Painted Faces - the masks people wear

Liar, Liar....

       It feels sometimes like my whole life has been a lie. I find it hard to trust my memories, my very being. I am confused, bereft, longing for the truth. I've always felt that I missed out on my growing up years, that there was something missing. Gaps in my memory that I just couldn't fill, when my memory as an adult was excellent. A sorrow, a sadness, and a desperate need to be protected, wanted just for me. I realize now that only God can fill that void, that God sized hole.

      I needed to appear strong, able to cope, I wasn't allowed to not cope. And yet I was self-destructing from the inside out. I formed strong connections with the people I let in but was constantly looking for, expecting, them to let me down, give up on me, leave me hurt, raw, alone. Often my behaviour would try pushing them away because I was so sure I was not what I seemed, and they would not want me if they knew the real me. Trouble was, I had this horrible feeling I didn't know the real me either. Any compliment I received I felt guilty for. I didn't deserve it; went through the motions and accepted it politely or laughed it off, even secretly hugged it to me as a golden gift but had serious doubts as to its legitimacy.

     I was afraid of trying anything, because I was sure I would fail, disappoint everyone, embarrass myself and prove everything I believed about myself to be true. I was worthless, with a fine coating of glamour placed on me by others to hide behind.

    I once said, "I wish I could be what you think I am" and received the reply "you already are". But then they gave up on me, ultimately. I had begun to believe, trust - and oh how it hurt when I was proven right after all!

    I beg God to clean me, wipe away the pain and shame but never seem able to accept that it's done. Maybe you also feel that way? Can relate in some way to my struggle?

    Does this all prove that it happened? I checked details out with my best friend from High School and she was certain it had happened. Apparently she and her psychologist mother at the time believed I was being sexually abused - and sadly assumed it was by my father. I'm told my life is explained by those new memories... anorexia, depression, anxiety, panic disorder, post- natal depression, and dissociation; the severity of those illnesses now had a reason for existing. But today I don't  feel deserving of any explanation – and certainly not deserving of your belief in me.

But you see, Jesus would disagree.

   He is our hope, our truth, our life. In Him, and only Him are we made whole. 

   He sits with me tonight as, sleepless, I write. In recalling these memories over the past two years I have not just remembered but relived them all. And then again and again guiltily tried to disown them. Waited to be caught out. Shown to be the liar Satan wants me to believe I am. He would rob me again if he could. Again and again my counsellor told me he had no doubt it was true. My story never changed, even when recalling an event for a second time or questioned out of context. My dissociation, traumatic polyvagal response and PTSD symptoms also proved this. And Jesus had told him also. But my mistrust of myself is so deep seated that even now I hear voices in my head questioning it all.

    Don't get me wrong, I am grateful for the life I have, for all the good times and the wonderful family I have been given. But I also grieve for what might have been; what might have been better, happier. No long stays in hospital, engaging with and enjoying the early years of motherhood; a more meaningful career. I don't usually dwell on regret or self-pity, have no need for revenge or blame but sometimes I feel sadness and reproach for what I have lost, or rather never had.