Dear Miss Holly Chamberlin,
On Thursday morning I went to the library and picked up Tuscan Holiday. It is now 11am on Saturday and I have to tell you- that was the best read I've had in ages! Where have you been all my life? I've especially enjoyed your vivid detail of the Italian countryside and added yet another destination to my growing wish list of places to visit. The answer lady has become my new hero. I was up all night sharing her wealth of advice with my husband who has decided she's pretty much a female version of Simon Cowell. I'm going to miss that crazy psychopath. Coincidentally, at this very moment I'm having a lull in my own whacked out relationship with the demon who gave birth to me. The mother/daughter dynamic continues to fascinate me, especially now that I am raising my own future ungreatful drama queen. I suppose I should be thankful for surgical menopause. She's only seven and I'm already seeing faint traces of her mother and grandmother. When she gets her period only one of us will have to be bound and gagged. The other, I assume will either move out or just kill herself. By the way, were those mom quotes from actual books? Good stuff!
I have seen myself mirrored in the struggles both women have faced on this journey. (Does that make sense?) From young Marina, forced to make difficult choices about life and love and finally choose to live her own life to Elizabeth who eventually chose to leave her past where it belongs and move forward with gusto, I have been there. More than all of these, I saw the relationship between Marina and her mother and for the thousandth time wished that I could have known the depth of love between these two women. What is it like to communicate with a mother who chooses sympathy or empathy over martyrdom? What is it like to speak freely without fear of condemnation, verbal assaults, or self-pity from either side? In this book I had a rare glimpse of how it could be one day with my own child. I've also recognized the truth for what it is in yet another one of a million different ways. Dysfunction is more often than not a choice rather than unplanned circumstance. We choose how people treat us and we choose how to respond to that treatment. The result could be liberating or debilitating, depending on our level of maturity. As I was following Marina and Elizabeth through the streets of Tuscany, I decided that I'm quite comfortable with the mutual silence between my mom and I, but thanks for giving me some things to think about. I'm sure this subject will come up again in a few months when I'm forced to deal with visitation issues. I wonder what Answer Lady would say about all this...
To sum up, I have become an addict of your work. I think you are absolutely brilliant and can't wait to get my hands on another of your books. I may have to pace myself though. At this rate, the housework will be ignored, the fridge empty, and my appearance- well I think you get it. Well done, Miss Chamberlin. You had me at the graduation party.
Sincerely,
Sherry Castelluccio
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January 23, 2000
Every drive home is the same. I hold her face in the dirty toilet of unforgiveness and anger. I force her to breathe the stench of rage as it blinds her eyes. She has no choice but to succumb. I can’t recall when it started, surely before I got out on my own. It’s been a routine for as long as I can remember. She tries to free herself from my grip but my hands are strong. She squirms beneath the weight of my depression but only gets pushed harder into the filth. “You hideous creature!” I scream at her. “You don’t have the right to breathe like a real person!” Her tears fall like Niagara Falls into the well and she becomes weak and tired from the powerful force. The harder she tries to fight off the attacks the worse they get. No wonder she’s always tired. She spends her days being the abuser and her nights wrapped up in tears that refuse to go away. I see her there, her little body crushed and broken and I cry my own tears, the haunting lullaby of a soul that fights for attention and loses over and over again. When will I love her? When will she accept my broken pleas for mercy?
June 22, 2009
Still Standing
I am wounded but I'm ok
I've been beaten but I'm not afraid
You may catch me in a moment of weakness
Knocked down for a time or a season
But I'm still here and the gloves are still on
Cause there's still a lot of fight left in me
No, I will not go down so easily
You may have won this round but I'm not backing down
Hang on for the fight of your life
Cause as soon as you turn in for the night
That's when I'll rise
You think those little jabs are wearing me down
Can't wait 'till I give up and hit the ground
One day I'll cave from the weight of your hate
and you'll win
But what you fail to understand about me
Is that I'm trained to live in victory
My strength may wane but I'll come back again
Because I already know how this ends
Your lies, they can't hurt me
Your games are just annoying
Care to re-load for your next attack?
Don't worry, I'll still be here when you get back
Cause there's still a lot of fight left in me
No, I will not go down so easily
You may have won this round but I'm not backing down
Hang on for the fight of your life
Cause as soon as you turn in for the night
That's when I'll rise
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He writhes in agony. Pouring a glass of milk is five minute task. His muscles constrict and contort, often causing him endless hours of pain. He is a prisoner in his own body. During the years since he was diagnosed, he has given himself two black eyes, several punches to the stomach, and bloody swollen cheeks. He has a rare form of Tourette Syndrome. He literally beats himself up day in and day out. He lived through much of his childhood believing that there was no hope, that he would spend the rest of his life behind the iron bars of his own flesh. His eyes were empty, devoid of light or peace. The strange thing is that I understand his pain. I have been there, if only inside my mind. I too have constant spasms of self inflicted abuse.
