No Road Map

Finally remembering how to put thoughts into words again, only to send them off into the void unknown. It has been far too long since I have written. So much has changed.

My brother came home from China this past summer. Talk about stressful. I managed the situation immensely better than anyone predicted. We were able to talk and be in the same room. Still, trying to explain how I felt toward the situation and specifically him was too difficult as it was too soon.

In August I ran away to a job in Rexburg. Granted I had been playing on returning to this job since April (before my brother had announced he was coming back home). But the sooner I could leave the better. School started up in September. For the first time I felt a clear direction, a clearing in front of me. My classes were fantastic. However my health still was giving me some trouble. I've been on Cymbalta since January. Little did anyone recognize or realize it was pulling me into a depression.

During the months of August, my roommates and I found a relaxing paradise in the form of paddle boarding in a man made pond. Growing up I've been called a fish. At the age of eight my golden blonde hair turned a bright green from swimming so much. That was after the first two days of our pool being open. Needless to say this pond was exactly the refreshment I needed. Using the little strength saved up during the morning, I would paddle to the middle of the pond. Leaving the paddle on the board I would jump in, my skin breathing in the cool, invigorating water. As I floated the  fresh water reprieved my nerves. For the slightest moment I was me again. The water enveloped not only me, but my mind and my senses. And then the thought would come, "If only I would just let myself sink to the bottom..." At which point I would become a little worried and get back on the paddle board.

September came and brought new roommates in a new complex. I hadn't been living there for more than three hours when I had a panic attack. My dad talked me through it and I was able to calm down. Not a week later I had another panic attack, only this time I couldn't calm myself down. Instead my dearest friend arranged for me to receive a priesthood blessing. What a sacred and personal blessing from Heavenly Father.

I thought I would be fine from that point on. Originally I had told my brother I would come to see him the weekend of General Conference. I forgot to tell him I had cancelled. He insisted I should come down as did his wife. There was a slight problem: I had no where to put my puppy. Yes I had gone certifiably crazy and bought myself a comfort animal. Thank goodness for brothers who understand and can tell you such facts. That weekend lead to me going off all medication cold turkey. This only lead to completely dizziness and vertigo. When I called to explain to the doctor that I needed to be able to find a way to get back to school and work in Idaho, I was told to take Benadryl and wait two weeks for it to wear off. Clearly my plans needed to change.

Now November is just a breath away. I'm here at home. Not at all where I intended to be. All day I've been busy running errands for my mother and making gifts for her co-workers (in order to butter them up for my mother as they've been witches and not because it's Halloween). Finally catching my breath, I sat down to mindless let my mind run on Facebook, if not only to solidify to myself the shallowness of my present mind. There a wall of bricks in the form of an innocent pictures of missionary faces knocked me back to reality.

Today I was to return home from my eighteen month mission. Another path never fully explored.

That seems to be the routine these days. I embark with full determination to finish down one path only to find myself set back where I started, fresh with disappointment. Disappointment in myself and frustration with my body. What happened to the road map I had?

On my knees I beg to see catch the smallest glimpse of this road map. If only to avoid the stinging pain of being forced to quit once again. It is in these times I have finally learned the difference in feeling hot tears streaming down my face in stark contrast to the cold trickle of tears shed for the same old sorrow.

Yet somewhere in the back reaches of my mind, I distinctly hear Heavenly Father's messages for me:

There will be wrong roads in our lives. Many in fact. "God expects us to pray, trust, and be believing and then not give up, panic, or "jump ship" when something doesn't seem to be going right."

The Guide Before Me

Last time I wrote, I felt utter fear and despair. I finally took a moment to realize how scared I was. Going to Church the next morning kept my fears from the shinning through. Walking in a few minutes late, I quickly sat down next to a dear friend. After a few moments she leaned over and whispered, "That guy is sitting all by himself and I've never seen him before. I feel so bad." Looking over I quickly recognized him as one of my younger sisters friends who would be graduating high school this year. Feeling the need to help him feel welcome and more comfortable, I jumped up and moved over to sit with him. The poor boy had no idea sitting next to me would only leave him squirming.

