Yes, children. Get ready for a whole week of this.
I have a confession to make. I self-harm.
Now, before some wise guy out there starts quoting the verse about cutting. Let me explain. I don’t self-harm physically. At least, not in the normal ways you’d be used to.
My nervous system self-harms itself. Let me explain. What happens is:
1)I get mad
2)I turn my anger inwards
3)I torment and abuse myself (psychologically and nervous-system wise)
This system has been put into place due to decades of abuse. That’s right. Decades. Decades of psychological and emotional abuse.
How would you be coping?
I know that God exists because if He didn’t, I would have probably killed myself by now. The reason for my survival: God. I suppose I can take SOME credit. But, let’s be real. I didn’t make it this far on my own.
This self-harm system also impacts my relationship with God. For example, let’s say I’m angry and frustrated at God. Instead of taking a page out of David’s book and telling God off -thus having a healthy outlet for my anger- I take my anger and turn it inwards on myself. This is because that I’m quite convinced God is going to punish me for having expressed my emotions.
As a child, teenager and adult, when I expressed my emotions, they were met with scorn. How dare I be upset? How dare I experience flashbacks? How dare I have trauma? I needed to get myself together and stop acting like a baby.
It didn’t help that in our household, the only two people who were allowed to be angry were my parents. Nobody else.
Anyways, onto the topic of suicide. Today, my Mom brought up suicide. Not because I was feeling suicidal, but because she wanted me to know that if she choked on a pill, it wasn’t because she was trying to deliberately kill herself….
….
….
…
…
Self: why don’t you just get a job, grow up and move out?
Me: Cannot even begin to explain my issues to my self.
So, that’s been today. I wish there was a more insightful or elegant way to put it, but there really isn’t.
And so the question becomes, what do we take away from this. Well, much like Dua Lipa, I got new rules and I count ‘em. I suggest you do the same.
1)Express your anger to God. It is healthy and normal. God wants your heart, as my Pastor says. Don’t pretend you’re not mad at Him. It will only wind up hurting you.
2)Don’t fall into co-dependency. It is an ugly, ugly trap.
3)You have needs. Assert them. God does not expect you to live in suffering 24/7.
4)Make sure you are okay before you check on anyone else.
5)Do not self-punish. I repeat: do not self-punish. Take that anger and self-hate and send it up to God. He is the only counselor open 24/7 and He comes free.
6)You know all that anxiety you keep upstairs? How about your trauma. Write about it and help other people. Count it as community service.
Gather round, children. It’s gonna be one of those posts.
My Mother is going through some rough health changes at this moment in time. She’s lost the ability to swallow pills. So, right now, we’re looking for alternatives. Her disease is taking over rapidly, so I don’t know how much time left I have with her.
I pray God doesn’t take her, yet.
Then again, my Mom is on so many pills, it might be a blessing if He did take her. I know she’s tired of living. So, yeah. There’s that.
And now comes the anger mixed with anxiety.
I can barely breathe as I write this post. I’m working on trying to reassure the frightened child within me who is scared and anxious over who’s going to take care of her.
I just recovered from co-dependency with my parents not that long ago. Only now have I managed to learn to listen to myself and to take care of myself and my needs, first. By the Grace of God.
I’m mad at God though. Why was it when our relationship was getting better, did He have to decide to take her. But, I’m reminded that many people often never repair a relationship until after a person has passed. And that, in God’s defense, it would be much crueler to take my Mother when I haven’t recovered from co-dependency.
You see, the frightened child inside of me was never taken care of properly by anyone really. Not even by me. So, right now, this child is incredibly frightened and anxious. She feels her safety is under attack and that she won’t be able to cope or even live without her Mother.
I’m trying my best to take care of this child. And this is the part where I humbly and desperately ask for prayer from you so I can do that.
I repress my anger which turns into anxiety which attacks myself. Say that ten times fast.
So, before I somber off into fantasy (which is my go-to method for coping), let me tell you parents something.
Take care of your kids.
Reassure them, comfort them, love them, let them know that they are safe and sound in your home. Don’t always yell at them, don’t abuse them. Unless you are truly wicked and want your children to wind up like me.
My Mom told me that she might go to Heaven soon today.
It crushed me.
My relationship with my Mom has always been rocky, but lately, it’d been getting better.
