The entry below is taken from the first page in my book, Purpose for the Pain. It is the beginning of one of my first journals. Sitting here reflecting on where I was then, and where I am now, I hardly recognize the girl that wrote these words…
Scratch and Dent Sale (’03)
I handed you the key to let you in
You never told me you wouldn’t
Leave anything standing
(You left nothing standing)
You trashed everything and
Took all that I had
The sad thing is I would have
Given it to you if you asked
(Why didn’t you ask)?
So now I sit here amidst the rubble
And I think that I blend in
My heart broken- in pieces
Scattered meaninglessly across the floor
A pathetic trail that leads only to you
(And I won’t follow)
And I’m damaged goods
Mark the price down
Red line sale- fifty percent off
(Cause no one buys)
Who will want me now?
But go ahead to your trophy room and add one more to your collection
Another check on your pricy
Shopping list- and now on to the next item…
(Is that all I am?)
…It’s hard for me to recall where I was then, timelines, sequence of events, details…they all blur together for me. I do remember that I was used and abused, willingly and wrongfully, then tossed aside. If He, or She, wasn’t hurting me, then I was. I had taken all of my insecurities and allowed everyone and anyone to reinforce the thoughts and names I had given myself. I longed for justice, for redemption, but it was such a foreign concept…
I look at my life now, at the wounds that have healed, and the scars left behind, and I realize how far I have come in the past few years. Today I don’t view myself as devalued, I am not “leftovers” for someone to pick through. I have fought to value myself, first and foremost, and in turn, have learned how to value others as well.
For whatever reason, I have this odd analogy in my head, a picture of the girl that was, and the girl that is becoming.
I recently moved into a new home, and I bought a white rug for the living room floor. Well, naturally, since I loved it so much, my dog decided it would be a good idea to poop on it. Not just once, but multiple times. The pure white was spotted in dark smelly brown… the girl I was before would have compared it to her. I didn’t know how to clean it. The old me would have given up, throw the rug away, felt like a failure and hated the dog. I felt lost and overwhelmed. It felt so symbolic. Except, this time around, the old me didn’t have a voice loud enough to make me sit there in defeat. I acknowledged that I needed help, and a few days later I got my rug back, spotless and beautiful as ever. As if nothing ever happened…redemption. I choose to believe that nothing is beyond redemption today. As stupid as a rug may sound, it signifies so much more for me. The wounds and stains that have found their way into my heart, are slowly being cleansed. My heart is being made new. I would have never imagined the opportunities that have presented themselves in the past few years, or the people who have loved me along the way.
As scary as it is to put my journals out for the world to read, to let my heart be laid bare for all to see, it excites me to think that perhaps someone will journey through that process of healing with me in those pages, and maybe find a piece of themselves. A wound they identify with, a myth they believed about themselves, and hopefully, a tangible example that it is possible to come out on the other side. In my following blogs I will be pulling different pages from my book and giving some insight to where I was when I wrote them. I’m excited to share the insights I have gained and the wisdom that has been imparted to me, and the joy I have found in recovery. My journals have been described as ” a slow drip”, that hope we so fondly speak of, didn’t just shine through all of my pain from day one, it gradually trickled through, it was a process. I can’t say enough what a privilege it is to share what I have found with you.