Life and Death. Hope and Sorrow.

I've been on a roller coaster of emotions this past week. I wrote about one of the highs. Today, I'd like to write about the lows.


Last week, I went to visit BJ's sister in Montana. Two hours before BJ and I got there, she got a phone call from her oncologist. It wasn't good news. He said things like
"Stage 4" and
"noncurative" and
"maybe treatment could buy some extra time, but...."

The next few days BJ and I went through the ups and downs and backs and forths with them.
In one of the conversations, she asked what I would do. I told her I would want to LIVE, not just exist. If treatment could only by her more quantity of life, but not quality of life, I wouldn't want that. I would want to live until I die.

She asked BJ what he would do. He said something similar.

Her husband said this seemed to be the less shitty of two really shitty choices. 

We talked about nutrition and natural healing. She has been studying about the power of the body and mind, and asked me if I thought the body could heal itself. ABSOLUTELY. I've experienced the kind of healing that people weren't sure was possible. My broken body and mind has become mostly whole. If I can overcome that, there are so many amazing things that are possible.

When it was just BJ and I, we cried. I felt sad and hopeless.
Both K and R have made me feel loved and accepted. They make everyone feel loved. They deserve to live loving and happy lives. I LOVE being around the two of them, because they are so loving and kind and fun to be with. Their wedding was so healing for me - changed me.

I felt angry that she wasn't getting what I wanted her to have. I felt sadness for her husband. He was so lonely for so many years, and then he finally found K. And now they were going to go through hell together, and for what? She was going to be in horrible pain until she died. How is that fair? He would go back to feeling lonely. My heart ached for him so much, I couldn't handle it.


And then I'd go back to thinking about the amazing machine that our bodies are. The miracles I have seen happen. I'd feel hopeful and scared.

Her oncologist had suggested surgery - even though the way he talked about it didn't make it sound like much of a solution. She decided she wanted to have all of the information from all of the sources she could find before making a decision. She drove back with us to meet with the surgeon in Salt Lake. This doctor had much more confidence in his ability to treat her, and was much more hopeful.

He said things like,
"completely cured"
"do everything you have always loved to do"
"pain and treatment for a year, and then LIFE"

I felt huge relief. She is tough and positive and amazing. A year of hell will be HELL, and it isn't fair, and she doesn't deserve this, and it fucking sucks... and then she can get on living the life she deserves. I will be there to support her any way I can. (Even if it's just swearing in the bathroom with her.) BJ will be there. Her friends, parents, her daughter, her husband's kids, her other siblings and their families... She is SO loved by so many. She'll continue to inspire and touch so many people's lives.



The next day I was out with a friend when BJ called me to tell me that another friend, Jen, had lost her daughter in a car accident. Kel was nine months pregnant with Jen's first grandson. Kel's fiance was also in the car along with their dogs. All of them were killed. In an instant, their little family was just... gone.

As I struggled to find out the details, and learn how Jen and all of Jen's friends and family were doing, my heart ached. I thought of the excitement Jen had felt when Kel got engaged. When she found out she was going to be a grandma. I thought of all the stories I'd heard of Kel. She was passionate about animals. She had a gift for understanding and loving animals that made me want to be like her.

I thought of all the times Jen was there for me. The way she listened and helped me feel loved, the things she taught me about loving myself. It isn't fair that she should have to face such a devastating thing.

Kel's brother posted on Facebook that he'd trade places in an instant.
Jen's best friend, and a dear friend of mine, tried to keep everyone updated on details of what happened and funeral plans. While also feeling her own hurt, and loss, and sadness.
Kel was planning the wedding of her dreams, and now Jen is planning a funeral. Somehow trying to honor the fairy tale day with the end of the fairy tale.


Neither of these stories are mine... but the pain, the loss, the fear, the sadness, the love, the joy, the connection is mine. And I feel a sense of gratitude just being a part of the beautiful parts of humanity. Today I am feeling hopeful for K.  I also feel scared for K and for her husband. I don't know what they will have to go through. I am feeling broken hearted for Jen. I am feeling gratitude for all of the love I have felt from so many. I am in awe of all that is this life.

I don't really have words for all of the emotions that I feel.
Just tears. Many tears. 

Today's Prayer

I know YESTERDAY I posted about my family's response to being more open about my life and therefore my friendship with BJ. Today, I'm fighting to keep myself in a healthy place.

Help me remember that I can't control others.
No one needs me to protect their feelings by hiding the truth.
I can't protect everyone, and they wouldn't want me to (really) anyway.
It's none of my business what other people think of me (although I will always try to be aware of how I affect others.)