There’s a huge temptation inside of me right now to use unhealthy ways to cope with this news. I’m tempted to drink (I’ve never used alcohol to cope before), I’m tempted to shop, I’m tempted to use sex, I’m tempted to somber into fantasy because I can’t deal with reality. The last one is not so bad as far as coping mechanisms go. It’s not helpful, but at least I’ll get some new story chapters up.
I’m in a lot of pain right now. As I sip my late night coffee , I blog because it’s helping right now. That, and I’ll probably do some aromatherapy. (Because there’s nothing like eucalyptus to shock the senses awake).
So yeah, that’s where I’m at. I want to stop writing but I’m angry. And it’s this anger that keeps me glued to my phone, typing away.
I’m angry at God. There’s a part of me that knows it’s not His fault. But, I’m blaming Him anyways, because I’m human.
I tried to run from myself. I treated myself as the enemy. I showed no mercy to myself. I was harsh and overly critical with myself. I didn’t forgive myself.
I didn’t give myself the chance I would give someone else.
And I paid for it. Then, it became war between me and myself.
God made it so I could hear more of myself. At first, I thought it was demons. I didn’t realize it was me.
I would like to encourage you today to take a moment to talk to yourself. Because I, I did the foolish thing. I expected God to tell me what my needs are. I expected God to magically fix everything inside my head. Instead, God put me into therapy with myself. For the past two months or so, I’ve been spending a lot (re: A LOT) of time with myself, talking to myself.
I had such a low opinion of myself, I treated the voices inside my head as the enemy. I didn’t realize they needed love and support. The thought had never occurred to me.
My self told me its needs. It told me its hurts. It told me its desires. While for the sake of this blog post, what it told me will remain confidential, in part, I should let you know that I was a pharisee with myself. I nitpicked everything I did and said.
It’s so funny.
And this attitude prevented me from being merciful and compassionate to anyone else.
Yeah.
So, do something helpful today. Take a good hour and walk with yourself. No matter what comes up, don’t hate yourself. Don’t assume it’s a demon. Listen to yourself. Hear yourself out. And remember, God loves that self, that inner part of you that you keep hidden. He loves it very much and He wants you to be at peace with yourself.
Who knows? You might find out that you’re pretty awesome, in fact.
Remember, you can’t show love to another person if you can’t love yourself. And you can’t care for another person, if you can’t take care of yourself.
It isn’t possible.
Blessed are the merciful. So show mercy to yourself. Accept yourself. Love yourself. And one day, you will be able to show mercy to somebody else. Even to an enemy. Accept yourself and you will be able to accept your child, flaws and all. Love yourself, and you will be able to love that special someone.
Of course, none of this will be possible without God. If you think you can figure it all out without God, you’re in for a bumpy ride. And before anyone gets worried, self-acceptance is not the same thing as giving yourself a license to sin. I want to make that very clear.
So, before you talk to yourself, say a prayer to your Heavenly Father. Don’t worry, He’s not going to hurt you. He’s hear to listen and to provide wisdom.
I didn’t have much wisdom before this process. Now I have more than when I started. So, don’t be like me. Don’t keep avoiding and distrusting yourself, because it doesn’t work. There’s no peace in that.
And yes, before you say anything, I realize the irony of a goth finding peace in an image of a Polynesian resort. Look, God makes us all different, okay, just…yeah.
« You tend to be a very negative person. Is that because you’re a goth? »
« You’re going to hell. »
« Stop watching horror movies. »
« God doesn’t approve of your lifestyle. »
« Goths? Don’t you people worship the devil? »
« Goth? That’s some pretty dark stuff. »
I prefer « glamorously spooky », thank you very much.
Hello all, I’m your friendly neighbourhood goth and I’m here to-
Look, please don’t hide your kids, I’m not a-
Look, just calm down, sir. I’m not-
M’am-
Look.
There are many misconceptions about goths. So, let’s get some basic ones out of the way. Not all goths worship Satan. Not all goths are evil. Not all goths want to murder people. Not all goths engage in self-harm. Not all goths are into perverse sex.
In fact, there are many Christian goths out there. People who embrace the spooky and weird and embrace Jesus.
Now. Before anyone starts a war on whether or not you can be a Christian and celebrate Halloween, please hear me out.
If fact, the best thing you can do, is hear me out.
I can’t speak for all goths of course but I can speak for myself. So, here is my story and here are some of the frustrations I have with Christians and others who assume the worst about me.
