Life after abuse

I spent a great deal of last night and today praying about this post. It got to the point that it made me physically ill, and a migraine set in.

It was placed heavily on my heart that I needed to write this. Instead, I wrote the last post on leadership which I admit was a cop-out. Don’t get me wrong, there’s value in it, but it was very much a slow, soft pitch I knew I could hit without having to bring things up from my past that may cause pain.

The weight on my heart didn’t go away throughout today. It increased. I know it’s God telling me I need to do this. I have dedicated my life to service to others, and this is part of that.

This will likely be long, so this is fair warning.

My fear in this is not discussing what happened with me. It’s the fact that I’ve hidden much of this from those in my family that loves me. From those that saved me from some of those circumstances.

I haven’t hidden everything. It’s been discussed with some in general terms, but there will be things here I talk about that could cause some in my family to think they could have done something. And there was nothing they could have done.

My oldest sister and her husband saved me from these things, which changed my life. I don’t doubt that I wouldn’t be here if they hadn’t rescued me.

I also worry about one of my brothers seeing this. I doubt he ever will, but if he did, it could cause him to hurt. That’s not my intention. While he and I aren’t close any longer, I love him. Doing something that may cause him pain is the last thing I want to do.

Now that I’ve rambled on with this, you may be wondering what I’m talking about.

In a word, abuse.

I’m the youngest of six kids. Unfortunately, every one of the six has experienced abuse in one form or another, as has my mother.

I’ve spoken in other posts about my biological father. He caused a large majority of the abuse, and the wreckage that he left in his wake caused a continuation of it.

The older kids in the family got the worst of it from my biological father. I believe that his actions caused such pain, anger, and hate for one of my brothers that led him down a road that led to a lot of pain, loss, and prison.

But the abuse that he made normal for my mother impaired her judgment of what it was to protect her children. It wasn’t just him that did this to her; my mother had a tough life.

It’s not an excuse because there is no excuse for abusing others. But it does show how the cycle of abuse can cross generations.

Abuse doesn’t know the concept of time, gender, or circumstance. While my first instances of abuse started as a kid, there are examples that continued into adulthood.

I should also point out that my early years were in a time when abuse was largely ignored and sometimes it was encouraged. Some are better at recognizing it today, but it is still an epidemic that shouldn’t exist.

There was a portion of time after my sister came to New Mexico and got us away from my biological father, where things were relatively normal.

But as with many things in life, that changed. We went from where we were living to another home. This was just my mother, brother, me, and another brother who would come In and out between jail, prison, or women.

This might get confusing if I don’t identify the people involved, but I won’t put names here. I have 2 sisters, but one of them wasn’t around. When I mention my sister and her husband, that is my oldest sister and her husband that rescued me.

When I say brother 2, I’m talking about the brother closest in age to me. Brother 1 will be the middle brother that I mentioned spent time in prison. Mom is just mom. My oldest brother was gone by this time.

Okay, back to where we were. We’d moved to a new home, and my mom was working 2 or 3 jobs to try and make ends meet. At first, she tried her best to maintain a sense of normalcy but working that much weighs on you. I’ve done it, and it isn’t healthy.

We didn’t see her much, but there would be alcohol involved when we did, and then it became drugs and alcohol. Mom’s primary vices were cheap beer, cheap rum, uppers on days she had to work, downers, or weed on days she didn’t.

Drugs and alcohol do strange things to people. For her, it made her mean.

All the kids in my family are intelligent. Brother 2 was gifted in several ways, though. He wasn’t just smart; he was athletic as well as a gifted artist and vocalist.

By this time in my childhood, I’d had teachers and others telling me I was stupid and would never amount to anything. Brother 2 was hitting his stride, and a great deal of the positive attention went to him. I was happy for him.

What that did do, though, was leaving the negative attention for me to take.

As I mentioned, mom was mean when she’d get drunk or high. This is where the emotional and psychological abuse began. I got to hear things like how much of a burden I was, how I’d never measure up to the other kids, how it’d be easier if I wasn’t there.

This is also the time where the many “boyfriends” that would come through the house started.

At this point, I began letting the anger inside of me control my actions.

Fighting was a regular thing at school. I lived on the fringe, and my friends and actions reflected that. Things then progressed from words to physical actions.

Getting smacked with a nearby object wasn’t unusual. The boyfriends liked to punch, throw and kick. This drove me to act out more in school.

Corporal punishment was allowed in schools in those days, so I would challenge and push my teachers to act on that.

Then brother 1 came back around. With that return came a lot of criminal elements. An example is, I learned how to weigh weed and coke on scales during that time. With that, it’s pretty obvious what he was doing. He was dealing.

My mom helped with this, and it allowed her to cut down to one job in a bar. But having access to alcohol and drugs at that level wasn’t good.

Throw in the criminals that were in the house, and I’d show up to school with new bruises regularly, but it was just looked over. As I said, it was a different time.

Then there was a night that a large party was happening. The house was full of people, Harleys were parked in the kitchen, music blaring, drugs and alcohol were abundant.

This next part I need to note is a part I worry for my family on. If you read this, sis and brother-in-law, remember there was nothing you could have done. You weren’t even in the continental US, and you were doing all you could to help us. Brother 2, there was nothing you could have done either. I know without a doubt that if any of you had an idea, you would have done something.

