. Fall in a heap, exhausted. Then get up, clean up, and do it all over again.
. There is joy in this. This “living” we do. No matter how sweaty, or dirty, or ugly, this “living” is a beautiful thing.
. There is no ‘give up’ here, no ‘quit’ , no ‘over it, no ‘packing it in’.
This is where every. breath. matters.
. DO YOU HEAR ME?
EVERY BREATH MATTERS.
Right now, in my little trailer in the middle of down, down, way down and out USA, I am deciding to care. I am deciding that my sufferings will amount to something, that all this silence and fear and worry in my heart will be done away with, that with this breath of life my Creator blessed me with will be used to help someone else live, too.
. I know I’m a rag-tag mess. I can’t think straight most of the time, and there are days I can’t leave my house. I am oppressed by an illness that tells me I don’t have it, and that feeling like I’m sick is a sin. I’m not exhausted, it tells me, I’m lazy. I’m not in excruciating pain, I’m a dope seeker. I was not abused, assaulted and raped, I was promiscuous.
. I am here, I am now, and with my God’s help, I will reach out to someone else. And with my God’s help, I will not believe the lies. Instead I believe the Bible, God’s own letter to me, and to all his children. I want to live.
Should we tell our secrets? Burden our loved one’s with them? Jeopardize our relationships with society, our peers? Risk our reputations?
. Many people choose not to. Instead they carry that burning bucket of nastiness hidden away deep inside. Letting it rot away all their prospects for joy, searing their potential away under the scars of a guilty conscience. And , in the end, it’s all for naught. They really didn’t fool anyone, most of all they did not fool God.
. I had secrets, many, many dark ones. In my abused child’s mind a darkness festered, and I have hidden it desperately for so many years. I thought I had it hidden so well that it could never hurt anyone, least of all me. But it has Hurt me. For a long and terrible time. I thought that the God of the Bible would never forgive me, could never love me, I was that dirty and sinful and twisted. I was determined to keep my secret to the grave, and I was even working on helping that day come sooner, putting myself in the grave sooner.
Oh, I tried, but it seemed like I was indestructible , at least physically, but I was succeeding in killing me inside. The longer I held onto, the deeper I buried, the harder I punished myself …my secret was like a squirrel in a pillow case, fighting it’s squirmy way our while ripping my sanity to shreds.
The pain just got too great, and after 30+years I finally bent my knees and poured out my heart to God. It took a very long prayer, and I had to keep praying and spilling my guts to Him, purging all that blackness out of me. All those years of bottled up guilt had become a well of poison, shot from arrows from Satan, telling me I was worthless, unlovable, beyond redemption and without hope. Lies. Lies upon lies upon lies, made to keep me far away from my Creator and His Son.
When the pain of keeping my secrets became unbearable, I had found a tiny old woman, a long time student of the Bible, who took me in and saw my agony. She saw that I was full to bursting of the ugly secrets that kept me from God. She recognized my suffering and showed me in God’s word where a man named Saul who was a persecuter of Jesus followers, who chased Christians down and dragged them back to be killed, who stood by and watched while Jesus followers were stoned…This man was forgiven by God. This man was used by God to write books of the Bible under inspiration. This murderous villain was forgiven of all his sins, all his awful dirty secrets. This man became the apostle Paul.
Oh, the cleansing tears I cried, tears of gratitude and joy, tears of freedom from a horrible heavy burden. Suddenly I felt as if a Boulder had rolled off my back, I was lighter, the air was clearer, my vision better, my legs stronger. But most of all I felt a light come shining inside my darkest places, where the nasty secrets had been buried, and this light , in it’s cleansing brightness has stayed in my heart down to this day. Because God saw fit to sacrifice his perfect Son so that sinner’s like Saul, and like me, could be forgiven and have a clean conscience before Him. By Jesus ransom sacrifice I have been washed clean of all my secrets, and God has thrown all my sins behind his back, never to be remembered again.
. Oh, there is so much more to this life than I ever thought possible. I do not cower in fear anymore when darkness falls, because the light of God’s truth shines on those who repent, turn around and put faith in Jesus, and then take steps to learn about the will of the God of the Bible and do it to the best of their ability .
. You can feel this glorious unburdening too. I hope you can. I go to the website JW.org for free Bible education materials. It is totally free, and I love to look at the videos and listen to the music. It brings joy to me in these difficult times. I hope so much for you, dear readers, to feel this love and be relieved of whatever burden you carry. Thanks for reading!