About two years ago, my therapist tried to get me to embrace and discover who I was. I found out that I liked makeup. But I wasn’t attracted to your average makeup. Nope. I liked makeup that could best be described as…theatrical.
Then, I had a psychological breakdown.
But, the one good thing that came out of my psychological breakdown was that I started rediscovering my love for something I’d buried deep down when I was young.
You see, when I was young, I found these goth websites online. At my school, all the girls dressed the same. Same clothes, same hair, same makeup. I didn’t engage in any of that. I wanted to be my own person, and suddenly, there were these websites, telling me that I could be a beautiful beauty in black velvet, that looking like a vampire was a legitimate fashion statement and that glow-in-the-dark lipstick was and still is a thing.
Then, there was the Alice Cooper phase in high school. That’s should have probably been another clue as to what I would become, later on.
There’s wasn’t a shred of rebellion in my self-discovery at all, either. Some might call me a disrespectful Jezebel, but in reality, I went about my self-discovery in the most Christian way possible.
Before I made the decision to be a goth, I went to a group of Christians I cared very much about, and I asked them their opinion on the matter. They couldn’t see anything un-biblical with what I was doing, and they encouraged me on my road to self-discovery.
So, I delved further. I bought a spiked collar. I bought some black clothes. I bought some wild and crazy makeup. Then, I started a blog as the « Goth Film Critic for Christ ».
I was so excited with being me, I emailed a friend of my father’s. He told me flat out that I was evil. That crushed me completely. For a while, he refused to answer my emails outright. And for a while, I assumed the problem was me. That I was just deceived and evil.
But, deep down inside my heart I had a dream. A dream for some goth boots. In my mind, I couldn’t be a goth without a pair of wild and crazy boots. Then, I finally bought a pair as a graduation present.
My parents complained about them, but I loved them. They were my special boots. I used to put them on in my apartment and stomp around to Plastikman’s « Disconnect » and White Town’s « Your Woman« .
Then, I had another breakdown. This time, caused by my self-hate. You see, there’s a dark part of me that started in childhood. A part of me that longs to destroy and hurt everything I love, regardless of whether God approves of it or not.
It’s frightening.
And that part of me scared me away from goth. It tried to make me believe that goth was bad for me. That it was sinful. Imagine, a dozen voices in your head all screaming at you about how evil you are.
So, here comes the big questions? What exactly is it that attracts me to being a goth? Well, as God showed me, there are a few things.
1)Empowerment
There’s something about being a goth that makes me feel empowered. When I get those platforms on, I feel ten feet tall. Literally. It also acts as a defense system when I’m walking alone. Have you ever been kicked in the crotch by a pair of platform boots? It hurts like the dickens.
Plus, the kung fu lessons help immensely.
2)Anger management
Do you feel beat down by society? Are you angry with your current life? Why not become a goth and rage against society by refusing to conform to the norm? For me, I have a lot of repressed anger, and goth helps me to channel that anger into personal expression.
3)Creativity
Being a goth helps me to be creative. Period.
4)Embracing the dark and spooky
I like being spooky. I embrace the spookiness. So, why not become a goth?
Now that you know my story, I think you can see that I’m not a (complete) monster. Actually, when I made the decision to become a goth it was also when I made the decision to commit myself to the Lord.
How do you like that?
But, it’s hard being a Christian goth. Really, really, really, really hard.
How hard is it?
Try finding a goth clothing item that doesn’t have a pentagram on it.
(Me: starts twitching, then flips over a table in sheer frustration, a la Jesus in the temple).
Where was I? Oh yes, and try explaining yourself to other Christians or your family. (I made a joke to a priest once about how I don’t embrace goats or pentagrams, except on Tuesdays. He looked very uncomfortable after that.)
(Me: screams inwardly about not being a heretic and how yes, I really love Jesus)
To conclude, your honour. It’s infuriating to be a Christian goth. I’m looking at you Killstar (clothing brand). I’m looking at you.
I could think of no better title than PTSD is a $#@!%.
The Lord stayed my hand at putting the title in that I actually wanted to put in.
Yeah.
How can I explain what PTSD is like? Better yet, there are probably people out there saying: why do you, privileged white goth girl get to talk about PTSD? You’re not a member of a marginalized group. You haven’t been to war. Your experiences don’t count.