Help me to trust the people that are closest to me and love me, at least until I can trust myself again. Help me to remember why I want to stop hiding, and why I chose to stop running away.

Help me to find the place of love, rather than fear.
Love for myself. Love for others. Love for the journey I am on.

I'm not just talking about the trees

I just got back from an amazing trip to Yellowstone National Park. (I'll probably upload a bunch of pictures and write about it later...)

While there, I hiked along the rim of the Yellowstone Grand Canyon. Everything was beautiful, breathtaking, and amazing.

This tree caught my eye:

Here's a closeup of the roots:

There is no reason why that tree should still be standing, let alone growing. But it is.

Looking at this tree, I felt inspired.
Even when there was no ground left beneath it; even when it could have let go and gone tumbling down the hill; even when there were other trees dying around it. Somehow, it found a way to hang on, and even grow.

Just a couple of years ago, I needed evidence that I could survive the hell I was in. I paid attention to the trees growing out of solid rock, or with no ground beneath them, or twisted to find some sunlight, or any number of things that should kill a tree, and I'd feel hopeful. I knew I could survive.

I don't need evidence like that anymore. I have no doubt that I will not only survive, but I will thrive. Life will be good - I already know that, because it IS good.

I still love the tremendous beauty of the survivors. The ones that are still here. The ones that have faced things that no one should ever have to face. The ones who grew around it. The ones that found a way to not only survive, but thrive and grow. I admire their twists, their exposed roots, their knots, and bumps, and all of the beautifully unique results of surviving something that no one should survive.

To the survivors: you are beautiful. you are strong. you are amazing. Thank you for the beauty you bring to this world. You inspire me.

What's your horse's name?

The question wasn't meant to be a deep one... What's his name?
His name is Sunny. Full name: Sun's Golden Reay.

Wow. I've never even thought about his name...

He came with that name, and he came in one of the darkest moments of my life. Taught me how to ask for what I need. Taught me it was okay to trust. Taught me it was okay to feel fear and sometimes to run away from the fear. Taught me to just BE. I reconnected with the lower half of my body while riding him. And when the pain was so great, I thought I would die, he seemed to just absorb it.

Sun's Golden Reay is the perfect name for him.

I'm listening.

I got a note from a friend asking how I was doing today. As I was replying back, I started writing about the animals that surround me. I wrote the phrase, "They are my spirit guides. They can't explain what I need to do - they just show me."

The past few days, my cat has been extra "needy". If I sit anywhere, she immediately jumps in my lap, starts purring, and goes to sleep. I feel bad waking her up, so I stay sitting. I slow down to pet her, and I am calm.

My horse has stayed right up next to the fence. When I go out to the pasture, he stays right next to me. I feel like he's watching over me. Yesterday, while I was petting him, he laid down and stretched out in the sun. I laid down next to him and put my head on his neck. I don't know how long we laid there, but it was long enough.




I feel... calm.
And I feel amazed.

Briefly describe a miraculous event that happened to you in your life.

A friend posted this question as his status (I love facebook):
"Briefly describe a miraculous event that happened to you in your life."

 And this is my response:
"It's hard for me to describe the miracles without the understanding of the pain. I don't want to sound dramatic, but I had a lifetime of abuse that lead to fear, guilt and shame so huge, it's a miracle I'm still alive.
I had just what I needed to find my way out of the pain.

Miracles included: Splintering myself into different personalities, so the different personalities could hold the pain until I was ready to integrate myself, being able to go through flashbacks so I could remember what happened, understand it and accept it, trusting myself and others when it felt impossible, finding the right books, friends, and therapist at the exact right moment, somehow finding a way to love and accept myself, and so much more. I felt like each step to my own healing and recovery was shown to me just as I needed it. I didn't have the wisdom, but there was Love and Wisdom that guided me.

Because I wanted to hear it back then, I will say, my miracles didn't come because I was "worthy" or a member of a certain religion, or for any other reason than life is miraculous, and we are all deserving of Love, Wisdom, and Miracles."

The Invitation

This is beautiful.
I was going to pick a favorite quote from it, but I can't. I'd just copy and paste the whole thing...

Happy Sunday!

I have always hated Sundays. Sundays = guilt = things I don't want to do = things I don't want to listen to = places I don't want to be at.

Sundays are now a wonderful day of rest.
I do what I want to do. I feel very peaceful.
This morning, I slept in. I fed the horses. I cleaned the kitchen. Now I'm sitting up the canyon: blogging, reading, enjoying the sunshine and the breeze.

