healing-invisible-scars

[healing-invisible-scars]

How do you hold yourself together when the walls of the home you built with your bloodied, broken hands come crumbling down? When the entire sky bursts in flames and covers you with ashes? How do you manage to keep breathing when your lungs are filled with fiery soot drowning you in the Hell you tried so hard to bury? You were fine, then all in an instant you weren’t. You were enjoying the warm Summer heat beneath you as you laid in the grass and then the ground opened up, spewing molten lava and you just let it swallow you whole. You naively ignored the destruction that would surely catch up to you. Tried to swallow it like a pill but you can’t fucking swallow horse pills and it kept coming back up, lodging itself in your esophagus and you just couldn’t breathe anymore. You choke up the tears you’ve been holding back for your dying mother and you can’t get them to stay inside your skull where you banished them. Then you remember the birthday gifts for the nine year old girl that have been sitting on the table in the corner of your room gathering dust for the last four months and all of the reasons why she has yet to open them. You can’t stop the waterfall from pulling you down and under to the bottom of the ocean where you keep all of your secrets. The dozen pregnancy tests in the drawer beside your bed that are all marked with two bright pink lines and the blood on the mattress that came the next morning because you know those fucking piss-stained sticks are the only thing left that makes your children real. His hands wrap tight around your throat with a gun pointed to your head as he stares right through you with black holes for eyes that once held galaxies inside of them, sucking the last of your soul from your limp body that can’t put up a fight anymore. You remember that she no longer loves you and has forgotten you, too. You’re forced in a panic to open the images your brother drunkenly and disgustingly sends to you at 4:26am on a Tuesday morning that haunt you in your dreams when, God, you just want to sleep. All the trauma you vowed to forget comes crashing down like Kamikazes, piercing you with shrapnel that cuts so deep you’re not sure these wounds will ever heal so you whisper, “My God, just let me sleep for good this time.” Yet you wake the next morning in a bed that’s made, in a home that’s still standing, in a world that hasn’t quite ended yet.

[healing-invisible-scars]

Savior

When God created me in His image The finished piece was too close to Christ   He gave me a heart that only knows love Endlessly forgiving those whom are undeserving But how could I possibly ignore their cries of repentance For they know not what they’re doing?

I thirst for answers, screaming to the Heavens: My God, why have you forsaken me? Why was I made to suffer With my hands and feet pouring blood From the wounds caused by others Turning into wine for them to devour As it drips down the bark of a dogwood tree Until their stomachs spill over with snakes  And I am left to clean up the messes they’ve made? Why was I made too much like Christ Only to be treated as a leper? Why wasn’t I made with a heart that can trespass against others? My God, I am finished Finished praying for my paradise to come Praying for someone’s hands to catch my fallen spirit The way a grieving son would hold his grieving mother Yet the only hands that ever touch me Disown me as I walk through the shadows in which I am condemned And I’ll still show them Mercy. The love I place into others’ hearts Becomes a fear far greater than Peter’s With their sins exonerated by my selfless hands, They will be blessed by the Grace of a heart Made too damn close to Christ.

[healing-invisible-scars]

The Egg of the Phoenix

I gained many strengths over the course of the last year. I have learned self-love in ways I never thought imaginable, I have learned to cope with loss by healthy means, I have become independent, patient, and proud. I have learned to love unconditionally and to forgive effortlessly.

Though I have suffered many losses, I have gained immense strength and hope. Through mourning, I learned how to deal with loss and despair without giving in to the temptation of drugs and alcohol. Despite a relapse, I remained sober for 317 days out of the year. I was pushed beyond breaking points and continuously bounced back with a clearer head and a better understanding each time. I learned to look from the outside in, recognize my weaknesses and flaws and make a change.

I have grown so much this year. By losing a best friend, the person I had hoped to spend the rest of my life with, and a child I desperately wanted, I had to reevaluate my entire life and make changes to better the quality of my life. I can now look back at these losses and I can see how much I have gained because of them and be thankful for those moments because without them, I would still be the piece of shit that I was. I can look back at the good times I shared with both Tyler and Cody and only feel love and happiness.

