wants to Rule the World" by Tears for Fears and repeat the lyrics "Nothing ever lasts forever" again and again in my head and desperately hope they knew something I didn't. 

And then, without warning, we came home. And I was safe again and little by little found my voice, until I was brave enough to write a letter. 

And I carry those scars. And the blame that was eventually placed on me for being silent. And of others' guilt too hard to accept. 

....................

And so today, I can be overly-sensitive. And I'm a people pleaser. I struggle with emotional eating. When I feel like I may be in danger of being left or mistreated, I withdraw.  It's my defense mechanism. My feeble effort to somehow keep myself safe. I had never made the connection before. I see it so clearly now. 

And I continue to find my voice. To struggle and work through the shadowy places and listen as God brings about a purpose. {I am not defined by bad things that happened to me and neither are you}

And there is evil in the world, but it can never negate the beauty. 

Beauty for ashes. 

Words still being penned. 

Pages still to be written. 

Redemption. 

And I will not remain silent.