When I was in my early twenties, I served as a service missionary at the MTC. My job was to let the missionaries teach me the discussions. We were told to come up with a story about our current beliefs in God - we were supposed to lie and not tell them we were already members.

I told them that I love the mountains and the outdoors. When I am sitting outside and I look at all of the trees and flowers and bugs and animals, I feel so much love. That is where my belief in God comes in. With amazing beauty like this, there must be a God.

That "story" came easily to me. Bearing my testimony of the truthfulness of the Book of Mormon, or prophets, or even Jesus Christ was very difficult.

Today, I've gone back to that "story". I feel so much love as I look at the beauty that is nature, and I believe that feeling is God.

(This isn't quite the direction I was planning on going when I started typing. Meh. It is what it is.)

For me, I find that feeling easiest in the mountains with a horse. My mom finds that feeling with her family and in the temple. I feel very grateful that I found Love. I'm very grateful my mom has found it where she has found it. This feels good.

What's changed?

My youngest brother started reading my blog. He decided to start at the beginning, which was two and a half years ago. A LOT has happened in my life since then. I started this blog because I had been writing in "The Crap Journal" for Paul. It was dark and hard and AWFUL. It had all of the flashbacks, body memories, thoughts, urges, pains, everything that I had never shared with anyone. It was intense. I filled the whole journal, and wasn't quite sure where to go next. I started keeping a private blog.

I let Bishop C and BJ read the private blog, but it was a little TOO much for C.
I wanted a place where I could be ME. Like the intro to the blog says, I spent so much time hiding and pretending, I wanted just a little corner of the world where I was more me.
At the beginning of my own journey, I desperately wanted to know that someone else had been through what I was going through and not only survived, but was actually happy. I searched, but only found one blog. PTSD and Me. It was helpful. He talked about pseudo-seizures as part of the trauma response. SO helpful to have a name for what I was experiencing. I didn't even care that part of the name was pseudo... Still, I wanted a story closer to my own. I had been raped. Over and over. And never even known it.

I wanted so bad to hear someone's story that had made it through being abused: sexually, physically, and emotionally, I decided I would be that person. Whenever I REALLY wanted to give up, I'd picture someone else who had been raped finding my blog. They'd read about my journey, they'd know I could understand their pain, and then they'd read about how I was happy, alive, and good.

The truth is, in my effort to be uplifting to others, the beginning of this blog didn't even begin to touch on the pain of the fight. I wouldn't use the word rape, but that is what happened to me. Because I was raped, hit, and emotionally beaten down, I dreamed of dying. I planned for it. Hoped for it. Wanted it so bad. I had other people convinced that it might be better for me to die. I would go days and days with NO sleep and weeks with very little sleep. For HOURS at a time, I would lay in my bed with my whole body seized up - every muscle tense and my thoughts racing, as I relived being raped or thrown across the room in a rage. There were times I thought I would die from the physical pain. Sometimes, the flashbacks and memories were so intense, I'd have bruises on my arms and legs - in the same places I had been bruised during the abuse.

I felt panicked ALL the time. I spent many nights under a trailer on the street, or behind a church, because the house was SO frightening and upsetting to me. I slept at my office often, because there was no bed and I was totally alone. I was less afraid to be alone in the street or at my office than in my home. I understood why people would become homeless. I actually feel pretty lucky that I never ended up there.

In some ways, its hard to remember how bad things were. Its all SO different now.

Justin's question brought all of this back. Back then, I went to church and hated myself. I had the hardest time with eating disorder and self-harm urges on Sundays. I'd sit in meetings and shake. Then I'd walk for hours and hours trying to run from something, and I didn't even know what.

BJ told me to stop going, because it made me miserable.He told me to stop forcing myself to do things I didn't want to do. He could see that I was being triggered just by being forced to do something. It felt like rape, so the flashbacks would start, and I would spend the rest of the week trying to recover. Then I'd go back on Sunday, and lose my mind all over again.

I knew divorce wasn't an option in the church. As a woman, I covenanted to obey my husband. And yes, he was supposed to obey God, but who was I to judge when he was obeying God's will? I didn't have a right to question the priesthood authority. And I knew I was supposed to go to church, serve, give, love, and everything would work. It just wasn't working.

I spent countless hours on lds.org. I read EVERY article I could find on abuse, marriage, relationships, depression, addictions. And there was so little that gave me hope. Most made me feel more hopeless. They all talked about how abuse was wrong, but... what was the victim of abuse supposed to do? Go to the temple, pray, read the scriptures, and love her spouse no matter what. If you've done all of those things, then what??

