Hurting with God **TW: SA, Suicide, PA, RA, and EA**

[gcj07a]

TW: Sexual abuse, suicidal threats, physical abuse, religious abuse, verbal/emotional abuse

As part of my long-term recovery process, I am writing a memoir. This is one of a few complete entries. Thanks for reading.

***

"Jesus wants you to love your mommy better. He is sad that you are such a bad boy" she told me. And, of course, I knew it was true. But what was wrong with me? Why wasn't I able to love her better? I tried. I tried really hard, but it was never enough. And I just knew as I lay awake in bed night after night after night that Satan and his minions would pop out of my floor and haul me to *. And of course * looked a lot like it does in All Dogs Go to Heaven.

* * *

She used to sit me in her lap and tell me how much she loved me, how I was the only one who really understood her. And then she would change. Her eyes would darken and her face would become a taut mask stretched over bone and her smile would become a scythe and I would scream and cry and bury my head in her chest and beg her not to make the witch face. And it would stop. And she would deny that she had made such a face. I must be imagining things. As usual.

Once as an adult I confronted her about the witch face. She denied ever making such a face and then, as I was speaking to her, she made the face. I called her out on it even as terror swept through my body and then, like a wisp of smoke, it was gone. She had no memory of such a thing.

* * *

"Why are you so disgusting? You stink and your pants stink and you never wash behind your ears." I must have had the backs of my ears inspected hundreds of times. She often insisted on a full body examination after a bath to confirm that, indeed, I had not left "nast" and "filth." Often these abject inspections necessitated her touching my body at different points. She was particularly anal about my bottom being clean.

When I (inevitably) wasn't sufficiently clean, I was forced to re-bathe myself in her presence until she was satisfied.

* * *

I started sleeping in the closet because it offered me a bit of protection. I grew to hate the night time visits where she would apologize for being such a terrible mother and would offer to kill herself if that is what I wanted. Sometimes this was accompanied by fondling me. Sometimes not. I hated it.

In the closet I felt protected but knew that if she found me in there I might be beaten. So scared at night, I often peed in the closet to avoid going to the restroom. I woke up once to her stomping me in my stomach and then just walking out of my room.

* * *

Dad once confided in me that she had a screw loose in her head, that she was crazy, but that we were stuck with her. Of course. Everyone had a crazy mother. Mine was no different. So what if I threatened to call 911 as she beat my brother. So what if she insisted on taking my temperature rectally until I was 12. So what if she ran over my beloved cat one evening after church. So what if I was screamed at, gaslighted, hit, and blamed for every wrong. Moms are crazy. Everyone knows that.

"Only Mommy," she said, "can love such a gross boy like you. No one else will ever want you."

* * *

As part of my therapy, I have reworked many of my memories EMDR. . I have also done imaginative work in which I rescued the wounded inner child at various stages. I have rescued baby gcj07a, young gcj07a, and teenage gcj07a. But nine-year-old gcj07a has proved reluctant to be rescued (more on this in later posts as well).

In The Body Keeps the Score Dr. Bessel van der Kolk explains that trauma splits everyone who experiences it. At the extreme end of this is the development of Dissociative Identity Disorder (DID), but even when DID does not develop, the personality fractures in response to trauma. A specific form of therapy called Internal Family Systems (IFS) therapy assists a person in reintegrating the fractured elements. IFS specifically focuses on how the fractured person develops the exile (the trauma victim), the manager (the defense mechanism focused on controlling the exile), and the firefighter (the defense mechanism focused on distracting the exile). I won't explain it all, but my exile is a 9-year-old boy. His manager and firefighter are each about 13 (and they hate each other). This boy is afraid for his mom. In his compassion he wants to make sure she is cared for. But more than that, he knows he is disgusting. And he knows if he gives her up then he is saying goodbye to love forever.

* * *

Here is a psalm of lament I wrote in September of 2019 (inspired very much by the work of a former professor of mine in his book Hurting with God).

Why have you shut the sky against me, oh God?

Why do my shouts only return my own echoes?

You rescued Israel from Pharaoh and Daniel from lions

And you set David's feet on solid ground.

But I have been abandoned and forgotten,

left to suffer alone with no consolation.

Why was I born to a woman who hates me?

Why give me a mother but not a mommy?

I was terrorized and denied my own identity,

my earth had been made to stand still.

But your eye was focused on others' needs,

on setting their worlds to rights.

How long, oh Lord, must I suffer from my trauma?

How long, oh God of my heart, until you restore me to my senses?

Send me rain from heaven, oh God!

May your tears wash away my fear!

Weep with me as you did for Jerusalem and Lazarus!

Shelter me beneath your wings

and call me out of the grave.

I do not want to die, oh Lord.

I do not want to drown beyond your reach!

I am helpless, Lord, entangled in nightmares of blood and fire!

Lift me free, oh Lord, for the sake of your love for me.

I've watched as mothers nurse their babies,

even wild animals know this comfort.

Be a mother to me oh God.

Be a mother to the motherless!

As you have been in ages past,

so lso be with me for your name's sake!

For I am unworthy to have you come under my roof,

but only say the word and I shall be healed.

For whom have I in heaven but you,

and there is nothing on the earth I desire besides you.

My flesh and my heart may fail, but you are

the strength of my heart and my portion

forever.

[Not Alone]

I wasn't sure if you wanted comments or not, so I apologize if not. I could relate to a great deal of what you wrote. I have talked in therapy about my mom's different faces. I have DID and somewhat do IFS therapy. Your psalm is beautiful. I have said similar things to God, although my words have often been harsher.

[paul72]

What a heartbreaking, yet beautiful psalm.
A lot of what you wrote really resonates with me.
I hope writing your memoir is helpful in your healing. And I hope sharing it here does too. I'm truly sorry for all you were put through.

[gcj07a]

Thanks Phil and Not Alone. I really appreciate that.

[littlebluejay]

Thank you for sharing. I know how challenging it can be to undergo spiritual abuse (as mentioned by your mother using God to tell you to love her better) and then to come to God with your pains. Your psalm is heartbreaking yet powerful. I love how you ended it, by coming back to who God is to you, your strength and portion forever. It reminds me of so many of David's Psalms, and the entire book of Lamentations, where you spill out your heart, your confusions, and your hurt, but by the end coming to the conclusion that it is God who still gives you strength. Sending you lots of love.