Lynse Leanne

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.

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?

I posted last summer about my journey and process with Self Injury here.

I am not saying that i am going to answer the questions….i just want to know if they are out there….and if they are what are they.

So….

I am curious….is there anything that you wish you knew about Self Injury?