I had no intentions of going to church that morning to receive personal comfort, strength, and love from my Heavenly Father. It was fast and testimony meeting (meaning anyone who feels prompted to share their testimony and love of their Savior Jesus Christ can go up to the pulpit). One of the dear sister missionaries in the ward got up to bear her testimony. She stated with great conviction "There is no darkness so deep that the light of the Atonement cannot reach us."

That's when the tears started streaming down my face and the boy I sat next to in an attempt to make feel more comfortable, started squirming. Sorry about that!

But with all jest gone, I couldn't believe how those words came. They came in the direct metaphor I had used. Coming home that day, I decided to follow the light by placing aside my fear. It started with talking with my parents. We realized biofeedback was not for me. At least not at this time, not with this counselor. The second time I went to see her, I had a mini panic attack in the waiting room; panic I had never felt before. Leaving her office that day, I felt more despair, more confusion than I had ever left myself feel especially with this situation.

We also talked about my brother coming home for the summer. I expressed the stress of the idea of him staying inside the house instead of his "apartment/dorm" in the garage. Right now at this point of my recovery and my life, I can't cope with the idea of trusting him fully. Anxiety hits when I think about him being home this summer. Then I realize I potentially will be working three jobs and leaving in August for another job and school. That doesn't leave extra time around to be nervous about.

Here is what I've concluded:
Guiding light should not be confusing. In fact God tells us He is not the author of confusion. Of course at times in our lives confusion will arise as we do not always have the eternal perspective of God. It is at those times we need to evaluate if we are focused on the light, or distracted by the vast darkness all around us.

Yes there are still parts of my past that I haven't discovered how they may affect me in the future. But I have once again learned to place my trust in God. I have once again learned He will send people to us. I have once again learned He is ever aware of me and expresses His perfect love for me in ways I can see and acknowledge everyday.

Climbing Down

I find it hard to sleep these days. When I first got back from my mission, I could never fall asleep. Exhaustion would hit me, yet hours later, sleep still would not come. My dad's alarm would go off and I would realize it was 4:00am. Knowing he would be worried to still find me awake, I would fake asleep. My sister would call me at 11:00 am waking me. The day would proceed in a haze as I still felt unrested.


Finally as I progressed in counseling and in my day to day life, I began to sleep during the night instead of the early morning hours. Energy and motivation to accomplish tasks grew. Yet the pain in my body has not fully resolved. Now I am going back to do biofeedback therapy. During the same week this decision came about, I started my Mary Kay business, and applied for a part time data entry job. I got the job and my Mary Kay business has been a great help! The week I started doing biofeedback the news arrived that my brother would be coming home for the summer.


Now I find myself not sleeping once again. I feel utterly drained when Friday comes. Every night around 7:00 pm I want to crawl into bed but wait until midnight. The pain has increased once again. Life continues on. At least the ibuprofen is helping this time.


I've always known when I can turn into the wall, the side of the couch, the door of the car, and feeling these objects holding me there, I feel protected. Before I was so desperate for sleep, I downloaded multiple sleep meditation apps. That's when I realized I find someone talking to me a great comfort. Sleep comes more easily. With the two combined, sleep comes almost immediately. I didn't realize this until last night. I feel safe when there is a voice, a male voice, that sounds smooth, gentleman-like with something solid to lean into. Odd seeing as how my abuser was a strong male right?


Here's the thing: I don't remember hardly any of the abuse. I remember one time before it happened and two times right as it finished. Most would consider me lucky.


