Let’s skip the fancy writing intro’s, shall we?
I am and have very long and always been, hard on myself.
Ever reoccurring, ever beating and torturing, my own heart and mind to the point of depression. Unknowingly choosing to feel that way. For such a long time.
Throughout the Race so far, I’ve gotten feedback countless times to stop being hard on myself and being negative about myself and critical and just see myself the way God sees me. But for me, that was the most difficult part. I knew I was hard on myself, I knew it was unhealthy, I knew it poisoned me and affected everything I did, but I didn’t know how to get out. The thing is, I’m so stuck in the predicament that I don’t even realize I do it. When I speak, I don’t hear it or notice what I’ve said was one of those things. I just feel like I’m sharing what is hurting me and expressing my concerns orally. Hurting, so much hurting.
I’ve believed so many lies.
I don’t know how or where it happened, perhaps born with me as a sinner entering the world controlled by my sinful nature and enslaved to the Devil, but I believed every lie he told me. It’s as much a part of me and my DNA as breathing. Constantly breathing lies. Care to step into my mind for a minute of what whispers I receive on the daily just from the Race?:
You keep getting left behind because you’re not fun to hang out with. You’re not cool enough. You really think doing that will make you look any prettier, in fact you’ll look uglier. You’re trying too hard. What will they think of you? They think you’re nothing, why do you even exist. You can’t do that, you don’t have the capability and the ability to do that. Stop trying to do that, you know all that is fake. You’re pitiful. You’re pushed aside. You’re a project, they think you’re dumb and they’re just trying to fix you. You’re the least beautiful. You’re a mess, you’re never gonna get better. Why are you even trying? You’re not interesting or extraordinary. What do you think is wrong with you if you’ve never been asked out or dated any guys yet and you’re twenty years old, what does that mean, huh? No one wants you.
I had to make myself stop writing because I could have kept going thinking about and reading all my journal entires. The abuse is real and the blows hurt and my head pounds.
When I hear those things and they make orbit around my brain, they become my thoughts, the photos I look at in an album, reminding me of old memories. Like a brainwashed hostage, I think on repeat the things I received: I am not cool. They don’t like me. I can’t do that. I’m a project. I’m not pretty. What will they think of me? I’m not fun to hang out with. You see that? That means they don’t like me, that means I’m weird, that adds up to everything that’s wrong with me. It’s all my fault that they’re like this, that I’m like this. No one understands me. Something is wrong with me. I need help. I’m dumb. I’m avoided. I’m alone. Poisoned. It’s happened so many times, and the lies that look like truths around me reoccur so I make it a principle from past experiences and for future experiences that when that happens it means this. They look so heavily like truths and they poison me over and over again. Many a time poison surges through my brain until it runs through my arms, down to my pen, and into my journal where it enters my brain again to remind me of all of it. I’m a writer, but even writer’s believe the things they write.
When Eve was in the garden, she made a seemingly little choice that changed the destiny of all humanity. She took a bite. That’s it. She made a little choice to believe a little lie whispered to her from the Enemy that looked like truth, and it changed everything. She, perhaps unknowingly, believed a lie. Little decisions lead to your destiny. She chose.
Choices.
I believe I made a choice long ago in my childhood to believe a little lie and it has affected my whole life. It has poisoned my every thought about myself to look as dark and dirty as car oil. Staining every thought and moment it touches. Making decisions for me out of fear and restraining me from everything good. Staining others as I speak my lies about myself aloud that hurt their ears and makes them sad. I chose unknowing.
Life is a series of choices. You make daily little choices. No matter what you do, you choose that. Every little choice comes with consequences or strings attached or things you didn’t think came with little choices. And sometimes, you make choices unknowing of everything; what it does to you, what it does to others, and how it affects your future. Little steps lead somewhere. Little decisions lead to your destiny.
To overcome these dark forces that have abused my body until I’m bruised beyond distinction, I need to do what I did to begin it: Make little choices. Choosing to get up. Choosing to smile. Choosing to do stuff against my first instinct, my first fears. Choosing to not care what people think. Choosing to follow Jesus anyway and and sit under His pouring love as I dig through Scripture when I think running to Him won’t help because what I’m thinking is true and He’ll say something I can’t believe. Choosing to believe what He calls me, repeating it so it sticks. Choosing to keep going, to continue, to not give up hope yet, to keep moving forward, to stand up after beaten down, to fight.
Healing from abuse is hard. Healing is painful, and the process of lies overtakes me so much and easily. I relapse constantly, monthly, yearly. Healing hurts, but it’s good.
I want to be a fighter. To have a fireblazin’ of fight in my eyes determined to conquer. To throw blows at the Enemy more often than he beats me down in the ring. (2 Corinthians 4:7-18) I need to be brave, bold, strong, courageous in God’s love and strength. (Joshua 1:6-9) Every morning I need to put on the full armor of God against the schemes of the Enemy that tries to penetrate my mind. (Ephesians 6:10-18) And stand firm in the faith.
The battle is already won. My wings already exist, I just need to choose to get up and fly.
Little choices.
I choose to fight.
I push up from the ground, one foot after the other, and stand up. I take a deep breath as my wounds produce writhing pain, and I stretch in preparation. I’m standing on my feet again. I am weak, but I am determined. Freedom is calling. The chains are rattling. And the Devil is shivering. I won’t be defeated. I’m beaten down, but I’m not destroyed. This time I’m wearing ear plugs. One more deep inhale through the nose. My fisted right arm swings back ready to make my comeback blow. He’ll regret the day he touched me.
What do you choose? The choice is yours.
