Memories

I awoke to the memory of being a seven-year-old girl. I sat cross-legged on my bedroom floor crying. I wrote down every possible way to end my life. My ideas weren't very good but it was desperation that drove me. I had to make the pain stop.

The next memory that flooded my mind was from my first marriage. He grabbed me from behind. My mouth and nose were covered. I tried desperately to gasp for air. But his hands gripped my face. I could taste his grimy hands as I flailed about trying desperately to not die. I remember things going dark as I lost the battle. My life was literally in his hands.

It amazes me that the fight for my life took such an ironic turn. The shattered child learned to survive the terrors that plagued her days, only to enter into a new fight to live.

My life has been a continual battle. In spiritual terms, I believe the enemy wanted to destroy me from my first breath. He failed and I am still here today. Yet a small part of that broken little girl still struggles to come to grips with the pain that echos through each chapter of my life. I will not think of ways to die to stop the pain. 

Instead, I focus on healing, on letting the pain out of the little box I stuffed it into.  I think of overcoming the trauma and inspiring others. I am no longer a victim. I am a victor. My life has a purpose. The painful whispers of my past may always be remembered but they will no longer dictate my worth. That broken little girl deserved to live, to be loved and to protected from the violence and cruelty that were her reality.  That 32 yr old mother and wife deserved to be cherished. I was a good wife. I didn't deserve to be berated, suffocated, or traumatized. I declare worth over my younger self.

My life is not yet done. I do not know what today holds or where tomorrow will lead but I know that I will fight to the finish embracing victory.