Lynse Leanne

I have debated a few days….errrr…. weeks to post this.  I have wrestled with the feelings of staring at my darkness and feeling the residue of shame that still lives in my heart from knowing how close I was.  But over the past few days I have chosen to share this.  For no other reason than to share.

As I drove into work the other day I was listening to NPR.  They were talking about the ever present Human Trafficking epidemic that is impacting almost every city in the US.  They were talking about how young girls are swept into it and the legislation that needs to change to help make a difference in the vast world that we live in where things like this tend to be turned a blind eye to.

As they gave the signs and ways that pimps bring girls into being trafficked I reflected on how close I could have been to that life.  If you’ve read my story you know some of the things that I have gone through, but all the while my friend, whose uncle abused me, and I were plotting to run away.  We had spent the entire 8th grade school year doing everything we could to save money.  We didn’t eat our school lunches so that we could have that little extra, we lied, and instead of going to movies we hung out with friends and didn’t spend the $20 my parents and her uncle gave her.  Our birthday money went straight into the lock box in my room for our running away fund.

We had a plan.

We were going to wait until summer and run away to Miami.  She said she had done some research and it was the best city to go to in the south because of the diversity and the population.  It would be easy to blend in.  And then when we ran out of money, because we knew our fund wouldn’t last for long she and I would go into prostitution and our boyfriends would sell drugs.  This coming from the heads and mouths of us, at the age of 13 and 14.

The scary part is, we got close.  We got really close.

A few months before our planned escape she was moved back to live with her grandmother in another state. We still conversed regularly about our plan via phone and mail.  We would make our escape while my family, me included was vacationing in Panama City during the summer.  She and her boyfriend were going to steal a car in the state they lived in, drive to Franklin to pick up my boyfriend at the time and then onto Panama City Beach to get me in the cover of the night. Once in Miami we would ditch the car and go into runaway and hiding mode for about 6 months or until we assumed our families would stop looking for us.  This was our plan.

She and her boyfriend did steal a car.  They made it within 30 miles of Franklin to get my boyfriend and were pulled over.  My friend wasn’t able to talk her way out of this one.  The car was towed back to its owner a few states away and they were taken back for theft in their city.

This was all pre-cell phones.  So when they called to tell me they got a car and were heading my way I got ready.  I found a reason to leave the hotel super early in the morning and waited.  I kept waiting until I knew something was wrong.  When they never showed up I knew they had to have been caught.

I remember being so upset that I was going to have to stay with my family that I so desperately felt the need to get away from.  Once vacation was over we went back home to Franklin and found out a few weeks later what had happened.  My friend was in juvy lock up and because her boyfriend was 19 he went to jail.  She had written me a letter to let me know what happened.

Looking back I am so thankful that I never got picked up.  As I write this I am in tears because I now see the life I could have had.  That for some reason I was spared from.  I could have just been another trafficked person…and willingly trafficked because that was what we had decided at 13.  We would live on the street and sell ourselves.

I was so close to having that life.  Yet for some reason I was spared.  I am grateful.  I am grateful they were arrested.  I am grateful I made other friends there and began going to a church and getting healthier.  I am grateful because of where I am today. 25, married and enjoying my current life.  But I can’t help but look at the life that I could have had but don’t.

What are you grateful didn’t or did work out in your life?  How has that impacted you?

I shared my story out loud for the first time ever. Consecutively. There are people that know the bits and pieces that put all together help to create a glimpse of who i am. But I have never, out loud, in my voice shared my story. I wrote it down. I posted it on here. And for me that was relatively easy.

You see, writing is very easy for me. To write my deepest feelings comes natural. Sharing them online is a little harder but most certainly leaps and bounds easier than vocalizing them.

in my 24 year old brain saying something out loud has such power. It makes it more real. It leaves me feeling more exposed. I can hide behind my computer screen and type things out and click “publish” and there it goes. I dont see people reading it. I dont see their reaction. I may hear about it, but I’m not there when they read it. So they cant hurt me. They cant reject me. It’s very safe.