Yet there was a movie that came out about two years ago; The Perks of Being a Wallflower. Remember it? Most of my friends were SHOCKED as the ending revealed the boy had been molested by his aunt. I called it from the first moment the aunt was introduced. The movie focuses on a high school boy who used to have these blackouts. Just as he is about to get the girl, make the big move, she touches his thigh and he suddenly remembers: his aunt abused him. That was the first time I became afraid of remembering.


What happens if I remember? What happens if when I get married, I end up in panic attacks on my honeymoon? What happens when I un-rationally panic about my kids abusing each other? What happens if I sit too long with my own thoughts, my own quite, my own mind, my own emotions? I fear the breakdown would never end.


It's all black. There is no light at the end of tunnel, no silhouette against the darkness. To mean it means it must be very, very deep. It's the opposite of a Mt. Everest high. If I can't see the bottom, how am I supposed to ever see how to climb back to the top?

Silent Mountain Resounds

I originally started this blog while serving my mission in Jacksonville, Florida.

Today we move in a different direction.

My values and my faith have not changed. There will be times when it might appear I go backwards in my testimony but I pray you will bear with me and give me patience as I try to continue up my present mountain.

I don't really know where to begin or how to start. I know keeping a journal has provided such a relief for me. With this current topic, my main frustration is that no one ever talks about. We beat around the bush with it, insult the accused, briefly teach our children about it, but never really believe the statistics that come with it.

SEXUAL ABUSE.

I came home early from my mission because of the sexual abuse I experienced as a child. Thirteen years after it stopped, I finally told my parents. Thirteen years of believing lies and being the perfect sexual abuse victim.

You have to understand, my abuser is my brother. Our family situation is very unique in that we still keep contact with my brother. He is a registered sex offender. He is a pathological liar. He is controlling. He is devious.

He is still a child of God.

Did it hurt when trying to confront him and all he talked about was how bad it was for him? Yes. Does it hurt knowing he still is throwing his life away? Yes. Did it hurt watching him continually ruin his relationships as I walked behind him trying to mend the pieces? Yes. Did it hurt to know he made me, an innocent little girl at heart, confess to my parents that I was a victim? More than anything in the world.

Yet I do not label him as "The Sex Offender." He is my brother. I hope that one day he will turn around and make his life better. I want more than anything in the world for him to recognize he is of worth, he can change, and he can stop hurting those around him.

I start this journey with these claims for you to understand one thing: Though there will be many emotions, many stages of recovery, yet the love for my brother, my hope for him, will not change.

There is one more claim I would like to address. For the sake of my family, all comments and contact with any reader's will be nearly non-existent simply because you're opinions are not my purpose in this blog. They are not the focus of this blog. While I may find myself expressing rage against them at some point, that is mine to have, not yours.

My purpose is to speak out. I will not be silent any longer. I will not be a victim any longer by allowing those hurt by abuse feel the need to be silent too. Our struggles today are no longer physical like the pioneers crossing the planes; they are mental, emotional, and spiritual. It is time we focused on how to overcome these silent mountains. It is time to cover new territory, a new Mt. Everest if you will. These are our days, our journey. Is it not time to recognize we are not alone in this fight?

When the Mountain gets too Steep

"Jesus wept."

Two little words so important, they make up their own verse. But why? I've often wondered why on earth people always thought those two words put together were the most powerful.

I now know. Through my own challenges on my mission I have come to feel this in my life more than I can testify of.

Here's the gist: three days before, Christ was told Lazarus was sick. He replied, "This sickness is not unto death, but for the glory of God, that the Son of God might be gorified thereby."

Then when He comes back, Lazarus has already passed. When He sees Mary, she's bawling her eyes out over the loss of her brother. She cries "Lord, if thou hadst been here, my brother had not died." 

And "Jesus wept."

Christ knew that in just few a minutes He would be raising Lazarus. But He didn't brush Mary aside and quickly perform the miracle or scold her. He cried with her. That is what Christ does for us in our own trials. He weeps with us. He feels our pain and sits with us a moment. 

Then He picks us up and carries us closer to our Heavenly Father.