This has been a hard year for me. I am not saying that all the years I have been on this planet have been good, easy and wonderful however; I am saying that this one has made me sit back a lot and wonder just what the hell I am doing here.
During the first years of my healing when I was dealing with flashbacks, nightmares and psyche wards plus counselors who were trying their best to either re-boot my programming or reprogram me period, I admit I was a serious basket case. Depression was my main fight as I was always in a state just short of offing myself. You can call it my suicide programming or whatever but to say the least I was living in a constant state of darkness and trauma. I often had a very hard time trying to decide if I was here or back there with all my abusers.
I have spent a lot of time the last six years or so trying to help other survivors and give them a little hope, compassion and validation, things that I needed so much in the beginning. There was no internet back then or comfort groups and the psyche wards did not even deal in MPD/DID. I was either labeled bipolar or whatever … all my therapists admitted I had been sexually abused but I was not allowed to go near ritual abuse or anything else. I knew nothing about project paperclip, MK or Monarch programming. I knew I had an odd fear of the color green back then but had nothing to associate it with. I was given shock treatments without me or my husband’s consent. I was drugged almost out of my mind and I almost died from all the drugs they were continually pumping into me like cocktails… all kinds of mixtures. I felt like a human guinea pig. But somewhere in the middle of all of this, way back in my mind I knew I was not crazy. I knew I had to find a way to fight my way back and fight to live. So I did.
Trying to reel a mind back in that has been so traumatized and abused is no easy feat. Most of the time I could only sit on the outside and observe myself trying to fight through the fog and pain. I would feel like a person in a coma trying to communicate with the world outside only to be paralyzed and mute. I could see everyone and hear everyone but could not communicate my pain or my thoughts at all. Anything that came out was garbled and missconscrewed. I became frustrated and angry.
I yelled at GOD a lot. I hit myself a lot and even cut on myself trying to let all the pain and anger out. I would watch my blood run and for a few minutes feel a little relief and then I would feel guilty and stupid for cutting myself.
I heard about deliverance ministers and I admit way back then I was game to try anything to get some relief and get well. Most Christians would not come near me. Hey a nut from the nuthouse was a scary thing for most Christians to deal with and I did look pretty loopy back then. I was told I needed deliverance from all my demons and then I would be whole. Instant cure, IF I had enough faith and IF I followed all directions of the deliverance minister. Well…. One thing I did learn, there are no deliverance ministers. There are ministers who claim they are deliverance ministers but that is about it. I was way worse off afterwards then I was before I started. What I did not know was how they control, manipulate and reprogram, not fix or deliver anything. So far I have seen no instant cures and I have not seen or met any real deliverance ministers. I have heard many horror stories from other survivors who fell into the same trap.
So where is the hope in all of this? Well my hope came within myself reaching out to my Creator, one on one, honestly and openly. No instant cures or deliverance, sorry. I did notice however, that when I started getting real with my Heavenly Father and coming straight to Him that my parts started merging and I started little by little healing. I also noticed how the fear started leaving me. I was no longer afraid of ‘them’. That seemed to let the steam out of what ‘they’ could do to me in the way of harassment. Not to say I am not still harassed. I am from time to time. I have also been separated from most of my kids and grandkids. That has been rough. It is probably the roughest part of this scenario.
So here I am again wondering what I am doing here and why. You might say ‘Judy, you’re here to help other survivors’ and that may be true on some level. But truthfully the longer I plod along the more I wonder, what is the point of all of this? This stuff just seems to never end and the more I learn the more I know just how deep and far this stuff reaches. Man, this stuff can make a person a bit jaded and despondent from time to time.
I get so tired of all the Christian platitudes and scriptures of the sweet by and by when I see and hear so much pain and heartache right now. I keep trying to tell myself that there is a plan in all of this, but more and more I really wonder about that.
I have no desire to get on the radio anymore and spout hope. I feel so hopeless myself. I am so very tired. If it were not for my husband and daughter and the few grandchildren I am blessed to be with I would hang it up.
I feel so lost, without from and void.
So what do I do? I don’t really know anymore. All I do know is that I get up and keep going. I do not know how to do anything else.
Sometimes I dream about having a small farm where I can spend my time caring for animals of many kinds (I would really like to have a rescue horse and some goats) trying to grow small crops and painting everything in sight. Well I do have some animals and a pitiful garden of sorts but I do not paint anymore. I often feel as if it is unless to paint. I mean when this is all over what will my art ever be but trash? Maybe I do not have the passion for life that I need anymore. Everything I do seems frivolous and vain. With the planet falling down around us what am I even thinking?
I spent over two years with Hospice and while I loved being with the patients, I always get to emotionally involved. I do care for an elderly couple 3 mornings a week but that is not filling my heart. I always thought that the more I gave away of myself the more whole I would feel and while I did feel good, it did not fill the void inside of me.
So, here I am again… trying to figure out who I am and why I am even here, why any of this is even here.
Am I even me? Am I another alter rising up and fighting for view? Does my faith even exist at all or is it all an illusion?
Oh GOD, speak to me! Are you there? Am I even real? Am I an illusion?
Healing comes in many forms and it is a constant state of being. Maybe this is just another part of the constant. I said I feel without form and void. Might that mean I might be on the verge of a recreation?
I wish I could ride a horse. I wish I could draw a horse. I wish I had a horse to learn to ride and draw. What am I rambling about? I am a little bit afraid of horses…their size and power. Sometimes I am afraid of life… its size and power. I do not seem to be able to ride or draw either one. I just seem to stand alongside of both and wonder and wish and maybe hope a little that I will be able to get up on both, ride into the sunset with a sketch book in my lap.
Until later,
Me