I must not complain. I MUST NOT COMPLAIN. I MUST NOT COMPLAIN! I MUST NOT COMPLAIN!!!!!
I hope I am getting better about that. When so many have, and are, suffering SO MUCH. I shudder to think how it must sound to people who had to say their last goodbye via cell phone. My own little issues are so insignificant in the face of the reality of Covid-19. I suppose I’m like the rest of humanity in the face of enormous grief, enormous death… all we can really see is our own little corner, our own miniscule lives…
. That’s the thing that is SO remarkable to me about God. How can he love us so much? How can He care about a selfish little worm such as I. It is because He Is Love. Not “He has love.” Not “He feels love.”
. He IS love. He IS LOVE.
. Some people have been fed the lie that it is God who causes suffering. In reality, the Bible teaches that it is the evil one who caused death and suffering, by lying to the first human pair in the garden of Eden. That one caused them to die by his lie that they could eat the forbidden fruit and not die. “You surely will not die.”, he claimed.
” Then death spread to all men”
. But God made a way out for us immediately. Immediately, right there in Eden. He spoke about Jesus, about how His Son would ultimately kill off the devil, do away with death forever, and by his willing sacrifice would give humans a way to forgiveness and a clean conscience before God.
. Even little worms like me! Isn’t that amazing. Yes. It really is.
. So, don’t ever doubt God’s love, or that HE IS LOVE. He did not cause this pandemic, nor will he allow such things to continue forever. There will be an end to all human suffering very soon…you can count on it. Don’t give up, keep on seeking…
. I will meditate on these things today, and stay upbuilt, and focus my mind on helping others…and I wish you all peace. We will give a great shout of praise to our God, all of us together, in the not too distant future…
I will make a huge effort to tell the truth. I always fluff things up, until I am not even sure what my truth is. My Dad was a SUPER Exaggerator , and an Embellisher of the highest order, and I hung on his every word. I could see others staring up at him, eyes widened with amazement, intaken breath ready to burst out at the first opportunity… Then the woosh of exhalations and nervous laughter, trying to hide their excitement , pretending to their girlfriends that they already knew what he was going to say. They would kind of nudge each other and tilt their head at Dad, like he was their trick pony. But he had them ALL wrapped around his little finger, they couldn’t wait for his next story to start. And neither could I.
I wanted to have people hanging on MY every word, I wanted to be the hero in MY stories, and I wanted my Dad to love me more than anyone else in my life. It just seemed that part of his over-the-top charism hinged on his elevated status in his own mind too. He never had time for me, for any of us kids, or even Mum. He revolved around his own Sun, and basked in His own glow.
We just floated past like tiny moons.
When I finally realized how little truth he told, it was years later. I was a grown woman, and my life had taken a long, arduous detor into hard drugs, hatred and homelessness. I had tried to destroy myself in every way imaginable, and nearly succeeded in some instances. There was a gradual awakening to the fact that I could never run far or fast enough to leave my memories behind, nor could I continue to carry the loathing I felt for myself and keep living.
I loathed my Daddy too. It was all his fault , really. If he had just NOTICED me. Or spoken to me, besides “good morning” and a whack on the back as he passed by. Maybe then I would have turned out different. …No. It took all those years on the outside to teach me how to live. To learn that he was as broken as me. That everyone is broken, and that the act of living is an act of mercy. To allow ourselves to heal, honestly. Peel off the Ugly Sweaters of years of Selfishness and Isolation. Take off the Dirty Overcoats of Lonliness and Shame, Step out of the Heavy Combat Boots of Hatred and Self Harm, Skin off the Sweaty Tee Shirt that holds our Sadness in, and let our Hearts breathe.
Let my heart breathe again, let a little sunlight into my greyeyes greyskies. I’m telling you the truth, that I hated my own Daddy, that I LoVe him madly down to this day. I hated myself because I let myself down. I blamed myself for all the badness that found it’s way on top of me. I never told my Daddy that I was Hurt, that I had been raped, that I had been beaten like a dog. How could he know?
It was my burden to carry. You carry your own water…you carry your own water. I wish I could have told him back then. He was my hero. My broken hero. I didn’t know that Daddy’s could be broken too.
