Unfiltered Insanity

I was about to write this huge post about Jesus and I was standing on my soapbox, but I convicted myself at the end and realized that before I can write that post, I need to do what I was going to preach, and share my testimony.

I was born into an interesting family. My mom is Cuban and my dad is American. They met in the Army, got married, had me, and got divorced. Pretty much, just like that. I was two. I never knew life with two parents as a kid. I was born in a military hospital just outside of D.C. in Alexandria, Virginia. When I was 5, my mom moved to Miami and that’s where I grew up.

I think my dad’s marriage to my stepmom (who is now one of my best friends), really affected her and hurt her. She started drinking a lot. She dated around a lot. The details of life with my mom will be on Violence Unsilenced sometime in the near future.

My mom remarried and the man seemed nice enough when I was younger, but once I hit adolesence and started, er, developing, apparently I became much more than a stepdaughter to him. Eventually he began to molest me. My mom didn’t believe me. It stopped for a while and I thought, “whew, he got caught, even if mom doesn’t believe him, he should know better by now that I will tell.” And that was true for a while. It started back up soon enough and I told, but once again, she was blinded by alcohol and “love.” She divorced him when he cheated. My mom was AWESOME.

Some years later, when I was 14 or 15, she reconnected with her “long lost love” and decided to move up to where he lived the summer I turned 15. I chose to move to Atlanta to live with my dad. (I know, what a shock!) Well to my mom, it was a shock. She couldn’t believe that I didn’t want to live with her anymore. I could. Why would I move in with some guy I met once, when I was 6? I mean, SERIOUSLY! I’d been burned before. Not to mention, my mom was drinking more than ever then, and I had just had enough. I wanted a life that was free from adult responsibilities and that had two parents.

I didn’t appreciate my stepmom then, but really, she was my one constant in my life. Despite the amount we argued, I really loved knowing she was always there. I knew she loved me, but like most teenagers, my head was shoved too far up my ass to really appreciate it.

I was obligated to go to church when I lived with them, and at first, I really rejected the whole concept. I had this idea that, “If God really loved me, why didn’t He protect me.” I eventually learned that God really did love me, and I embraced God for a few years. The love I had for God during that time was so pure and unencumbered. I yearn for that again.

My mother was diagnosed with brain cancer when I was 17. She almost died. To be honest, I think the cancer saved her life. It wasn’t until the cancer that she stopped drinking and stopped smoking. She survived it, but not before spending 6 weeks in a coma after having a stroke. She managed to stay in remission for 10 years and relapsed. She is in remission again, though it’s left her with other medical problems.

When I was 19, I went through some trials. I was homeless for a short time (mostly because I was proud and my head was still shoved up my ass). But I felt that everyone, especially the church, had abandoned me. I still loved God, but I felt betrayed. I started partying, doing drugs, drinking…

One night, while hanging out and spending the night at a friend’s house, his friend was over. We were hitting it off. Once my friend and his wife went to bed, we started kissing. It was obvious that he wanted it to go further and I was a virgin. I told him “no” but he did it anyway. I was so messed up by then by the abuse and the fact that I’d never dealt with it, that I thought, “If he did this after I told him no, then he must really like me.” Trust me, women who believe they are only worth someone else’s sexual pleasure, as I did, that was a totally logical thought.

That one event totally sent me into a whirlwind of sex, drugs, parties, and drinking. I partied whenever I could. I had sex with whoever I could.

Just as I stopped the partying, I met Mr. B online. We began chatting, then talking on the phone, then he moved to Atlanta to be with me. We got married a year later. The first year of marriage was difficult, and soon I began missing God and church. I began going to church again. Mr. B did not understand. I became persecuted in my own home. He teased me for believing in something that didn’t exist. He called me naive and, basically, stupid.

We were robbed twice in our apartment in Atlanta and he wanted to move back to Iowa. He gave me the option of going with him or staying and getting a divorce. He knew we weren’t getting along very well with the whole “church thing” and he thought I wanted out. I thought about it, but in the end, decided that it was my responsibility to stay with him. I said “for better or for worse” and I said, “Let’s go, then.”

Eventually we started getting along. We were trying to have a baby. He’d started going to church with me. About two months after I was preggo with S, he finally came to Christ as well. Our marriage completely changed.

We’ve had some very difficult times. Mistakes made on both sides of the marriage. But overall, we’ve grown closer to eachother and closer to God.

I’ve hidden this for a long time. I’ve been at a church for a little over two years and I’ve only recently started sharing this. For some people who knew me in adolesence, this is “old news.” But I know a lot of you are going to read this and be like, “whoa, really?” All I got to say is, “yeah, really!”

The weird thing, I don’t think it was that bad, or that traumatizing. I’ve only recently discovered that I have PTSD, which explains my anxiety attacks, my nightmares and my survivor’s guilt. I read the stories of other women and men who’ve gone through these things, and I feel guilty for even thinking my story compares. I’ve learned that this is a common feeling for most survivors. I think the miracle that comes out of these traumas and tragedies is that we are given a heart that is more concerned with other people’s pain than with our own. Don’t get me wrong, there are days, especially after I’ve had a particularly realistic nightmare, or if something’s triggered a flashback, where I just shut down for a whole day; but I often recover quickly and go about my life as usual.

I didn’t write this for sympathy. Honestly, I hate sympathy. I can’t change my past and no matter how much I wish it away, there are outcomes of that life that I wouldn’t change, ever. I wrote this out because, honestly, I can’t keep it in anymore. I think part of healing is letting go of the pain and this is part of my giving it to God. He, who is ultimately more qualified to handle the pain than I am.

I also wrote this for a very important reason that extends far beyond just my own healing. It’s because I’ve realized that there are far too many stories out there. And so many women who have stories that do NOT have Christ to bear the burden for her. I just want to show them that God will bear their burden. God is about relationships. There can’t be relationships unless you relate to one another.

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This entry was posted by Lisa on Thursday, July 23rd, 2009 at 1:57 pm and is filed under Spiritual Stuff. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.