And I’ve never talked to you about it because of that. The only people I have ever spoken to about it is my girl that passed, the kids I work with, people I talk with about the kids, some friends, and a therapist.

Back to the party. It’s deafening, but I’m in my bedroom trying to sleep when the door opens then closes.

I tried my best to fight him as he pushed my head into the pillow. I thrashed and kicked as he yanked my pajamas down. Then I froze when he said he’d kill us all if I said or did anything. After that, there was the putrid breath along with the coarseness of his beard on the back of my neck and the feeling of blood running down my legs.

That’s all I’m going to say about that instance.

I withdrew enormously after that. I also increased the level of trouble I would get into. And this was when I began cutting and burning myself.

A year later, I told my mom that if she didn’t quit drinking and doing drugs, I would leave. She told me to get out.

I don’t think she expected me to leave, but I’d hit the limit of what I could handle. I was on the verge of losing it mentally, and even though I was a child, I knew that if I didn’t get out of that environment, I wouldn’t make it. Being without a home was the better alternative to being in a home that held those things.

Most would expect me to hate my mom and brother 1 for creating the environment where these things happened, but I didn’t. I loved them then as I do now.

Heck, my mother lives with me now after she couldn’t live on her own any longer. This is all possible because of God and forgiveness. If you haven’t read the post on forgiveness, you should.

Move forward through the next couple of decades, and there were other instances of abuse.

I have what my doctor says are night terrors. One of the major differences between nightmares and night terrors is that nightmares or dreams occur during REM sleep. Night terrors last through the rest, and you don’t wake up from them. I’ve torn up sheets and comforters, broken headboards, and damaged mattresses during these occurrences.

Anyway, I was with a woman, and she would wait till I fell asleep and turn on movies with extreme violence in them to see what it would do to me.

I would let people I associated with or dated use and demean me.

Then I would put myself in situations that I knew could hurt me.

The emotional, psychological, and self-abuse stuck with me for a while.

You’re likely wondering where I’m going with this. It’s been nothing but heavy to this point. We’re now going to moving past this stuff.

I wrote a song once, and one of the lines in it was, “I’m acting like my demons.” I wrote that line because as I reflected on my youth and early adulthood, that’s what I was doing.

The first thing I had to realize was what we often hear as survivors of abuse. It wasn’t my fault. And if you’re reading this and have been abused, you need to know that too. It’s not your fault.

The words alone don’t solve it. You have to believe it, and reflecting back on those instances is painful. But you have to work through them to understand the fault lies on those that abused you.

It takes help to do this. For me, it began on a ship where I turned my life over to God. I spoke in another post about this, and one of the things I challenged God with was why these things happened to me and why they continue to happen to others?

I was physically alone, but I swear to you that looking out at the ocean that night, I felt a hand in mine and tears falling on my hand.

The answer was somewhat simple. The people that abused me made a choice to.

One of the greatest gifts God has given us is free will. But that also comes with a downside.

Personally, I believe that one of the reasons God gave us free will is so we can understand His love for us. He could have made all of us with nothing but love, but would we have understood what a gift that was if it was just part of things?

I believe that a big part of the free will He gave us was so we could experience what it’s like to choose to love. To make a choice to put someone before ourselves and love them in a way that transcends how we usually feel.

I also believe that most people compassionately use free will as much as possible. We’re all human, so we do screw up, but the majority want to be good.

Some don’t want that, though. These people make a choice to hurt others. Those who abused me, my family, and the many others I know have experienced it chose to do those things. We didn’t make a choice for it to happen to us and ask for it. It was a choice they made to hurt us, and it’s not your fault that they did.

The next step for me was getting therapy. I went through a few until I found a Christian therapist I trusted, and she helped me work through the feelings I had and the actions it was causing.

Going to a therapist wasn’t easy for me. I’m from the time where guys didn’t go to see a therapist. That made you weak. But I can tell you that it doesn’t. Seeking help is a show of strength.

After that was forgiveness. I’ll mention again that there is another post on forgiveness, and you may want to read that.

I won’t lie; forgiving was hard. It wasn’t just forgiving those that had abused me. There was a fear of the release of what had become so normal. Darkness can become a place of comfort when you’ve lived in for so long. But you have to release that, and one of the things that helped me was to remember times when I didn’t let the anger and pain guide me.

My fiancé that passed is that place for me. She took me out of the darkness when we were together. With her, it was as if a curtain was lifted, and I was able to see the beauty of the life God gifted me with for the first time.

Remembering how those times felt allowed me to release the darkness I lived in and forgive those who abused me and myself. I had hurt myself quite a bit, and I needed to forgive myself for these things.

Finally, I swore to God and myself that I would live my life in service to others.

I’d worked with homeless and abused youth in some way since I was 19. But after taking these steps, I was able to make a much more significant impact.

We’ve all heard that God doesn’t give us more than we can handle. While a bit cliché, it’s true. I was able to shoulder the burdens of my past and use those to touch the youth I work with on a different level.

The big thing to remember is that during these times of healing, I was never alone.

I had family and friends I knew would walk through traffic to help me.

I had a therapist I trusted who was vital to providing essential guidance.

And I had God. Through it all, He was there. I can reflect on those times and remember ways He showed me that He was there with me. I just didn’t understand it at the time.

If you are in a place where you are experiencing or have experienced abuse, I implore you to reach out.

God created a world filled with beauty and love that exists on the other side of this. And we need you on this side with us.