I couldn't handle loss or change very well in the past. I would lash out, exhibit self-destructive behavior, drink myself half to death, run away from the goodness in my life, and hurt the people I love. I would make those around me miserable because I felt as if it was unfair that they didn't understand my suffering.

I am letting go of the pain and entering 2018 with pride, hope, and joy. I am so proud of who I have become and honestly for the first time in my life I am truly loving myself. I have learned to make myself and my happiness my top priority. I am accepting the things I cannot change. I have wasted so much of my energy trying to change others because I felt I was doing the right thing and I was doing it out of love. I see now that it isn't my responsibility nor am I capable of doing so. Therefore, I can continue to love, but from a distance that allows the decisions of others to not have a direct impact on myself and my happiness.

I am forgiving those who have inflicted pain on my heart, directly and indirectly. More importantly, I am forgiving myself while also taking accountability for the actions that led me down a path of self-righteousness and destruction.

I have been patient with myself and with others in a way I haven't been able to be before. My compassion is no longer a means to selfish ends. I now love because I want to, not because I need to.

I am no longer holding on to anger nor allowing hatred to consume me. I am letting go of fear and welcoming positive change. I now have the strength to look back on this hellacious year with a smile, because through the ashes, a Phoenix has risen.

[healing-invisible-scars]

This year has taught me a lot about loss.

January 1st, 2017, my family suffered the loss of a loved one. From day one, this year has been one loss after another. From the multitude of deaths of family and friends, to losing myself to the temptation of drugs and alcohol, to losing the greatest love I’ve ever known, and now, 11 months later, to losing a second unborn child.

I’ve had many issues with my reproductive system in the past. I was told I’d have extreme difficulty if I were to ever conceive, and that it may not even be a possibility.

Monday I got the overwhelming urge to pee on a stick, because something just didn’t sit right, and sure enough, three minutes later, two blue lines appeared. Fear, joy, anxiety. A few hours later, I decided to try for round two. Three minutes pass, two blue lines. Sheer excitement, complete and total terror.

I thought, finally, something good is coming of this year. I’m going to be a parent; something I day dream about constantly. Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday I spent at the doctor’s office. Thursday my doctor seemed really concerned about my health and the cramping I’d been feeling, so she sent me over to the hospital to get lots of tests done. Yesterday morning I called my doctor at 8am, the minute they opened, to hear about my results. Nothing in. I called back at 9, impatient to know what was going on. Nothing in yet. They called me around 11:30, and I ran out the back door of work, excited to hear what they had to say.

Bad news. “You’re no longer pregnant.” Through forced politeness and composure, I thanked the nurse for calling and we said, “goodbye,” and I went back to work.

Last year, I experienced something similar. I went to the hospital for bleeding and cramping. I have an IUD, so it was alarming, especially after not having a period for four years and because I’m constantly paranoid the device will perforate my uterus. Turned out that I was having a miscarriage. While that was upsetting, it didn’t hit me like this one. There was no excitement and joy in discovering I was pregnant. There weren’t any phone calls to friends and family members to share the news. Days didn’t pass knowing there was something growing inside of me that I would one day hold and love more than anything. There wasn’t anything there. How could I feel loss of something I didn’t even know I had?

I’ve shed some tears, I’ve felt some relief in ways, I’m disappointed, but mostly numb. Trying to process and cope.

But at least I know now, the hysterectomy I was scheduled to have earlier this year, would have been a grave, irreversible mistake. I must stay focused on staying sober, bettering myself, and getting my shit together so that, when the time comes, I will be ready.

Out of all of this loss, I have gained something powerful this year. I have Hope.

[healing-invisible-scars]

I've been in a severe depressive state since February, it got worse in June, and even worse in July. This is the longest bout of depression I think I've ever dealt with. I haven't cooked a meal in my home, done laundry (with the exception of work clothes,) or even washed dishes in months. I cleaned my room for the first time in about a month a few days ago and it makes me feel a little better but I haven't left my bed except to go to work. I don't eat, I don't take care of myself at all. I binge watch Netflix and sleep with my dogs all day.

