Today I was sitting in church reflecting on my life and my emotional walls. I counted them, evaluating all the reasons why they were built. My mother, the rapes, the broken promises, the lies and all the times I was betrayed. The little girl I once was, the little girl I used to be………I felt a tear escape my eye and I brushed it away never wanting to show any signs of weakness. I am good at building walls but have no idea how to tear them down.
I’ve attended several different churches over the years and at some point in each service, there’s an altar call. This practice always seemed like emotional manipulation to me, producing false professions and giving false hope to those that are truly lost because they feel that the simple act of going to the altar gets them spiritually right with God. I struggled with this myself.
There are so many things I want to tell you, so many things I need for you to know.
I see your little hands and I want to hold them. Your beautiful face once beaming with life, I gently want to kiss.
I want to hug you, dry up your tears and unravel your pain.
Warning: The following story may be disturbing to some readers. Reader discretion is advised.
My first memory in life is at the age of two. It’s very vivid, as if it just happened yesterday. I was wearing these footed pajamas. They were the same color as my father’s truck and they zipped all the way up the front. I was holding on to my baby doll and sucking my thumb as I played in the bedroom with my brother and my father’s three older sons. They were visiting for the weekend.
My father was home. He was screaming in the next room for my mother to call the police. Someone was outside; they were stealing his light blue truck.
As a person I would rather be alone, single, broke and happy than be in a relationship, married, wealthy and miserable. I don’t think that I have my expectations set to high knowing what I want in a relationship and not settling for less.