I wonder sometimes what will become of me, who can I be a hero to? I think God is telling me something, wait… Oh, yeah, He’s Right! You know what he reminded me? That He is my Father, He is my Hero, and He’s taking care of me right now, and I will be with my Daddy one day soon.
I hope that it means that some where, in this great big world, a child won’t be violated tonight…because someone talked to a parent, a trusted adult, a mental health professional, a trusted member of law enforcement, a dear friend, and told them what had happened. And that the child in need was protected, held fast and kept safe, warm, and loved.
I hope that this year a young person remembers the warnings their elders give them about safety, about drinking, drugging and having sex, about going out with strangers, or getting into dangerous situations. That by remembering he/she sees the warning signs, feels the prickle of fear and runs home just as fast as their legs can carry them. I hope they tell their friends to leave too, to be brave enough NOT TO CARE WHAT THEIR FRIENDS THINK! (I can tell you that, for me, those friends sided with my abusers the next day, and I was all alone in my shame and embarrassment and pain. My girlfriends laughed right along with the men at my torn undies hanging from a tree branch… )
Be AWARE !!! BE aware of your surroundings, be aware of where the streetlights are, be aware and stay away from dark alleys, dense shrubbery and people who make you feel uncomfortable. Don’t tell yourself that you are just “being silly”. I never thought ill of anyone when I was a kid, I liked to be around older guys, and I thought they liked me…I never thought that I could be the one they raped- The other girls were pretty, and “sexy”. I never thought a couple beers could hurt, or some weed-a few tokes, right? I was no match for an adults strength, especially not with my guard down and buzzed.
What I want you to know is that if I could turn back time, I would listen to people who told me to take care, but I know this is such a tough world. We get lonely, we want to grow up so we can have “fun”, and no one at home seems to give us attention. That’s how I felt. All my friends had “boyfriends”, they all had “boobs”, they giggled at all the boys. And my folks were always working, or sleeping or watching t.v. I couldn’t wait to hit the night air, pull my jean jacket on and take a long swig out of a bottle…
My life changed forever. I see kids I knew with beautiful families, homes, and feeling good about themselves…I have spent the last 45 years recovering , healing my broken mind, my beaten body, and my crushed spirit… Please, please be aware that these things can happen.
My heart breaks for the families of children who just made that one error in judgement, never to be the same again.
If my experience could just get one person to think for a second before making a decision, then please, take it to heart. I am truly grateful to have survived the violence, God has seen fit to use me today. I hope you can draw close to Him too. He will never hurt or abandon you.
If something ever does happen to you, please find someone to talk to who can help. A rape/crisis center, or hotline can let you be anonymous if you want to. Please don’t carry it around inside. For me it just hurt too bad to keep in. But when I let it out and got help, I began a wonderful healing journey!
I wish you love, and peace tonight. Just be aware.
A deep abiding sadness, wistfulness… like watching a deer in the meadow, at dusk
just before that shot rings out.
Beauty/ Pain/ heartbreak/ death
Their young faces haunt me, these young men I have not met.
How strange it all was to them: Surreal Landscape, Unreal Assignments-
You must die taking this hill, then let it go…You must kill,kill,kill..
I am with you there, that bap!! Bap!! of rifle fire throwing hunks of wet earth aloft, making pieces of palm frond dance right over your head.
Over my head.
Over Our Head.
I close my eyes and see their eyes glowing in the jungle dark.
I see your eyes Johnny Boy. Your blue, blue American eyes so wide, wide open.
That mix of righteous fear, and unrighteous courage- A big question mark in your smile, the cigarette dangling from your strong, veined hand, an M-16 cradled like a lover in your arms.
If I die, I die a Hero, not a poor man’s son, not a redneck, not a carpenter, not a iron worker, no, not one…
A baby, only three or four, staring up from my daddy’s floor, to a tiny black and white TV,
Nixon’s face is what I see, then the images will start again:
Bombs will fall, flames will leap, soldiers will yell
I will sleep- to the sound of choppers overhead-they evac you while I’m still in my crib.
Can I wipe the blood from your face, with my long brown hair-
Can I pour perfumed oil on your battle scars, my blue-eyed Johnny?
Can I love you tho’ I was not there, my brother, son, lover, friend?…
Won’t that damn war ever end?