But a while ago i took a step out of my comfort zone and i shared my story out loud. I had been walking each morning with a lady from our church here whom is older than me and has grown children. Her life has been one of ups and downs, like most peoples. She was real and she was willing to speak very freely about her faults and failures. Because she was so open with me i wanted to return the favor. and i knew she would be safe.

I thought, how hard could sharing my story be out loud? I mean, i blogged it and people read it and I am fine. It’s already out there.

But the day came when i had decided i would share.

i froze.

I babbled and stalled.

I brought up small talk throughout our walk to hopefully run out of time to be able to share my story. I had let the fear of sharing with her face to face stop me from sharing the things that i went through and have built me.

I went home very frustrated with myself because i couldnt even share out loud the things that happened. I was scared to connect some of the words like sexual abuse or drug addiction to myself out loud. As if it would make it more real than it already was. I was scared to see her reaction.

What if she judged me?
What if she didn’t want to go walking anymore?
What if she saw me as needy?
What if….

So i went home discouraged and decided that no matter how uncomfortable it made me it wasnt an option. I would have to break my little issue and share it out loud. It was the next step in my healing.

The next morning we went walking and i made small talk for a bit and knew i needed to step out. So, i took a deep breath in and went into it. It took the duration of our walk to share it…the ins and outs. the hurts and dynamics. But i shared my story out loud.

in that moment i felt more free than i ever had. for the first time i shared in front of someone and she didnt judge me. she didnt think i was sick or twisted. she listened. she wanted to understand the things that make me, me. and it was fantastic.

have you shared your story? does sharing things out loud scare you like me?

It is not yet finished. I still have the colour and shading to get done….and that magic will happen November 19th. I debated sharing the story after that, but i am still getting people ask the meaning…so what better time than the present.

As many of you know i like to memorialize major events in my life by tattoos…hence the 9 that i have. ;)

This one is the one of most meaningful ones, and not just because it is the most recent but because of the story behind it.

The best way that i have learned to explain it is by getting people to picture the Wizard of Oz and the scene when Dorothy and the 3 companions are coming out of the dark forest and the Emerald City is before them.  It is beautiful.  They are coming out of darkness and all the struggle that happened throughout their time in the forest.  The Emerald City is in front of them, but as you remember from the movie they still have a journey ahead of them.  They still have struggles that they will face, but the worst is really behind them.  The darkness and despair and there is hope in their future.

I have always connected with that movie and i have always thought that part of the movie was the most majestic.  so much hope.

to me, the tattoo represents coming out of the darkness of my past and moving out from the shadow of it and living now and looking into the future.  i came to a point where i realized i was living in the darkness and the pity party and had to make a move out of it.  Through that entire season of moving past it i pictured this part of the movie.  The wonder, hope and awe that would come when i reached the end of that season and began to step forward into the light and all that is before me in my life.  So instead of getting that scene of the Wizard of Oz i had my amazing artist James mesh the concept and feeling i was going for into this.

The girl obviously represents me and the apprehension, hope, awe and wonder of what is to come, pausing at the end of the darkness to remember what was behind and the lengths traveled and the journey that was, but moving on into the next part of the journey.

So, that is the story behind it.

What is your favourite tattoo that you have and why?

The other night Chad and i were watching Criminal Minds. In this episode a little girl was kidnapped and the FBI “experts” began to tell the parents that the person who took their child was viewing her as an object and not a little girl. This struck a very big chord with me.

Through out my life I have been objectified.

I was abused by several men growing up and because they viewed me as an object. I was no longer Lynse, my identity was taken away and i had become just another thing….a baseball card that is bought and sold…when you are done with it you maybe put it in the closet or throw it away.

There is not a lot of value in an object.

After years of being treated like an object i began to believe that i was an object. I was there for someone else’s pleasure. my dreams, aspirations and voice did not matter, because, you see, i was only an object.

