I was pulled out of church at the age of eight. My mother told me I was old enough to know better. I since then fell out of faith.
In December of 2012, I was kidnapped, manipulated and brutally beaten. My attacker was my supposed “loving boyfriend.” He was extremely intelligent, talented and cunning. He was as sly and malevolent as a snake. After two hours of repetitive blows to the head, chest and legs, amid promises that those moments would be me last, I escaped. I was sent to the emergency room. I had blood coming from my ear, my eye was swollen shut, I had bruised ribs and thighs and a severe concussion. He swore he’d be back to kill me.
He instilled a fear in me so great that I couldn’t bear to be anywhere. I couldn’t be home without the blinds closed and the phone in my hand. I broke the camera on my laptop. I moved out of state. Anyone who looked at me I thought was reporting back to him. I knew what he was capable of.
I couldn’t bear to be alive. On my drives home I felt compelled to make a swift sharp turn so that I would crash and kill myself instantly. I swallowed half a bottle of pills and chased it with alcohol. It wasn’t enough. Day in and day out I’d cry myself to sleep nearly ripping my hair out. I drank myself into deep depression. I couldn’t stand to be alone. I went out every night and partied–seemingly a normal, sociable girl. I never slept around. I just drank enough to drown the voices in my head until the night was through. Then I’d go home, cry and pass out.
After almost a year of the same indulgence, I came across a guy at one of these parties. One not like the others. I didn’t read into it though. I couldn’t trust anyone. Not when the one you thought you loved was thirsty for your own blood. So I treated him as I would anyone; we laughed and talked. Somehow I stumbled upon texting him. The more I came to know this guy, the more I fell out of love with Vodka.
I began to feel deeper emotions. Ones beyond the surface. For example, I’d become an emotionless rock after the incident. This was a strange phenomenon for me and I needed to understand it. We shared like feelings of having not been looking for mates and somehow became lovers and best friends. All was going incredibly well when all of a sudden, I felt the heat on my cheek. Then, flashbacks. I fell into a panic attack and started screaming, remembering all that had happened–feeling it all over again.
He held me tight, praying over me.
I regained my senses and showed my thanks and adoration. Then I began feeling jealous–sickly jealous. The feeling would overwhelm me so that I’d throw up. I lacked sleep and I couldn’t eat. I couldn’t trust him because of my ex. I knew it wasn’t fair but my mind and body responded the way it wanted.
Another attack. PTSD really had it’s grip on me. This time was different.
He asked if I believed in God, in Jesus Christ our Savior. I told him I hadn’t since a young age. He began to tell me of His power and His grace. I agreed and said the prayer that opened my heart to Him.
Since then I’ve felt Him day in and day out–in prayer, in scripture, in church. I have coffee once a week with my pastor and now volunteer at my church, as well as attending a Bible study.
It has only been three months and I’ve already lost all feelings of negativity. Jealousy can’t plague my mind anymore. The Holy Spirit flows through me as if to replace the blood in my veins. I’m free and all aspects of my life are looking upward and I know it isn’t placebo because I’ve tried just using the power of the mind. We are far too weak to possess that kind of power. I thank God, Jesus Christ and the Holy Spirit.
I found my way and God was, and is, beyond welcoming.