Lynse Leanne

Opening up and letting someone in started the long long road of recovery, the road that I am still traveling. Not only from self injury, but also from the abuse.

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 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

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

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.