Peniel - Day 3...8:52pm

It’s weird. I think I screamed for help every day for years. I am sure that is an exaggeration, but I know I screamed for it all to stop. For someone to help me and make it better. I know I got angry when no one saw how I was hurting. No one helped me. But I can’t once remember asking for that help out loud. It’s like I didn’t want anyone to know what was going on in my head…and yet, I expected my protectors to read my mind and race to my rescue.

My anger turned inward, against myself. I guess I thought I was bad, a loser, so I was the reason these things had happened to me, were happening to me. So I got angry at myself. I became a martyr, the sacrificial lamb to bear the guilt of anyone and everyone who hurt me or let me down on my own shoulders. I never realized that before. It’s a little sickening.

I hurt so much that I cried out help me, I don’t want this to happen anymore, but my cry was never out loud. Still, inside my head, the silent screams were deafening. When help didn’t come, not even from God, the feelings of aloneness and powerlessness overwhelmed me. That is also a pattern that continued, it would seem, until quite recently.

I couldn’t, wouldn’t count on anyone else to help me anymore. I would help and protect myself. And when, at thirteen, I vocally and determinedly included God in this group I would no longer rely on, the situation worsened. Mainly, things worsened because I could no more protect myself than I could stop the pain, and the things I did to try to do so only added to my wounds. I made myself vulnerable to almost everyone, anyone, quite often people who did not deserve to be trusted with my vulnerability. But I trusted noone. And when those I placed myself at the mercy of, crying out please, just this once, love me, accept me, don’t hurt me did just that I felt confirmed in my belief that that was what I deserved.

I always felt that I trusted fairly easily, too easily, because I did subject myself time and time again to the whims of those who would take advantage of me. But I realize now, I never trusted at all. Even with those who did not abuse my vulnerability, I waited impatiently for the shoe to drop, for the hurt and rejection to come. If it did not, I would eventually do something to force it.

On the surface, I often came across as confident and trusting. Maybe that’s part of why no one seemed to notice anything was wrong. But no, I didn’t trust anyone not to hurt me, reject me, take advantage of me. I put myself in situations that would lead to that over and over again, praying for someone to prove me wrong. And when anyone approached that historic mark? I sabotaged the situation. I didn’t deserve that kind of love, to be accepted, to be cared for. Anyone special enough to love someone like me deserved better than me. My God, this is not some post-prison guilt and shame over my record attitude. I’ve felt like this since my earliest relationships. And I destroyed them all that had a chance. The ones that didn’t have a chance? Those were the many, many times I placed my life in the hands of vampires and predators and dared them not to eat me alive.

I looked in desperation for someone to fill the void. I could not be alone. There had to be someone in the world who would love me, someone who wouldn’t consider or treat me as worthless, someone who would free me from the way I felt inside, especially about myself. There must be someplace I could go. But since I didn’t deserve the company, love, and acceptance of people who were worthy of trust, the people I turned to looking for these things so desperately were people who wouldn’t even try, much less have any chance of, making these hopes and dreams reality. And of course, anyone who could give the illusion of caring and loving and accepting me had free reign to do with me pretty much as they pleased, which led me to some pretty dark places, including prison.

I feel ineligible for a good relationship with someone of value, for a dream job I love, for a nice place to live, etc. So, I either refuse to really aim for these things and risk not getting them in the first place or do things to sabotage them. Not every single time, but almost. And while that attitude may have gotten much worse since prison, where I have tried to convince myself I would be happy with a shack and crumbs because I am afraid to dream of the mansion and feasts, it’s been there for years. I don’t remember it not being there.

As a child I began living day to day in a series of compulsive behavior. Do something, anything, that might take away the pain, if only for a moment, or failing that provide relief by changing the type of pain. Actions that at least might give me the illusion of control over how I hurt and how much. These behaviors escalated into addictions and acts that nearly killed me many times and quite literally destroyed my life. I am praying that by finding and dealing with the wounds that started this avalanche of agony I can stop these destructive cycles in every area, not just alcohol and drugs, heal and finally rebuild.