I went to the doctor last week for strep throat. The RN said, "wow! You've lost a LOT of weight since the last time we saw you. Congratulations." Don't congratulate me, I didn't do any work to lose the weight. Congratulate my mental illness. Glorify it, even. It's a spectacular diet. That really pissed me off and it's sad that medical professionals can't even recognize clear signs of anorexia and weight loss due to depression, even though my medical history states I have an eating disorder.

When I went to the doctor three weeks ago to get my injured arm evaluated to start PT, the doctor asked if I wanted my prescriptions from the hospital refilled. I said sure, why not? She prescribed me 50 narcotic pain pills and 120 muscle relaxers. My medical history states I have depression, I have suicidal tendencies, and I am an alcoholic and I abuse drugs. This also pissed me off.

Despite being logically pissed off at these things, a part of me loves it. I love having a bunch of pills to get high off of. I love that people are noticing how skinny I've gotten, even though I know it's not healthy. I hate having to buy new clothes every couple of weeks, but damn, I love that my brand new size one jeans are already starting to get loose on me.

I have a problem. I don't know how to fix it, and even if I did know how, I can't afford proper healthcare. I don't know what I'm doing, but I guess I'll start with washing some dishes and cooking an actual meal for myself for the first time since Cody died.

Baby steps.

[healing-invisible-scars]

I don’t like how I feel


What I see


Who I am


I do not feel pride


Just shame


Loneliness


Powerless

When


Will


It


End

[healing-invisible-scars]

Do you know how badly it hurts to be desired but never wanted?

My mother took razor blades to her face because men found her too beautiful.

She was afraid no one would love her for the person she is, when they couldn't see past the surface.

I never understood this.

Until now.

If looks could kill, I'd be on death row.

But my beauty is not skin deep.

There's more to be found here, but no one seems to search for it.

And they always come back once they think they've had a taste.

Telling me I'm wonderful and special.

That they have regrets.

But I know why they're here.

And they run again once I let more than just a little skin start to show.

Do not tell me you miss me.

Do not tell me you love me.

Because I will believe every word that drips from your lips.

Love is not here.

Lust conquers you.

Please keep watch of what you breathe in,

For you are not the one,

And I was never yours for the taking.

[healing-invisible-scars]

It comes in waves. It's unpredictable and uncontrollable. The harsh realization that you're gone. That I'll never hug you or hear your rumbling laughter again.

No more late night talks. No more of you wiping away my tears as we listen to shitty emo music on the floor, throwing back a bottle of bourbon. No more stupid adventures like that time we had the grand idea of searching the entire city for equipment to build Rock Band like they were pieces to a puzzle. No more "I love you," and "I love you too"s.

The waves wash over me on the bike ride to work, the bus ride home, while standing in the check out lane at the grocery store. I can't stop them from coming and I never know when they'll hit. When they do, I'm taken back to the day they started coming. I hear Tyler's voice on the other end of the phone, "Cody died." I feel my blood drain all over again, I feel a piece of my soul escape my body, I feel my knees buckle and I hit the floor screaming, "no, no, no, no, no." It happens all over again.

I see you lying in the casket a week later, your grey skin making your red beard appear more vibrant than before. When we got to the door, ready to walk in, I grabbed Aubrey's hand and whispered, "I don't want to do this." I can't hear those songs anymore without being taken back to the funeral home, unable to take my eyes off of you, waiting for you to wake up. Aubrey and I swore we saw your chest moving the longer we stared, but we know you weren't breathing. My hands still feel cold from where I touched you for the last time.

I wish the waves would stop reaching the shore line so I can breathe again. So I can go another day forgetting you're no longer here. I don't remember the last time I saw you, maybe it was the time we kidnapped you and took you out to play minigolf. Maybe it was at Tyler's apartment, playing games. I'm not sure. I wish to hell I could just fucking remember.