I am no expert, but i feel like a lot of people i have talked to who were abused woke up one day and felt like “i have to find myself” or “reclaim who i am”.

As i was half watching Criminal Minds and half having an inner dialogue about the damage of being objectified i realized that it was probably the most damaging aspect, for me, of the abuse.

Once you are objectified over and over and over you begin to think you are an object and you follow suit of your abusers and remove your own value.

And the on going cycle begins…if you dont have any value in yourself then others wont value you.

today as i am 10 years past the most recent sexual abuse trauma i am still left picking up the pieces. I still am trying to learn to value myself. I am still trying to see that i have a voice and those that love me should value what i have to say. I am still learning that i am a valued person by those around me, and i deserve to be valued. I deserve to be a person and not an object.

This is why when we went to New Orleans and walked Bourbon Street messed with me. This is why a part of my heart aches for human trafficking victims. Not that i know the extent of the pain, loneliness and all other emotions that have to be tied up in there. But i know just a sliver. I know what it feels like to be devalued. To be told over and over by different people that you are worth no more than sex or the pleasure that you can provide to them.

each person deserves to be valued. valued by themselves and others.

this is something i am still learning…and will probably be learning for my entire life. Learning to first value myself and then those around me.

Do you have a hard time valuing yourself? What about others?

As we are getting ready to move and packing we are also going through everything I own. EVERYTHING. The other night I found some old papers that I had written in High School that I held onto and i found this one. It is called “The Way She Feels.”. It is a story I had to write. The feelings are all mine…but I didn’t live in San Franscisco. That part was made up so teachers didn’t know it was about me. ;)

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Dark night, dark blood carrying with it a river of rage that had brought her to this point. And the horror of it suddenly shone with the clarity of her face in the mirror as she reached down for the razor blade. She always kept a constant supply of loose blades for when the rage took over. The cutting helps relieve the tension, she says to herself in a reassuring voice. I’m not addicted, I don’t have to do it, I just do.

She lives on the street in San Franscisco, it gets cold at night. She doesn’t know where her home is, she doesn’t have a home. Every passing day she is more mad at herself for where he life is, or isn’t in her case. She holds so much rage and pain in her sixteen year old being. People say singing or writing is their therapy but it is really their “release” from a “free” world where everything is dictated. She sees drugs, alcohol and citing as her way out of a life she dreams of leaving everyday.

The blade is bone chilling as she drags it across her stomach as she does each time. She stops and sits in silence for a minute or so, and waits. She is waiting for the pride inside of her to die and the courage to rage so she can have the guts to push hard enough to break the skin. You would think after two years of cutting it would e no problem, not for her, it’s more like a ritual. In this ritual she is waiting for the pride to die so she can humble herself before her “god” an refuge of cutting. She places cutting before anything, before life, love and herself. The pain that is carried with cutting, pain on the outside is no match for the pain that she feels inside, the void of something she has never felt for herself.

She never cuts deep enough to do more than hurt the skin, she is too afraid. She doesn’t know that cutting the outside is killing her on the inside. So many people care that she doesn’t know about. Since she left home when she was thirteen she has thought parents have no care in the world. They only think about themselves.

As she presses the blade a surge of pain jets through her body giving her a “supernatural” feeling, if she even believes in anything spiritual. It feels so good. How could other people not get how good it feels? The blood trickles down her stomach and pools into her bellybutton. It’s like she has left her body. Like she is sitting on the stairs, watching herself. She knows that it hurts but not knowing what else to do. Cutting is her way out of a boring life into a life less ordinary. A life not too many sixteen year olds lead. Cutting to the world is wrong, it’s morbid and people that do it deserve to be locked up and need only counseling.

But to her cutting is all she has to survive the nothingness her life is.

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As I read this I was taken back to when I was 16. And when all of those feelings and emotions were true to me. I was a little girl trying so hard to get caught. To be found out so I wouldn’t have to live in silence.

It makes me wonder how many other people are out there just wanting their addictions to be found out so the silence can be broken.