I started reading about abuse outside of the church. What is abuse? What is aggressive communication?
I started to see that almost everything said at church is aggressive communication. (Telling others what they should do. Saying "good" people do this. "Nice" people do that. etc.)

EVERYTHING was to tell people what to do, when to do it, how to do it, and how to feel while they are doing it.I was reading books telling me not to let anyone speak to me in that way, but then I would willingly go to a meeting where mere acquaintances could talk to me that way? It didn't make much sense.

I started reading what most professionals tell a person in an abusive relationship to do: GET OUT!
Then why did the church tell people to stay? And go to the temple more? And read the scriptures? And serve their spouse? And not be selfish?? Often those things TRAIN an abuser to continue to be abusive.

I listened to people at church. I watched others be abused by members of the church - using church teachings to justify her abuse. Just like Larry did. Just like many in my life had. It wasn't just MY experience. My therapist tried to tell me it was just me, but I knew he was wrong. It wasn't just me, and it wasn't my fault!

I started asking questions. I started admitting to myself and others that I had never felt the beautiful confirmation that the Book of Mormon was true. I had never had the answer that Moroni promised. I had felt angry and nothingness when reading the scriptures. I TRIED, but...

Still, I knew all the words to say, I'd been taught how to bare testimony, even if I had never felt it for myself. I stopped pretending to believe. And I stopped blaming myself. If I didn't get the answer, maybe it wasn't because I wasn't good enough. Maybe it was because it wasn't true: the church wasn't what it claimed to be. Or it just wasn't right for me. I didn't know, but I stopped taking the blame for everything. I also stopped taking the blame for my abusive (now ex) spouses. Being raped wasn't my fault.Being beaten was not my fault. Being told I was wrong and crazy and delusional and under satan's control had NOTHING to do with me. None of that was my fault!

When I stopped taking the responsibility for my lack of testimony, everything else just started to fall into place. In a really good way.

I'd fought for so long to find relief, and suddenly, the fear and the guilt weren't ruling me like before.

The final piece came the last time I went to church. I hadn't been for a few months. In January, Bishop C had finally convinced me to stop coming. He'd arranged to have the sacrament brought to me at home, but that never quite worked out. I was too embarrassed to have them come, and then try to explain why I was perfectly healthy but not at church. In April, ward boundaries changed, and I got a new bishop. I went to church once, because Bishop M asked me to come back, but I hated it!

A few weeks later, Justin was singing in church. I went to his ward to accompany him. (I still love accompanying him when he sings!) I have always felt miserable during the sacrament. This time, I looked at it, and thought, "I don't want it."

All at once, I realized I really didn't want it, but when you're taught that is what you SHOULD want... and you don't want it. What do you think about yourself? I thought I was bad, and I needed to change me to want it. EVERY time they passed the bread and water, I felt sick with the knowledge that I didn't want it, and that made me bad, so I'd try to change me to be good, but I couldn't. I couldn't make myself want that.

That day, I let it pass me by. With the full knowledge that I didn't want it, and I didn't have to take it.
And that was okay.

I've never really looked back.

Many in my family think I will come back when I have healed, or when I find love for myself, or... They don't understand that I just don't want to be there. Its not good for me, and as I heal, I grow farther and farther away.

I know its hard for them to understand. They love the church. They find peace and friendship and hope there. I'd compare it to ketchup. Most people love ketchup on their hamburgers. I do NOT. I think its nasty. Jalapenos? Those I love, but I understand that a lot of people do NOT like them. That's okay.

I'm not sure if I've made any sense, but I hope this answers your questions.

Horribly painful, life-altering, and still perfect.

I've spent a lot of time thinking, and discussing, and intellectualizing things. I wrote about it in my last post... I feel like I got out of touch with a very crucial part of myself.

Tonight, I came across Duck's blog entry, "Does God...?" and read her thoughts about God after her abuse.

She echoed my feelings.

"Except that God gave me the VERY things I needed to survive what THEY did to me. He sent gifts to me that helped me survive what happened to me and to others. In His mercy, He helped me survive."

I have been amazed at the Love I have felt even when I couldn't find love around me. It is miraculous how I have sorted out different memories and flashbacks. The understanding I have found.

When I started therapy with Paul, he told me it was his job to tell me what to do. I told him I didn't need that... I had a relationship with God... I needed Paul's help to do what I knew I needed to. Paul asked why he had never felt things like I did. I came to the conclusion that Paul didn't need the spiritual connection that I needed. I wouldn't have survived any other way.