You took pieces of each of us when you left, and none of us will be able to feel the space that's gone. He's not the same without you. I'm not the same. I love you, Cody Ray. I'd give anything to have you back.

Goddamn, I miss my dead friend.

[healing-invisible-scars]

You Never Imagine Yourself Being One Of Them

You never imagine becoming a statistic. You always told yourself you’d never allow yourself to end up in a situation like that. You thought you were stronger than that. It has nothing to do with strength.

I never thought I’d be one to stay in an abusive relationship. It never crossed my mind as a remote possibility. I’d always been the type of person that didn’t take shit from anyone, especially men. So, how did I find myself in this situation?

It started off normal. Things went great for quite a while. We exchanged “I love yous” four months in. He was going to skip town to do some traveling, but he stayed home for me. We had fallen hard into a deep punk rock love. Mostly I think we just loved how much one another loved drinking and doing drugs. Super romantic, right? To be honest, I don’t remember a whole lot of the beginning stages of the relationship because my schedule was wake up, drink, go to work, drink, come home, drink, pass out, repeat. Then I realized I had a problem, so I quit drinking (something I do every few years and then I end up picking it back up.) That’s when I started to notice my overly romanticized relationship was nothing but unhealthy, (think of a Courtney/Kurt or Sid/Nancy type of romance.) Then through the clarity of sobriety I started to notice the abuse. 

Abuse takes time to manifest. It starts off small, then grows into something incredibly scary. It’s even hard to recognize the abuse at first. I remember being told to “get over it” when one of my friends committed suicide because “it was what he wanted.” I needed comfort and warmth, but all I was given was cold, hard, sharp. I was “too much” to deal with because I’m “emotional.” Well, fuck. My friend hung himself, who wouldn’t have a panic attack over that? About a year into the relationship, I was struggling to stay sober, not completely, but I was definitely trying and I was drinking less. He was not. It caused tension, of course. He was mean when he was drunk. Down-right nasty. But I loved him, so  I put up with it.

Close to a year in was when the abuse really started. He was distant and cold, controlling, manipulative, vindictive, mean, spiteful, but it was in such small ways that it was hardly noticeable. Until it happened. Until he hit me for the first time. 

We had just looked at new houses to potentially move into. We had had a great time looking around a new town, enjoying what the city had to offer. But we went to a few bars around town and he changed at the snap of a finger. On the drive back to my cousin’s house, where we lived, we didn’t speak a word. He was mad at me. But why? We pulled into the driveway and I demanded an answer. “What did I do? Why are you mad at me?” He snapped. Started screaming and yelling about how he wanted to break up. I tried to calm him down and told him I wasn’t leaving the car until we talked things through. He got out of the car, busted out my bedroom window to crawl through to grab his things. I stayed in the car, not knowing what to do. He came back, kicked me out of the car, but my purse and other belongings were still inside. I went to his door and told him he couldn’t leave until he gave me my things. He opened the door and punched me square in the face and I fell to the ground. In total shock, I tried to get back up, but he pushed me down, punched me repeatedly in the face, grabbed me by my shirt and bra, in which he ripped off of my body, exposing my bare chest in broad daylight. My boss had given me some bottles of alcohol that were in his car and even in that state of shock, I told him I just wanted my purse and that I didn’t want him to have the alcohol because I was afraid of him drinking and driving. He proceeded to throw the bottles at me, busting them on the concrete and throwing me into the glass. He then left.

I have flashbacks of that experience a lot. I’m shaking and feel a heat wave of anxiety as I type this out. I can’t feel my fingers and my body is tingling. 

But you know what? I stayed. For four years, I stayed. Most of my, and his, friends only know of that one incident. It may have been the first, but it wasn’t the last. I had my head smashed into walls, I was thrown from the bed by my neck. Many nights he screamed at me, threatened me, threw things at me, broke my furniture, hurt me and my dogs. For four years this went on. 

I never thought I’d be part of that statistic.

But here I am. I’m part of it. 

I wish I could type out more. But I need a break.