Wednesday, March 7, 2012

In the beginning

In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. John 1:1

In the beginning there was a little girl and a Baptist church. Songs and hymns were carved into my soul, and I learned quotes such as John 3:16:

For God so loved the world, that he gave his only son, that whomever should believe in him will not perish but will have everlasting life.

I learned the Lord's Prayer.
I learned that church was a place for the great climbing trees, struggling with dresses, and old people who smelled funny.

Close that chapter.

Age 14, my dad kills himself. I cry bitterly in my room, shivering even though I don't remember being cold. It was one night in a series of nights, not the first, not the last. I don't think I can handle the pain anymore, I can't breath through the weight of the grief, and I sob out to God, "Please, God... hold my hand. I am so alone, I don't want to hurt anymore. Please, hold my hand." I feel my hand grow warm and it feels like someone is literally holding it. My heart calms, I fall asleep.

Not a teenager of faith, I dismiss it and move on into a somewhat troubled and rebellious adolescence. I learn about tarot, Ouija and the occult, and become very interested. It feels more controllable, more real, and more mysterious than any old God in an old dusty, far-removed Baptist church. I study the Eastern religions in depth.

Age 16, winter, around 3:00am. I am laying on cold tile, naked. I am so cold, and so sore. I can't move except to try to curl a little tighter into myself. I watch as men come in and out of the bathroom to pee or to puke. The memories of their dog tags swaying over my face as they raped me play in my memory as I watch them. They look at me with blank stares. I still can't talk- the drugs they slipped me were too strong. I pray that God tells one of them to get me a blanket, I am so cold... but they don't. I pray throughout the morning. Please don't let me die. Please don't let me die. Please don't let me die. The morning comes, I wake up. At some point I had fallen asleep. My clothes were thrown on me and I was told to get out. I am grateful to be alive, the morning sun burns my eyes. I drive home, and spend the morning giving Thanks.

Adolescence passes. College starts. I fall in love. He leaves me. I meet his doppelganger and marry him, completely unaware of the transference. Thinking that I could love and nurture a temper away, I walk into Hell with eagerness and anticipation. Welcome, adulthood.

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