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?

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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.

legally it is Lindsay….but to me it looks so foreign. up until now only my closest friends who knew me at the time know why….and Chad of course. Some of them may not even know that Lynse is not legal. but i guess i am out now….legally i am Lindsay Leanne….not Lynse Leanne.

but here goes the story.

when i was a junior in high school i lived in Colorado Springs, i was holding on to a lot of things, a lot of hurt. I was in the process of just coming clean about my sexual abuse and self injury issues….But i was working through it….I was letting God work in me and change a lot of the ways that i chose to cope.

i wanted God to show up and change those things in me, to heal me and take those things away. i wanted him to make me more like him.

so i spent 2 days praying and fasting for God to take it away from me and closed my time with communion….it was at a church service and i heard the pastor say something that i had never heard….

he said that God wanted to heal all of me, every area, including my mind and emotions….and i bought into it.

i cant tell you my exact feelings, but there was just a peace and a knowing that God showed up and i was not depressed anymore….i knew that God was near me. Of course i had “down” moments, but i was no longer depressed…and yes, there is a big difference.

you are probably wondering where the name change comes in….well that night i went to starbucks to read some more. I ordered my normal Grande Vanilla Soy No Water Chai and the lady at starbucks wrote my name “Lynse” and i liked it….

i was reading the story in Genesis 32 when God changes Jacob’s name to Israel and at that moment i felt the LORD say that just as he has begun a good work in me he was also changing the spelling of my name so that each time i wrote it or saw it i would be reminded that he worked in my life. That He changed me….that He showed up, we wrestled and God changed my name.

so for all of you who have asked….there it is. and for all of you who had no clue….you now know.

Has God ever done something so huge in you that you had to do something huge to remember it?

But i wanted to touch on the ending of the Self Injury stuff. I know that i didnt really resolve all of that for you all.

When i graduated High School and moved to Birmingham, AL i started an internship called TwentyFourSeven. It was the best and worst 2 years of my life all rolled into one. It was like a character pressure cooker….

When i began i knew that the rules and character commitments of TwentyFourSeven didnt permit me to be involved in Self Injury….and if you dont know me i am a rule follower. But mid way through the year a group of triggers occurred and i gave back in.

Honestly, in hindsight i sort of see it as a blessing. Stopping something cold turkey is hard and without people knowing it makes it really hard to stop and stay stopped.

So when i gave back into self injury i confessed and they got me counseling. I spent a year or so in counseling with an amazing woman who helped me work through the acceptance issues, shame and many other emotions that triggered my self injury habits.

Here’s the thing….i always had this scar on my wrist from where i had burned myself with a hot lighter….when i was stressed i would touch it. I would see it. I would think about how good it felt to hurt myself. And i would always think to my self

“If this God thing doesnt work out i know that i can always go back to self injury to comfort me.”

In my mind it was something that i could easily go back to….

But still no one knew. So no wonder I gave in.

After some time in counseling I was reading my Bible one morning and this verse stuck out to me….

Philippians 2:15

so that you may become blameless and pure, children of God without fault in a crooked and depraved generation, in which you shine like stars in the universe.

In context it is talking about doing things without complaining…but the last line “in which you shine like stars in the universe.” That line got me and stuck with me.

God said, Lynse your story of self injury is going to be used by me and you are my star shining in a crooked and depraved generation…..you shine like a star in the universe.

So…like most other times in my adult life i got a tattoo to remind me of that. ;)  As i thought of location i thought my wrist was the best spot….over that scar.

The scar that reminded me i could go back.

Now instead of the scar i had the star reminding me that God was going to use me and I shine in the universe for Him.

I can’t say that I am totally “over” the abuse, I think something like sexual abuse is something you carry with you your whole life. You may just grow detached as time goes on. I still daily deal with it. I still daily choose to forgive my abusers. I still daily face the lies I bought into. I still daily combat those lies with the truth of God.

