I didn’t want to go to Mass today, not at all. I woke full of flashback invaded dreams, remembered. I so wanted to curl in upon myself, drown in going away. Away from remembering, away from life. Stay in bed and pity my past me. To go where the victory of Christ is partaken of? Nope.
I wanted to be done, this journey seems never-ending at times. I will have my footing, then, wham, bam, I am down again. Down of heart and weary of mind. The final count to feel welcome. 1…2…3 she’s out!
Yep, that’s just how this morning was.
I was so lost in the feelings, the overwhelming emotions my child me suffered that my adult me wanted to throw in the towel.
I dreamt of the using and taking, the abuse rained down on me… thing is that wasn’t what was tearing at me when I woke. In my dream I was sitting alone, after, so forlorn. I was crying, not because of what was done to me, rather, because I couldn’t seem to dress myself. My clothes were inside out, a jumble at my feet and it felt as though I simply couldn’t do it. I cried that no one was there after, that I was so alone not only in the abuse but further abused as those that could and should have, didn’t as well.
Rather turned a blind eye, a deaf ear and an indifferent heart.
So, I had me a good cry to the Lord and begged Him to help me care in the now. He did, I still didn’t feel it, but He reminded me that I needed to go. I imagine my Guardian Angels wings whooshing as they propelled me forth. I certainly didn’t go in my own power.
Mass. The remembering and celebrating of the greatest sacrificial gift, ever. Mass. Where my Christ endured for me the very thing that I feel this day, betrayal. Mass. He to suffer again and again what was then for me in the now, flashbacks. Mass.
One of the hardest yet most helpful things for me as I heal has been to revisit the abuse and see my God there. Find how He was with me, yield the whole truth of then to Him that He be with me now as He was then.
This is what I was really wanting to hide from today, I wanted to give up and not do my part of the work in my healing. Imagine if my Lord had given up? Had called forth all of Heaven to save Him from the cross? He could have, yet He yielded, “Not my will, but thine be done.” He uttered to His Father.
So, there I was at Mass. A quivering, emotional mess, kneeling and crying, oh, so tired.
Then the homily was shared. Father to talk of how much we have to be thankful for. The beauty of life and creation ours to see, hear, experience.
It hit me then, all along I was heard, I was seen, someone was far from indifferent.
God my Father, Mary my Mother and Christ my Brother and Savior not only were then with me but are now.
I am home, now is safe, I have oh, so much to be grateful for.
For I am no longer then.