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Messages - glondonsmith

#1
I was raised very strictly Christian - there were so many things at church taught as absolute truth, that wouldn't sit well with me - but questioning was always met with criticism, accusations, and the threat of *.  No matter how many times I was prayed over - and had demons cast out of me - I still had the questions.  It was never an issue with God - in fact God and I are pretty tight  :) - but with the expression of religion itself.  A few months ago, I started doing yoga - which in my background is pretty much a set of keys opening up one of the gates of *!  But I absolutely LOVE it!  It is like a sanctuary in my head - a space which is otherwise chaotic, critical, and noisy.  Anyways, I found a poem that I wrote several years ago about my early church experience, and it really highlighted that I have been searching for stillness for a long time...


Little Girl
g
 
Little girl, alone on her chair
Patent leather shoes, pig-tail hair,
Almost four.
Toes tracing patterns on the saw dust floor

Watching the circus master in center ring
"Allelujah!" - he does his thing
Shiny white shoes, polyester suit
Like a lion going in full pursuit, He says
"Let's get Satan on the run.  Can I hear an AMEN!"
Casting out demons again and again
Speakin in tongues, dancin on stage,
Worked into a frenzied holy rage
"God wants your soul, will you answer His call?" 
Waves of people swoon and fall
Preacher man telling God
What to do
  Where to go
    What to say
God seeming to obey
He's got God by the hand, he's got God by the throat
A cacophonous crescendo, a halleluiah high note...
Then holy hush falls on the weary crowd.
White hankies wiping sweat beaded brows
Preacher man says "Can I hear another AMEN?!"
The clamor starts again.
 
Little girl, hiding under her chair
No one seems to notice her there. 
Tears making patterns in the dust on her shoes
Fearful,
  alone,
    heart confused...
 
Little girl, now grown
Trying to figure out God on her own
Still wondering
  still frightened,
    still confused,
      sometimes bemused...
What does God think of our views?
Whose version of God should she choose?

Still working through "truth" she's been sold –
Does she have to speak in tongues to see the streets of gold?
Are religious leaders above all the moral decay?
Is everything black and white, with no room for gray?
 
Still nursing the wounds from her past
She strives to come to terms with God at last
A God of Love
  A God of Truth
    A God of Grace
Past sins
  Past lies
    Past hurts – replaced
He draws her near
And perfect love casts out all fear

She seeks His will

He says, My child -
    Be still - and know that I am God.

#2
Finding this website has been amazing - suddenly I feel like there is hope, and that I am not just on a slow spiral into insanity.  I really thought this was all just me - that I wasn't strong enough, that I had a problem with unforgiveness, that everyone else can just handle things better that me and that I was just wasn't enough.

I was seeing a psychiatrist a few years ago, and he said that what I was sharing sounded like C-PTSD, but then nothing was ever explored around it - and he just focused on the medication side of things for me.  I hadn't even remembered that he had even said that, until recently.

**I don't know if this could be a trigger for anyone?  Like I said - I thought it was all just me...*

The issue I was seeing the psychiatrist for was - my husband was diagnosed with type 1 diabetes at 21, and we got married at 23.  My husband is a very structured and regimented person - which was also how he dealt with his diabetes.  He worked hard to keep his blood sugars as close to normal as possible - which would lead to him having hypoglycemic episodes in the middle of the night.  During these episodes I would wake up to him "twitching" or "shuddering", and being incoherent - which would require me having to force him to have sugar syrup or drink juice.  During these times he would act out - getting angry telling me to leave him alone and that he was fine, pushing/shoving me away, hitting the juice out of my hands, etc.   This would happen approx 2-3 a week.  It got to where if he would twitch in his sleep - I would go from asleep, to on my feet running out of our bedroom for juice - regardless if he was actually low or not.  I was hyper-vigalint, even at "rest".  When we had been married for about 2 years, he had his first hypoglycemic seizure - which was a grand-mal type seizure.  During and after the seizure - he would be even more agitated and aggressive than usual, I would almost say (although it is really difficult for me to admit this) violent.  This pattern went on for 18 years - the weekly lows and a major seizure every 2 years or so. He would never remember anything afterwards - so he would just apologize and move on, while I felt like I was on a slow descent into madness.  All this I carried on my own - I never really spoke to anyone about it, because I didn't want to dishonor or embarrass my husband.  Even though 2 of his seizures were witnessed by family members - I never said anything afterwards, and no one ever said anything to me.  The last seizure he had was really bad - and afterwards he said he remembered becoming violent with the paramedic, when I told him it was me he had been violent with, he got really upset, and finally changed the way he manages his diabetes.  For the last couple of years he has been really good - no seizures, very few lows at night (maybe a couple times a year).  He has apologized for that time in our life.  He has moved on...I have not.  I still feel stressed, broken, and still startle in the middle of the night when he twitches.

Looking back, I have begun to recognize how unhealthy that was (to not talk about it) - and examining why that was, and realizing that it is a theme that has run (and still runs) through my entire life.  As a child, my father was a diagnosed NPD, and my family never talked about anything (unless it was about my dad) -
- I was raised in "fire and brimstone" Christian denomination - and I was always in trouble for asking questions or raising doubts.  I was just a thinker - but it was seen as being willful and sinful.  I would get demons cast from me regularly!  You were not allowed to ask questions or try to discuss anything - you were expected to accept blindly.
- my family was in a major head on collision while on holiday in a foreign country when I was 10, where 3 people died (including my grandmother) and both my parents were hospitalized for 6 weeks - and I was put into foster care (in a strange country)...we never talked about it, never went to counseling - nothing.
- when I was 11 I was basically molested at a town pool by a group of teenage boys - I tried to talk to my mother about it, and she said I shouldn't swim near teenage boys, and that was it - never talked about anything else.
- my father attempted suicide when I was 21 - my mother tried not to tell me about it, never saying anything for almost a week, until she finally admitted he was in hospital when I was like "seriously where is Dad?!?"

These are just a few things I went through, but this post is already getting too wordy! But all this to say - I have had a whole lifetime of silence - and I have realized that it is killing me.  I am tired of feeling afraid, broken, inauthentic, and silenced.  Discovering this forum has been amazing - it puts air in my lungs, and makes me feel like I might actually be able to survive this. 

Sorry again for being so wordy.  And thank you so much for giving me a space to have a voice.

~ g