Self injury is something that through God’s grace is behind me. After counseling and years of “sobriety” from it I can say that I no longer run to it for my first solution.

But to be honesty, I have hard times when I struggle with it and relapse. But I go to God and ask for His forgiveness, I confess it to a safe person and I move on, I no longer let guilt play in my mind, God has moved on… and so should I.

It has taken years to get to a place that I can even begin to think about sharing my story. I was 6 when all of this started and I am now 23….and it is only now that I feel strong enough to share.

Though it has been a rough fight I know that God has walked alongside me the whole time….and the times I couldn’t walk I know that He carried me.

As I continue to work through some of the lies I believed from other people or the lies that I told myself I have began to experience such freedom.

Chad and I work through the residue of this daily. I am still in counseling and it is a daily struggle I have to fight through.

Lies left un-touched for years become very hard to fight. They become ingrained in your life…everything. And it is totally unnoticed the more time goes on.

Through most of my life I have played the role of the victim. Because I kind of was, so I felt entitled to it.

But instead of carrying that through my entire life I chose to be a victor. I knew that God had something big for my life. And I woke up to the fact that I was choosing to hold onto it and stop God from doing big things in and through me.

So instead of sitting back and letting all of these things define who I am and change who God made me to be I chose to deal with them. Look the straight in the face and combat the lies.

I had a choice. I could continue to let it own me, define me and run my life….OR I could take a hold of God and fight through all of my junk. It was not and is not easy. But the freedom I have right now makes it worth it. And I know the longer I fight the more freedom I will know.

So today, October 29th, 2009 I would say that I am in a healthy place. I am still walking this all out. I am still learning what it means to live in freedom, in forgiveness, and without letting something totally define me.

I am learning to be me. The me that God made…not the me that I became because of circumstance.

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if you missed my story you can catch up here.
Part 1 – my first secret
Part 2 – it was who i was
Part 3 – the first cut is the deepest
Part 4 – I just wanted a friend
Part 5 – The Only Thing I Had

I dove further into self injury. It became my obsession. It was the only way to get past that time.

I wanted to die because I didn’t even feel like I was alive. I was an empty body walking around.

So I would cut to see the blood. To know I was still alive.

Cutting became the only thing I had to look forward to.

The only thing that was positive in my life.
The only thing that stood by me.
The only thing that didn’t judge me.
The only thing I didn’t have to worry about leaving me.

It was safe.

I kept cutting secretly from 13 until 17. 4 years of silence. 4 years of playing the game.

I was in church by this point and if you were to ask anyone around me I was happy. Life was good. But deep down I was dead. Cutting was the only way I could fake my way through life.

But one Sunday my life’s course completely changed because a lady was bold enough to share her story….

I was in a small group meeting called Become. It was for girls and each week they had a different speaker come and share with the group. On this particular week a lady came and shared her story of sexual abuse. In high school she was raped. She shared her journey of healing through that. She seemed to have a normal life…a husband, 3 perfect children. But her story was a lot like mine.

For the first time in a long time I felt a little twinge in my heart. I like to think it was a spark of hope.

That day I opened the door to someone. I let someone in.

I was not sure what to expect. I just dumped that I was sexually abused and was heavily involved in self injury. I didn’t know if she was safe. But I did know that she had a story a lot like mine. I hoped should would have a soft heart.

After I got everything out she asked if I would like to get coffee that coming week. She wanted to talk more about everything and find out if I was ready to heal.

She was willing to just sit with me, to cry with me…she was content to just be with me. Whatever I needed from her she was willing to give.

Over time I grew to love her. We are still in contact to this day.

Trust took a while. I was still scared there would be some form of betrayal. Because what else could I expect?

Over the years I would spend time at her house, with her family and children. She was like a second mother to me. She was incredible.

But no matter how difficult I made it on her in the beginning she walked along side me as long as we lived in the same city. She was someone I could trust completely.

If I needed her at 2am, she was there. She was safe. She was just what I needed.

