"Beggars can't be choosers," my family motto. "You can be pitiful or powerful. You can't be both." My desired motto. There is a war going on inside me.
I am not a victim. I am not a beggar. I am a powerful chooser. Do you think if I say this often enough it could come true?
In the comments section of the last post Vickie recommended a self defense class. I thought about it. My thoughts were, "What would be the point in that? If attacked I could/would never win and the attack would then be just that much worse." Gad. This kind of "stinking thinking" has poisoned my whole life. I know its origins, AND I WANT TO GET RID OF IT.
I was beaten, defiled and broken as a child. Some days I am amazed I can walk and chew gum at the same time. The abuse has colored my whole world. It is the reason I believe I can't fight back and WIN against attackers ... or cheesecake. It teaches you not to fight back. I don't want to be cracked. I want to be whole. I want to fight back. I gotta get some help.
I am born of a long line of victims. People who let life grind them to a pulp and never fought back. I was adopted by an amazing woman who was victimized but FOUGHT BACK with every ounce of her strength. She taught me how to fight back. Her main teaching was to give your fight to God and let him assist in the battle. I have been trying to do this for thirty years but...I am scared to death of God. He seems mean and unreliable. (God forgive me.)
All that business about having little children come unto Him, juxtaposed with turning the other cheek and giving your coat away just confuses me. God my loving protector who demands I be abused in the name of Christianity? I guess I believe no one can protect me. God won't and I can't. See, I told you I need help, spiritual and psychological. This round robin victim thinking is entrenched in me and I know it is WRONG.
But...I have enjoyed the many perks of victim hood. I get to be special. Not as much is expected of me. (In fact nothing. I was always pointed out as a miracle child for being smart enough to cross the road without being run over.) I get to evade responsibility. I get to believe I have no control over what happens to me. I get to hate myself. I get to contemplate suicide (without having any real intention of doing it.) I get to be fat.
I want to get some help to accept God's love, figure out how to shoulder the burden of my past, determine how and when to fight back, and to learn to recognize I have choices in life.
That's all. That's enough. Bea.