(written after a marathon viewing of Vietnam, The Ken Burns documentary on PBS)by Susan T. Martin, October 8,2017, but felt since I saw the images of the Vietnam war on my parent’s TV as far back as I have memory…)(I was born in 1964)
He Love Us!
Blue Beach Day
the artist, poet, writer, and survivor: S. T. Martin
Bipolar Disorder. What an illness, huh? It seems to wait, like a kitty under the covers, to pounce on your feet when you least expect it, and least desire it! Such as that cozy twilight of consciousness right before you drift to sleep.
Only that is not a good example, because bipolar disorder is no playful kitty. It is a life encompassing, joy challenging, disruptive and potentially deadly mental illness. More like a raging, ravenous tiger bursting out of the underbrush to drag you screaming into the dark.
It has been quite a while since I wrote about my mental illness, and not because it went away. It is the nature of it, that I shut myself up and bottle all the turmoil away, until a hairline crack appears, and the fizz hits the fan. I have been so busy, flailing away at life, downsizing, moving here to the west coast, setting up house etc., etc. This is much like how I used to claim to be clean and sober, which only lasted as long as my frenzy of work, all to come crashing down in a dead drunk in a week…or a day. Now I dont have the drink, or the drug, or the cigarette, or the parents, or the abusive ex. Just the moving, cleaning, painting, eating and locking all my worries up in a box.
I have been happier though, as I have moved forward and away from the physical address of so much grief. It really was holding me back, seeing their living spaces each day, moving through the “big empty” of it all. My new home feels hopeful and kind, like each room is a new friend, just waiting to be discovered. As the old dark colors and furnishings fade, and a new layer of pride of ownership covers the surfaces, it feels as if the same is occurring on my inside. A good sweeping out, and sloughing off.
It has been difficult trying to rebuild with altered puzzle pieces. Since the accidents of 2013, and the head trauma (TBI), I struggle to accomplish the simplest tasks, paying the simplest bills, and being on time for appointments being two “biggies”.
On days when the pain overwhelms, I try to just do the dishes, or make myself rest without guilt, which ,for a person with my issues is nearly impossible. I still hear the voices in my head, “lazy…stupid…useless…”, and I still miss the touch of a hand, the contact of another human who loves me. The years of caregiving for my Dad has left me broken inside, dry as a popcorn fart with the lack of kindness all those years.
I talk to myself constantly, using the soothing voice of a mother to a hurt child, to get me through the loneliest parts. When I am feeling too fragile, I lie on the living room floor on the dogs blanket, with them around me where I can feel their warmth and hear them breathing. I dont even mind the company of a flea… as long as it is not a verbally abusive one….
I know that this situation is temporary, that I must endure, as we all must. The Word makes that crystal clear. “The one that endures…endures…ENDURES!”
And so I shall. If you need me, I’ll be on the dog blanket…
Stay tuned, big things to come! I am merging my 2 journal blogs into one, here under THE WIND, and yes, this is Susan T. from Out Of The Gutter Art! If you were enjoying my journey on my sister blog, you may enjoy some of my earlier posts, as this is my FIRST blog ever!
I am moving upward and onward in my artistic life, as in my spiritual life, so to keep my work apart where potential patrons and clients can view it without my personal life intervening, I am revamping “Out of the Gutter Art” . The Artist Portfolio is entitled Susan*T*Martin, The Artfull Mind.
I am glad to have you as a visitor to either site, and I hope I can impart a spot of sunlight into your life!
I didn’t even know if my Blog, The Wind, was still here, clinging to life! I am so glad that it is, even though I have been concentrating on my visually creative outlets, rather than the written word. I need this blog. I really need this blog to help me set my troubled mind free again.
Sure, my physical Art, is taking me in Wild and Wonderful new directions, helping me gain confidence with every stoke of the brush of bit of glue. But the musings, the prose , the beauty of the written word, the NEED to express… this is also a nessessity for me.
On another, totally unrelated note: I just purchased 2 new pairs of glasses and they are giving be a blinding headache, the ear piecs are so tight! It feels like somone is turning the handle on a huge vise attached right behind my ears! AAaaargh!
So, coming back to my Windy Blog, I will be coming back to write again, to share again, to tell you tall tales of wit and ingenuity! And insanity! Joy and Life!! and really uncomfortable new glasses!
Check me out now and then, and visit my “sister” blog “Out of The Gutter Art” here on WordPress!