I always struggle to write about my own life. I want to share with you the miraculous things God has done for me, but in the process of doing that, I am forced to expose myself beyond what may be comfortable. Please know the things I share are truly only to bring God glory.
My testimony is not one laced with drug addictions, violence and near death experiences. It’s a testimony of a good Christian girl who had it all backwards.
{internal turmoil}
Like I said, I grew up a good Christian girl in a good Christian home with good Christian parents. My family attended church every Sunday, Bible school every summer, church pageants every Christmas and never, ever missed a church pot blessing. I was blessed to have such godly influence in my life. On the outside my life seemed perfect.
But inside waged a war unlike any other. I wanted to fit in, to have friends, to be popular. I wanted to be sought after by boys and envied by girls. I wanted to be beautiful and thin, smart and funny. But to me, the reflection in the mirror painted a very different picture.
The awkward middle school years intensified the battle. I was passive and painfully shy. I had friends, but never felt truly part of the group. It was as if there was a secret club that I wasn’t a part of and my heart ached with rejection every time I was excluded.
{the masquerade}
My mom was my confidant, my best friend. I could tell her anything, and I did. She knew my heartache and held me as I’d sob. But soon, other family problems began to arise. I knew her pain grew much deeper than my own and I didn’t want to add to her concerns, so in my young wisdom, I buried my pain and pretended everything was fine.
For a short time, it worked. I felt in control in those moments of restraint. But it didn’t last. Eventually my anger and frustration would build up with such intensity that I felt my flesh could not contain me. Thoughts would whirl around my head as my heart pounded like a ticking time bomb ready to explode. Soon tears would burst through and all my woes would come spilling out between sobs and sniffles as my mom, once again, came to my rescue.
This lack of self-control infuriated me. I felt weak and vulnerable in those moments. I needed a new escape… one that didn’t involve my mom… one that didn’t involve anyone.
{escaping vulnerability}
One night I found it. I found that new escape. As I sat in my room, tears streaming down my face one more, I reached over to my night stand to the little red pocket knife. Prying it open, I took a deep breath, swallowed hard and clenched my teeth in determination. I winced in pain for a moment when the cool metal blade met my flesh…but only for a moment. Soon relief flooded my body. I felt my heart slow and my thoughts began to make sense. It was too easy.
Over the next 4 years, I continued cutting myself to deal with the struggles of life. I’d do it as strategically as possible so no one would suspect. Winter made that easier as clothes naturally covered my arms and legs. But as summer neared, I’d have to reevaluate my tactics.
{college}
As college neared, I was hopeful that this new life would set me free from the pain of rejection. For a while, I did feel free. I was confident. I was happy. I was friends with everyone I met. I had boys calling me and knocking on my door. I was finally that person I always wanted to be.
During the fall semester of my freshman year, I started dating my first boyfriend. I was concerned because I knew our views of God weren’t aligned. But he liked me. He paid attention to me. How could I give that up?
Unfortunately over the next several months, our relationship spiraled downward, dragging my confidence with it. I gave in to things I never thought I would. And I was crushed. Emotionally, I was confused. My heart felt assaulted, taken advantage of. I always dreamed of a charming prince rescuing me from despair, but in so many ways, my prince charming seemed to be the cause of much of my despair. But he had my heart. He had a part of me I couldn’t get back and losing him horrified me, so I allowed myself to be his puppet.
{spiraling downward}
As a result, the cutting began again more intensely than ever. But it wasn’t enough this time. The rush, the high that I had gotten from cutting before wasn’t there anymore. I still felt out of control, so I searched for a new drug to feed the monster growing inside me. This time I turned my focus to my weight. I ate only when I absolutely had to and threw up when I felt even remotely full. My body was weak, but I felt so powerful.
After months of fighting, we broke up during the fall of my sophomore year. I was scared, but felt liberated at the same time. I had hope that there had to be someone else out there who would really love me the way I longed to be. I continued to get an influx of admirers as graduation approached, but each was the same. They’d promise me they weren’t like other guys and that they would never hurt me. But it wasn’t long before I’d feel the same physical pressures I’d come to know all too well. And once again, I was crushed, feeling as if no one would ever truly care about me.
[To see read the Exodus to my Egypt, click here.]
© 2010 Storming Jericho {All Rights Reserved}
Storming Jericho 