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if you missed my story you can catch up here.
Part 1 – my first secret
Part 2 – it was who i was
Part 3 – the first cut is the deepest
Part 4 – I just wanted a friend

My first day was filled with such fear.
Was I going to look like all of them?
Would I act differently?
We moved to the South so I wondered if I would be able to understand any of them.

The first day of classes for me came around and I remember sitting in Reading class and getting a note from a girl one row over. (we will call her Melanie for this story).

The note simply asked my name, how old I was, where I lived and if I drank, smoked or did drugs.

I thought about the determination I had and debated playing dumb to avoid all of the things I wanted away from….but I was so desperate for friends, for love….for something.  So I checked yes to all.

Turns out she lives in the apartments near my house. So it made sense that we would hang out. It just worked.

Melanie and I hung out all the time.  We would get off the bus at her apartment and spend hours there.  The first time I was over there she gave me the family scoop.  She lived with her Uncle and Aunt, but her aunt was back home because her uncle had been drinking and became violent and beat her.

In my mind I saw all of the “red flags” but wanted to be accepted so bad, I just wanted a friend, so I brushed over it. I ignored the red flags and warning signs.

We would hang out, smoke pot, drink and whatever else we wanted and whenever we wanted.  Her uncle would buy us anything we desired….alcohol, pot, cocaine…anything that would make us stay more time with them.

I posted a few weeks ago about one night at their house and how physically abusive he was…but that was a pretty regular thing.  He would physically abuse his wife on a regular basis and us as well from time to time.

Not only did he physically abuse me, he began to sexually abuse me….

It started small and the more I was silent the more he did. The one time I tried to fight him he grabbed his trusty gun and made it very clear that if I were to fight it anymore he knew how to use the gun and wasn’t afraid to use it.

I cant explain to you why I kept going back, I have spent hours obsessing over it the only reason I can come up with is that I was scared for my life. I didn’t feel safe enough to tell anyone. I could have lost my only friend, or my life.

So I endured the abuse.

Over a period of 6 months the abuse escalated until he raped me.

I was 13, he was 46….

I felt so used.
So objectified.
So broken.

I knew these feelings from the abuse before. But this time it was more. I must have been the one to blame….because it kept happening. Did I have a target on my back that said “hey, come abuse me?”

A week after the rape Melanie moved to live with her grandmother and that was the end.

I knew that I no longer had to endure the abuse.

But the fear plagued me….

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If you missed part 1 – 3 here they are….
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3

So I dove deeper into drugs and sports. Always wanting to be the farthest away from my house as possible.

Then the news came. We were packing up and moving to Tennessee. This was huge…I was born in Calgary and brought home to the same house we lived in until we moved to Tennessee. It wasn’t like we were moving across town.

We were moving to a different country.

Now, I know you don’t think Canada and the USA are totally different, and yes, they are similar in a lot of ways, but different still. It was a big change.

I was losing my friends. My teams. My connections. They were all going down the drain.

Now not only would I feel alone being around people all the time, but I would actually be alone.

I felt like the last things that were keeping me alive were being stripped from me. I was dying at the hands of my parents because of a job. I was convinced I was going to die.

I remember then feeling depressed. The actual textbook depressed. I remember thinking about killing myself, and how much easier it would be. To just die and go on to whatever may be on the other side. I didn’t care anymore.

My only goal was to keep my secret hidden. And honestly, I thought that I could…..

Through this time my drinking had been a lot more intense.  I was bringing beer and wine coolers to school to get me through the day.  One during lunch and the other on the way home.  Just to give me enough to get home where I could drink and take pills for real.  But this day I was walking to 7/11 to get my typical nachos and cheese.  As I walked past the hockey rink I was so angry.

I was mad at what my life was, that I felt so alone, that no one really cared about me, that no one really knew who I was.  And even if I did tell them they probably wouldn’t like me.

