Lynse Leanne

I never spoke a word about it. I was back to hiding my darkest secrets. The ones that were killing me the longer they stayed secrets.

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

Please excuse this quick break in my story for this post. I will continue with my story tomorrow. Trust me.

Sharing my story has been a tough thing. it has been a tough week. I feel like i had moments when i was on top of the world because God was using me….and others when i was so low i just wanted to cry.

But as i sat and tried to pinpoint what was going on on the inside i realized i was mourning some things. I was mourning the loss of innocence that i had, i was mourning the loss of joy that was stolen from me for a time. But the biggest was mourning the fact that I had no one that i felt like i could trust as a child. That no one was there to protect and defend me.

I have this bad habit of watching “Law and Order : SVU” and i know that i shouldn’t watch it as much as i do, but there is something about it that most times makes me feel good, but the other times i feel really bad. I can have flashbacks or anxiety attacks. But this week was different. This week I felt sad for the younger Lynse. I felt sad because i had no one to tell. I had no one that i felt like i could tell. I was very alone.

But in the show the kids have a protector and defender. But i didnt. No one was there to steal me from the situations. No one was safe for me.

And i was jealous. I was sad.

I know many of you can relate to that. You may not have endured the same things as i did, but you had to endure something…..alone.

And for that i am very sorry. I am sorry that you didnt feel safe to tell anyone. I am sorry that no one was there to fight for you and be on your side.

It hurts. It is a painful place to be. It is a lonely place to be.

I pray that today you have someone you can open up to. I pray that someone in your life is completely safe.

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Ok, back to your day….and 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

I was 13 and was new to my school.  8^th grade…the year I am convinced is the worst to change schools in….and I changed countries.

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

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.