I would say they have a point. Except, then when I try to sleep at night, memories resurface, I hear my attackers’ voices. Imagine, every time you sleep, the voice of your worst enemy comes to you, taunting you, telling you you can’t get away. Then, you start reliving what they did to you. There you are, trying your best to curl up in your nice warm bed and sleep. But no, no sleep for you for at least another hour or two. Now, there’s just fear and dread.
You try grounding yourself into the mattress. You clutch the pillow and try to remind yourself that you’re here and they can’t get you because they’re dead. Dead and gone. See, they can’t hurt you, they’re dead and gone.
But, that doesn’t seem to be working. (The voices, they still pursue you.) So, you get up and watch the rest of the Leslie Jones comedy special on Netflix. Or you read a chapter of your own fanfiction. Whatever works.
Until you tire yourself out and finally get to sleep. You play comforting sounds of water at night to try and remind yourself of a warm and wonderful shower. Which sounds good this time of night.
And then, you get up at 10:59 the next morning. Because your body and nervous system are exhausted.
And instead of brushing your hair, changing your clothes or shaving your legs, you are catapulted to your computer to write about your experiences, knowing full well that a thousand voices online will dismiss your experiences as not being « authentic » enough.
And you relive the trauma, again and again. And you wish you could tell your parents. But they won’t believe you and you can’t blame them because the things you’re reliving are insane. They are insane. They are repressed childhood memories that belong in the pits of hell. Where they belong.
That’s what my PTSD is like. I can’t speak for veterans or for anybody else. But this should help you to understand what it is and why you should care about it.
Better yet, let me offer some words of advice. If you are up late and night and can get to bed without it feeling like there’s somebody else in the room with you, get in your car, drive to church and praise the Lord. I want you to know how blessed you are. Not to make you feel bad. But to encourage you to treasure your life.
Been putting off planning that trip? Don’t.
Avoiding spending time with your kids? Don’t.
Bake that cake. Try that recipe. Knit that impossible pattern. Start that YouTube channel, write that post that you don’t think is good enough. And please, go on that second honeymoon and fall in love all over again.
Because if I didn’t have PTSD, that’s what I’d be doing in your shoes.
You have a gift I would kill to have. Don’t waste it.
Hello everyone. I’d like to introduce you to my first fanfic posted on this website. A Star Wars story I’d like to call The Mistake.
Warning! This story contains references to premarital sex and alcohol abuse.
The pairing for tonight’s story is Rey/Kylo Ren.
Hope you enjoy it!
Chapter 1: Loss
Rey ran to find Chewie.
She’d had the dream again. Luke Skywalker
standing before the entire First Order only to vanish. She could have done more
than just stand there. The girl had enough will; she had faced Snoke’s guards
and she had survived the encounter with Ren. How could Rey have been so useless?
She could see it in General Leia’s eyes. And in
Finn’s. She could see it in everyone’s.
There goes Rey. She was supposed to convince
Skywalker to come and save us all. Instead, he’s gone and now all we’re left
with is Rey.Small,
disappointing, can’t do anything against the First Order, Rey.
She glared at the lightsaber at her
side. She could use it, yes. But she was no Master.
It had been months since Skywalker’s death. And
what had she done? Nothing. She had brought home no victories and she had won no
great battles. She wasn’t the legend Luke was. Sometimes, Leia would stare at her and sigh.
Rey shook the sleeping Wookiee awake. Crying,
she begged him to take her someplace far away. Chewie refused and went back to sleep.
In the morning, Rey found him making repairs to
the Falcon. She begged him to help her. The Wookiee growled, clearly annoyed,
but agreed.
They snuck away from the Resistance in record
time.
Chewie dropped her off at a small moon in some
remote system. She told him to pick her up in two weeks.
Rey needed to clear her head. Training. Yes, training was what she needed.
The Wookiee had dropped off two crates from the ship’s cargo hold and had shaken his head. He didn’t bother trying to talk her out of it. Chewie assumed it was some weird Jedi thing that only a Jedi would understand. As a Wookiee, he didn’t much care either. Still, he was worried about Rey. It wasn’t the first time she’d woken him up in the middle of the night.
Leia had told him to keep an eye on Rey. The General didn’t want any more trouble; the Resistance was already in bantha fodder, it didn’t need to become it. Still, Rey needed her privacy and it didn’t look like she’d hurt the Resistance any by being out here by herself.
Chewie sighed. Hopefully, in two weeks she wouldn’t be completely out of her mind.
Fanfiction for Christ 