BJ has said he has never seen such perfect and miraculous answers to prayers as he has with me. (He also said he had never seen anyone in as much pain...)

As I read Duck's writing... I thought back to that really strong, spiritual, slightly crazy sounding person. I miss her. It was easy for me to accept that God was there and working it all out in my own life... I mean, I I could SEE His hand everywhere around me. Although my life is anything but perfect, still... I could see His hand perfectly. I understood that even if I didn't survive, I was His.

I started working through my own pain, and started listening to others' painful stories. As I really listened, I couldn't SEE God like I could in my own life... and I didn't know how to make sense of it anymore. I got angry. I AM angry.

Where was He? Why didn't he protect my friend? When she was only six and needed a mom, why didn't He send her someone who could actually love her rather than someone to hurt her? WHY? If He could send me a friend like BJ, why didn't he send someone like that to her? And why did it take so long for ME to find the help? And where was He for all of my other friends? And...? So many questions that I didn't have answers for... and I HATE the common rhetoric of, "We don't know, and will never know in this life. We just have to accept it on faith."

Somehow, I still believe God's hand is in everything around me. Did He personally go through the nightmares, the night terrors, facing the flashbacks? No.
Did He guide me on my journey? Did He show me how to help myself? Did He give me strength when I had none left? Did He send friends and angels and miracles at the very moment that I needed THAT? YES! YES! YES! YES!

To use Duck's words(because they are awesome and perfect!)

"I am ONLY here today BECAUSE of God. How could I NOT have faith in THAT?"

I can't explain it all. I don't know why I have been so blessed. Its not because I am good, and its not because I am not good. Its not because I am stronger or better or... I can assume that God is taking care of my friends too. Actually, I HAVE seen Him guide that six-year-old. In ways that don't always make sense to the rest of us, I have seen her find strength when she shouldn't have been able to go on. I have seen her make choices that bring her exactly what she needs. I have seen it all working perfectly. And I assume whatever comes next for her will be the same perfect. Horribly painful, life-altering, ass-kicking, AWFUL, not fair, shitty (and these words don't even BEGIN to describe it) and still perfect.

Thinking vs. Feeling

I had an epiphany last night. I'm going to try to put it in words... But, I don't know if I will be able to do it any justice. Here goes:

There are two parts of me: The Thinker and the Feeler.

An example:
The Thinker thinks, "I should call Amanda," but then it also thinks "I should call Lauren, and Steph, and Mellen, and Dann too. And I should get some work done. And I should..." Until I can't even remember that I was going to call Amanda.

The Feeler just calls Amanda.
The Feeler doesn't have to think about things, because I just do them. I don't need to explain anything to anyone - not even myself.

The Thinker is where a lot of my "negative" emotions come from. I think about things, and then get bogged down in shame and guilt and fear. The Thinker has a long list of "shoulds".

The Feeler never feels guilt or shame. The Feeler feels fear, and then moves away from what I am afraid of. In a helpful, productive sort of way. (For instance, I don't like the way that guy is looking at me, so I am not going to walk closer to him. I am definitely not going to put myself in a situation alone with him.) The Feeler feels anger, sees it for what it is: a sign that something needs to change, and I make changes.

The Feeler makes very good decisions.
The Thinker can't make a decision. I get so caught up in thinking about what everyone else is going to think, or what I should do, or what is right, or best, or... I get paralyzed in my own thoughts.
The Feeler just does what is best. Its AMAZING how easily life moves when I am in that place.

The Thinker thinks through every possible consequence of every possible thing I could say, and then usually doesn't say anything because its ALL bad.
The Feeler says things that I didn't even know I knew. I learn a lot from myself when I am in this place. I am very wise. The Feeler is very honest, but isn't disrespectful or hurtful. The Feeler doesn't offer advice... just shares. Seriously. Sometimes feel amazed at the things that come out of my own mouth.

The Thinker has huge expectations of what I should have. What I should do. The goals I have to achieve.
The Feeler doesn't. The Feeler is very present in this moment, and loves this moment. And understands that great things ARE happening without trying to make anything happen.

The Thinker hears thing and BELIEVES them. No matter who says it or where it comes from, the Thinker knows its true. And tries to live by whatever it was that was said.

The Feeler hears things, wonders about them, and chooses what works best for me. And if new information contradicts the old, the Feeler doesn't need to justify either one. It can ALL be true, and I'll just do my best to live true.

I've been caught up in Thinking. I much prefer to be Feeling.