Lynse Leanne

My drinking habits had become a little more frequent, I began to smoke and snort any sort of drug I could get my hands on. Whether it be my moms Prozac or Valium I got from a friend, it became my out. It became a daily thing. I needed it to ignore the secret I was hiding. I had to keep my life together on the outside. I was the Captain of the soccer team, I was on the basketball team at school and played recreation basketball and softball. I had to keep going for my teams.

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

Flash forward a few years. I am in Jr. High and just trying to be a normal kid. I had not told anyone of my abuse, but it was like one of those movies that keep playing in the back of your head. One of those things you can’t move past. No matter how desperately you try and stop you can’t.

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.

Let me tell you a big part of my story. In each persons life there is a story.  A life that tells a story of goodness, pain, darkness, light, death and many other shades of life…but in everyone’s story is power.  You can’t question a story.  And today I write with that, my story.

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.

THIS IS A REPOST WITH A NEW NAME…

Yesterday i spent some time writing my story in hopes to share part of it with you all in the very near future. But as my heart is dreaming big about what i want to do and become i want to make a shift and take some time talking about something that is near to my heart, Self Injury.

Looking at stats it has sort of become an epidemic in the youth of the US. It is not a new thing by any means, but something that can take root in your life and destroy you.

I wanted to share a bit of my road of cutting and self injury. As i talk more about it i would love your thoughts, insights and opinions on the topic.

So please, join me in the dialogue.

Here we go…..

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To most the thought of harming yourself would be so outlandish that you would look at me like i was crazy if i told you that it makes sense to me.

I am choosing to write about this because there is such a need around this generation to bring light and truth to the fact that a lot of this generation is stuck in the rut of Self Injury. It is a painful place to be and takes a lot to get past. It is a dark place to get stuck. And as statistics are showing there are a lot of people stuck there.

So i want to share my story……

I started “cutting” when i was 13. I dont fully remember how i was introduced to it, but within a few days had taken root in my life. The pain that was so deep inside of me was killing me. i was allowing myself to die emotionally. It was a fight that i didnt want to take place but had no idea of how to stop it. It seemed meaningless to fight to keep them alive when i viewed them as the things that were causing me so much pain.

So my only solution to make sure that i was not dying totally was to hurt myself. To feel the pain on the outside assured me that i was still alive. That there was still hope. At least that it how it all started. It started out of my desire for hope. For some feeling to let me know that i was alive. That i could still feel something. That one day maybe i would feel again.

Soon it became an addiction. I had my way of doing it. I had my “ritual.” The when and how. within 2 months it had moved past the need for hope. My body and mind were addicted to the feeling. To the release that it gave me. My rage towards myself and other people had grown so much that i didnt know how to release it. And i thought this was a good way.

As time went on whether i had a bad day or not i had to cut. I had to do it each night before i went to bed. It calmed me enough to rest and go to sleep. (and about addiction, still to this day if i experience intense pain i get tired because my mind was trained to go to sleep after pain.)

I share this because i know that there are people who are in this rut. And honestly, it breaks my heart. because being on the other side of this “journey” for hope i have found that the only hope that there is is in Christ. I know, i sound super spiritual….but it is true.

The only way that i could figure that out was to get to the darkest part of my life. I was in such darkness. I had been cutting for 4 years and no one knew. I had a secret. And it was a dark dark place to be in. full of pain and the desire to get caught in hope that someone could help me. I was tired of the darkness. And the only solution i knew was to come clean. To get someone in my head and share the journey with.

This was key for me. To let someone in and know the pains and the hurts. I knew that if i let this remain in the darkness it would grow bigger and bigger. and the thing that once started in the search for hope was driving me further and further away from it. I was hurting to live.

The person i went to had no idea what to say. She often looked at me dumbfounded. the thought of doing that to herself was so absurd that she couldnt understand. But she listened. She was determined to help me in any ways she could, even though she didnt understand.

You cant wait until you understand to help someone. And this is what i see happening. So many people know people who self injure and are trying to learn why they do it. Each person has their story. And if you ask, i am sure they will share. It is a very dangerous thing to get into. You may not realize the roots that it can create in your life. But i would encourage you to share your story with someone.

But without sounding like a public service announcement, if you self injure or know someone who does please please please let someone in. Let someone into your darkness. It will hurt at first. It will be uncomfortable. It will be embarrassing. But if you live in the darkness alone your life will never change. Let someone in and bring the light into your pain.

Are you hurting to live?