My anger got so intense that I took the beer bottle that was in my hand and slammed it against one of the metal rebar pieces.  It shattered in my hand and sliced the inside of my hand open.  I remember the shocking pain.  The pain rushed through my body.  And then I went numb.  I remember sitting down for a minute and watching the blood flow out of my hand.  It felt so good.

The bright red added some colour into my grey world.  It showed me that I was alive and gave me hope that maybe it could get better, maybe I wouldn’t have to hurt all the time.

That was my introduction into self injury.

A total accident.

I fell into it…..

But in that moment I fell for it hook line and sinker.

The feeling, the numbness it gave me was so much better than any drink I had ever tried or any pills I had taken.  It made me feel better.  I could focus on that pain instead of the pain raging on the inside.

It was the only way I could make it through my days.  I still drank very often and it continued to be my way of “getting through.”

In mid November we moved to Tennessee.  Honesty,

I was excited about the fresh start.  Moving gives you a chance to start over.  I was determined to quit drinking, quit smoking and quit pills.  I was going to clean myself up.

I thought I could clean my own life up.

When we moved a family walked into my life and my determination turned into a thought of the past as I dove deeper into the lifestyle I wanted to so desperately get away from.

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If you missed part 1 and 2 here they are….
Part 1
Part 2

All of my other friends were getting boyfriends and dating and falling in “love” I had absolutely no desire to do that.

I had become so ashamed of what I was.

How could he have that done to me over and over and I not be able to change it?

The shame I felt then led me to want to hide. To always kept a safe distance from everyone. I didn’t want anyone to know what was done, or what I did. They may think I am dirty, or it was my fault.

So the rest of my Jr. High life in Canada was spent trying to “be friends” with those around me but hide just enough that they would never really know who I was.

Hiding who I was and the desire to always be alone led me to drinking. I would binge drink with what was in my home. I would sneak it from my parents liquor cabinet or I would steal it from my friends houses. I would get totally messed up just for an hour when I could forget everything I had been through. For a bit of freedom from my intense feelings of shame.

You see, the shame moved from just feeling ashamed from what happened, and what was done to me…it became who I was.

I heaped the shame on . I was attached to it.

It was who I was…not what was done to me.

I have lived in years of darkness and silence.  Held captive to what I thought I controlled…the thing that brought me the most control.  But until I got past it I didn’t even know that it was in fact controlling me.

So, here goes nothing….

I was born in Calgary, Canada.  Growing up I had almost every material thing I could ever want.  I had the bikes, the roller blades, the skate board, the hockey net (I am Canadian, remember).

I had it all.  And on the outside my little life looked perfect.

But behind the scenes it was a much different story.  My family was a very secret family.  We didn’t really talk about what was going on with school, friends, boys, emotions….it was all just swept under the rug.  So when I was having problems I didn’t feel like I could voice them.  So I didn’t.  I didn’t want to upset anyone by wanting to talk about something serious, so I just left well enough alone.

When I was about 6 a friend of mine who was a few years old began to molest me.  It started as a fun little game between him, his older sister and me.  She would spend time telling us what she learned in Sex Ed at school and she would then direct us to doing it.  She was the puppet master and we were the puppets.  Anything she said we did.  I don’t remember feeling anything weird in that until the scenario changed.

Soon his sister stopped being involved and each time we would see each other he would demand that we “go play” and I knew what that meant.  It meant that we were going to his room and he was going to molest me.  It wasn’t anything different from what we had been doing before, but it began to become more and more intense and almost violent.

I remember being so young and telling some older friends this.  I remember trying to tell them that it scared me, and it made me uncomfortable.  Their response was always close to the same.  That we were kids and learning our bodies.  There was no harm in it.  It was just fun and I should embrace what was going on and it would stop eventually.

But it continued on for years….Until I was 10.

I felt like no one cared.
Like I didn’t matter.
Like I wasn’t worth fighting for.
That I was just a sexual object.
Or maybe even I wasn’t loved.
That I was broken.
That I was not deserving.
Or maybe that I did it…I was in the wrong.