Regarding this weird process of healing which includes remembering horrors, the present difference has largely arisen out of being able to survey traumatic instances without reliving them to such extent as to be wholly overwhelmed and left in a state of perturbation for days. Having peace in Christ and remembering the safety of being sheltered and kept by Him has made all the difference.
Which isn't to say I'm not still utterly panic-stricken a vast majority of the time, on a level which doesn't generally register consciously. I am. Today constituted the first day in...a very long time...wherein I became aware of that particular aspect of my personal reality without simultaneously being utterly gripped by the terror simmering just beneath the surface of all my goings-on.
Prior to Christ, I had some very and extremely unhealthy "coping mechanisms" for dealing with that terror. The most "effective" of which was whiskey. Some of the other sort dealt primarily with suppressing awareness of reality by entering into situations which were oppressive or so overwhelming or otherwise unsettling and false as to permit suspending reality for varied periods of time. Pretending. Another way of phrasing that same avenue for suppression of terror would be to remark that I sought out the most compelling distractions I could find and utterly gave myself into them. Romance was a big one, on that front--whether novels or experience. I used to sarcastically, yet honestly state it was the "ultimate distraction." For myself, at least.
So, as far as sin goes, I heaped upon heaps in attempting to flee from the pains of reality. And this, even having been confronted with God in my youth. And having been confronted with Jesus's provision to those who call on Him in sincerity. Still, I would not turn to Him.
Especially not after being rejected by those whom I considered His people.
I had been drawn into the spiritual as propagated at Benny Hinn "crusades," when I was perhaps 12--my mom chartered a bus, to go. And when those same experiences followed me back into the solemn Methodist Church of my youth, I was set on the sidewalk in the throes. And never spoken to about the matter. I felt anathema. Literal.
And, as taken in conjunction with having come to believe that repentance is an expiring offer--that somehow we only get so many chances, and after we've used them, we won't be able to repent again...and the only way to know if I'd repented was if I had stopped the sin being repented of? Well, I found myself tacitly incapable of ceasing the sin.
...so between thinking I only had a limited number of chances to repent remaining--whereas I hadn't figured out a means of ceasing sin yet so to repent rightly--and also being so stricken with the sense of being anathema due to my own experiences...
...I stopped with church. Still attended. Because that wasn't an option.
Still went to the youth group, because...it was a means of being away from home for a while, out of the grip of fear and anxiety and insufficiency for a few moments...and nearly accepted...at least, until I started practicing some of the occult matters I'd learned in midst of fellowship.
Because part of the turning away from church was a "turning to seek God on my own terms," as mentioned in the prior post.
And He's dealt with me on these matters--both regarding being unable to divorce pursuit of Him from love for His church (broken as she may oft be), and also regarding His sovereign prerogative that we must seek Him on His terms if we're to truly know Him.
I learned a lot, seeking to know of Him and of reality and of spirituality on my own terms. But the premises upon which all that learning rested were flawed, false, and thus so goes the knowledge, corrupt. Which, again, is wherein we aren't capable to rewrite reality according to our preferences--in attempting to do so, we're merely obfuscating yet never obliterating truth.
Of which, at one point the only means seemingly apt to discern was to study the all of history and philosophy, so to attain sufficient breadth of knowledge as to gauge. But the whole was deemed too vast, so I settled on religion. Having stepped apart from the One True God, I started with pantheons.
And honed down through many, over many. To the point that none seemed fruitful, despite that in light of the reality of existence a Creator is implied. Yet, how to know Him? Knowing about Him became a thing, instead, based on assessing the nature of consistency within reality's constraints--pattern upon pattern, allowing extrapolation upon extrapolation in many instance, unto loose comprehension of multi-varied facets of systemic operation. Parallels on varied fronts, from physics, to maths, to biology, to sociology. All so orderly.
But I was so focused on the trees that I still refused to want to know the forest. I wanted, instead, to know on my own terms, still.
All the while refusing to acknowledge the fears and griefs and rages and lusts that compelled me, in life. Refusing to acknowledge them, largely because there was no safe context in or from which to assess such things as not to be wholly consumed by them. As attempted suicide was an ongoing part of the process, too, in those moments when I ceased successfully suppressing the all--largely driven by a mixture of pride (ie, self-consumed, self-loathing), frustration with my own inability to do all things (unto rage-fueled, defiant self-destructiveness), and despair of my powerlessness in the grip of grief, pain, and all else.
Pride. I would not turn to Him.
And it did not help that I experienced spiritual reality independently of submission to God. That further fueled my defiance and willfulness.
But of knowing Him, now, He is helping me to deal with the reality of my own sinfulness--both of the sins against me and of my own rampant transgressions. Unto deeper submission, in light of an incrementally expanding realization of the reality of my own wretchedness, brokenness, and helplessness taken in context of the also burgeoning awareness of Christ's mercy and love, of His grace toward me. Such that I can increasingly more forthrightly speak with greater acuity of the wretchedness of what I had lived, against Him and all Creation. Same as any of us who aren't walking in conscious, glad submission to the truth of His sovereignty and our need for mercy through Christ.
There are so many things. So many things which I once gloried in, seeking self-fulfillment, happiness, and "self-actuation," as it were...which, now, are solemnly, sadly remembered. So much brokenness and sin, unto further brokenness and sin--and for all those around, too. Of which, I have been increasingly grateful to have never achieved a place of high social standing for the fact of knowing how many all the more whom I would have harmed had that been the case. Except for the rare few whom the Lord nonetheless blessed me, even then, through companionship and kindness...for whom I have and will continue to pray. And interact, if He gives.
To be able to remember without being overwhelmed with shame or fear, though? To be able to openly remark, in light of grieving the sins of my life while yet rejoicing in my Savior's mercies? To be able to no longer feel as though all life prior must never be remarked, for fear of falling prey again to those compulsions and desires?...or worse yet, to then discover them still lurking and only awaiting the next moment of consumption? To speak without any longer fearing that I must hold it all at arms' length and somehow nearly pretend my life wasn't what it has been in order to honor His salvation--fearing that there need be quietness which may imply that struggles aren't still ongoing and battles sometimes lost (while yet acknowledging that struggles have vastly changed from what once was life's norm)?
I can only increasingly attest my own wretchedness because of the grief which sin yet inspires under weight of the desire to honor my gracious God and King with my all, while ever realizing and embracing His mercies and salvation all the more. And I do not want to dwell on these things, and will not do so, either.
But there is a time for remembering Egypt. And it's cyclic. And an ongoing part of being humbled. While also an ongoing part of being healed, per coming to terms increasingly with reality of circumstances...while increasingly finding that those prior effects and circumstances have less and less a claim on present life. All in light of coming to know and cherish Christ more wholly.
So, that's where healing has arisen. And that's why it's possible to more forthrightly acknowledge these things, as the charred carnage which has been laid again and again on the altar of my devotion to Christ. Until it's consumed by His encompassing love, wholly.
And the thing is--I will forever be shaped by these matters. But these scars will increasingly converge to tell a story only of my Savior's love, as He tends the wounds more deeply. His grace has ever been sufficient, and the more clearly aware I am of how truly just He is and of how completely I deserve His wrath, the more gratefully I bow before Him in recognition and rejoicing of His merciful atonement. He paid the debt He didn't owe to give us the life we don't deserve, truly.
All these bits and pieces of the past aren't intended to congeal wholly to represent the entirety of what life was, just enough to clarify my own manners of deviance, of some the paths sought and found false. Leading to Him, ultimately.
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