Sunday, March 30, 2014

Dark Days

{Good Lord this post sounds melodramatic. It's not meant to be. It's honest. As honest as I know how to be right now. I'll be back to a more balanced place in a little while. Too often I don't acknowledge my own dark days. I'm trying that here, with this.}

Some days my broken gets too big. It eclipses every thing else in my life. I sink down, mesmerized with my own pain, sucked into the aching hole of my own private dark places. When I say some days, I mean at least once a week. Introspection is a good thing.  At times I go overboard and know myself a little too well. I forget to look around. I've spent long years believing I was other and alone. I was told to get over my broken, to see that others suffer more than I can imagine.

I've heard the platitudes and comparisons with a little Jesus sprinkled on to make those who offer such filth feel righteous. They ring in my mind, in my memories.  Some are etched in my soul. Other still block my ears and blind my eyes, tricking me into believing that what was is still now.

My voice is panicked, defiant, and silently screaming. There is no objectivity. Things that I know are right for me are called back into question once more. I back into the corner, desperate for protection, needing permission to choose for myself, to function, to breathe.

This is the fallout I hate. I hate my brokenness at times. I hate the way it dominates everything, that THIS, this is what I know. It's all I know. Trauma and recovery. I wish I could rip my heart out of my chest, to find some way to let all the darkness pour out of me once and for all. Darkness I never invited, never wanted, never deserved yet that darkness haunts me, torments me, taints me.

I lost the first 22 years of my life to abuse and I've spent the last 8 finding myself and healing from all the damage. I don't know anything else. The only beauty that I possess comes from ashes. Most days I embrace the mystery along with the pain - the mystery of why this was allowed in my life.  The mystery of the purpose that it may one day serve. The mystery of abuse done in the name of a holy merciful God.

On these types of days, I loath the mystery. I demand answers. My heart's voice screams "why?!" until it's hoarse. There are still no answers. No more of a response now than there was back then. My pain swallows me and everything I know, all that I have learned is once more lost in the howls of a soul in agony.

How long will you forget me, Lord? Forever? How long will you look the other way when I am in need? How long must I be hiding daily anguish in my heart? How long shall my enemy have the upper hand?Answer me, O Lord my God; give me light in my darkness lest I die.  
Psalm 13:1-3






1 comment:

  1. "permission to choose for myself, to function, to breathe" Yes! Do it! God gave us free will and using it in this way would be a gift. He wants you to function and breathe...and when you can't, let His breath be your breath. He is there...lean in. He wants you to.
    Oh, how he wants us to lean on Him and not our own understanding...I'm stubborn, though. Thank goodness his patience is greater than mine. As for the melodrama...sometimes that's just what you need in order to pour out! Your vulnerability is a gift to me. Thank you.

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