While my bruises and scars are not visible to the outside world, I see them every day. Every day I am reminded of the terrible deeds I’ve done, the hateful words I’ve spoken, the bad choices I’ve made. Each memory is like a punch to the stomach, the eyes, the mouth. I am a prisoner inside my own mind. Like the young man, I am my own worst enemy, held captive by the demons inside that attempt to destroy the life I’m trying to make for myself. I have had days like he has- despair and agony threaten to overtake me and I am left writhing on the floor, begging for release of my chains.
For people who suffer with Tourette Syndrome, there is good news. Recently scientists have discovered a way to slow down the frequency of the tics, offering hope to millions. Doctors install a device deep into the brain that gently “speaks” to the area causing the tics. This process slows down the attacks, causing much needed relief for the sufferer. Since having had the surgery, the young man is no longer in despair. He is a husband and a new father. He is hopeful. The tics have not left his body; they cannot because there is no cure for this disease. However, they have significantly slowed enough for the young man to live a meaningful and enjoyable life. Finally, he is at peace. He has found a way to overcome the demons in his own flesh.
I too have found a remedy for the brutal attacks that overtake my mind, soul, and spirit. While I will not be cured, I can be made whole again. There is a Book full of hope, promise, and peace. It speaks to the inner parts of me that are bent on destruction and failure. It softens the blows of the enemy, speaking Truth to the innermost parts and silences his threats of death and hatred. Every time I read this Book, I hear words of encouragement, love, and acceptance. I am reminded that every foul thing I have ever done has been forgiven. This gives me strength to go forward one more day. Like the young man, my condition is incurable. Also like the young man, I have found hope and new life through a device that speaks directly to the very places that held me captive. I am free.
"The thief does not come except to steal, and to kill, and to destroy. I have come that they may have life, and that they may have it more abundantly."
John 10:10
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Last Friday I went to a concert. I saw Chris Daughtry and Lifehouse on the same stage! So much fun. Those guys put on an amazing show. When we got there and found our seats I was a little disapointed. I don't particularly like the way that arena is set up. It just feels so impersonal. I can't explain my logic so if you don't understand, it's ok. Moving on. Soon after the show started I began to appreciate our location just a little bit more. The lead singer from Lifehouse walked right past us and sat down just a few feet away. I guess it pays to get seats right next to security! My husband and step-son got to briefly meet the band and shake hands with each member. The girl behind me got a hug! Then the drama happened.
I saw an unfortunate incident unfold right in front of us. People in our immediate family who also happened to be there were escorted out by the police. My step-son was in tears and one thing kept running through my mind. Praise God that I am not the person I used to be. While the concert was incredibly awesome, nothing takes the place of good old fashioned worship. I've seen Third Day live. Those guys not only rock out, they rock out while they praise God. That is the kind of enviornment I enjoy being in. 10,000 screaming fans enjoying good music while lifting up the name of Jesus- that is my heaven.
I am so thankful that I worship Jesus and not Jack Daniels. It was an amazing night but it was also a night full of drama and sadness. My step-son saw things that no child should have to see. While it pains me that he was so hurt on his birthday, it is also a somber reminder of where I've come from and where I never hope to return. It is a reminder that everything we do affects everyone around us. Every day when I wake up I ask God to show me how to do it right. Show me, Lord how to be the mother you created me to be. I want to avoid making choices that reflect poorly on you, I want to show my child what the love of Christ really looks like, and I want to stray further and further away from the life I left behind when I turned to Jesus and away from Jack Daniels.
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I've been going through my old journals lately and stumbled across this one by accident. I find it fascinating that as sick as I was, I still have a tendency to hang on to wrong thinking. I am allowed to forgive myself because God already did.
January 9, 1998
Hi Patty-
It was really nice to visit with you last night. You are such a warm, caring person. You’re also very thoughtful and I loved the presents you gave me. I’m looking forward to seeing you today even though I am exhausted. I requested for them to change my medicine for the morning. Maybe I shouldn’t have switched roommates so fast. My roommate snores and she sleeps all the time. I don’t know how much sleep I got but it wasn’t much.
I talked to a nurse today and told her how I got in here. She said it was very smart of me to call. It shows intelligence because I know it’s wrong to kill myself and I made the necessary steps. I was writing about all the things I miss about home- my perfume, my music, my jewelry. These are all things that I value. They’re signatures of me. I think there’s a part of me that is so stubborn, I refuse to admit that there is good about me, even things that are lovable. I think maybe I don’t want to admit it because then I’d have to deal with all the bad things I’ve done. It’s all really complicated. Anyway, I hope that while I’m here I get the help I need. If I don’t I’ll go crazy.
I talked with a nurse a few minutes ago and learned something really interesting. She told me that because of the abuse, not having a middle ground and not being allowed to make mistakes it would be natural for me to beat myself up when I do screw up. I knew this but what was interesting was what she said next. I am at a fork in the road and I am starting to realize that it is ok to make big mistakes. It doesn’t mean that I am not worth something or that I have to lay down and die. I’m starting to understand that I’m still a good person that is allowed to make mistakes and be forgiven. I can forgive myself because this is not the person I am or want to be. There is a gray area and I’m finding it. Maybe getting here has taught me that I am not going to quit because I happen to be human. I’m going to live and I will be ok.
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