Thursday, March 10, 2011

God had to yell at me, b/c I don't shut up. Part 1

The lies, manipulation, deception, cheating, jealously, and hateful behavior was the pattern that I can now say I became addicted to. Five years ago I met him, the man that would change my life.  I eventually got to a point when I knew that I was going to have to decide when forgiveness and second chances had reached the limit.  5 years ago I began a journey that would eventually bring me to the lowest point of my life.   It was dark, alone, and sad, and most of all depressing.  I lost everything, my identity, my motivation, my health and body, my determination and drive, my family and friends.  My entire world seemed to have disappeared and I seemed to be living another life.
At my lowest point, I felt so far from that young woman I once was, I started to wonder if I could ever be Kristin again?  Five years of my life I lived blind in a destructive relationship whether it was love/hate.  My self-esteem and sense of worth slowly began to slip away and now I am finally ready to open up and write the truth and publish all those stories I had written or thought about along the way.  This memoir will inspire anyone who has been hurt by someone that they thought was love.  Someone who like myself had fallen into a dark hole somewhere along the way.  So dark there was not even a glimpse of light to follow which would serve as hope for the end.   When you know exactly what you need to do, but you don’t have the strength or courage to make the change you begin to feel hopeless. 
As a 27-year old woman with a deeply rooted religious background, I found myself calling out to God unaware that I was seeking his guidance and direction.  Leaving all the silly rules of church that were instilled in my head at an early age, and the conformity of being taught how I was supposed to pray, I was simply reading scriptures out of the Bible and Women’s Devotional  to seek comfort in something familiar.  Each fight and argument seemed to grow more intense, there were more secrets being revealed and the pain and hurt grew even deeper.  It didn’t take long until I would regularly find therapy by locking myself in the second bedroom as I cried out for both my Mom and God.  There in that room were the only real pieces of me.  My clothes and shoes, the desk and bookshelf I had proudly purchased.  I made that room into my little world.  With the door locked and God’s word in my hand, I would simply read aloud verses and passages from a devotional often skipping to titles of the ones that would be relevant to what I was going through. 

There alone in that room I was doing something I had never had to do in over 25 years.  I was seeking God’s help and direction and without him I would be alone. Without him, I would have nothing.  My pride did now allow me to share my fear and pain with friends and family, so there in that room, God was the only one to hear me cry.  And now nearly two years later, I realize that each time I went into that room and read the stories and verses that would speak to my soul, each time make me a little bit stronger, each time made me a little less prideful, and each time God was secretly building up a little piece of me so that I would eventually have all the necessary pieces to be strong again. 

I admit that I kind of knew that it was already over.  Its like I knew what I needed to do.  I cried and prayed and asked God to give me the strength to leave.  Even when I knew it was what I had to do, I did not yet have the courage in my heart so I officially called on God to help me.  As I write this out, parts of the story start to unravel in my mind even more.  A friend of mine Courtney had invited me to go to church with her.  Now you should know that church is something that I had been interested in sharing in my relationship but was turned down on several occasions. I truly wanted a spiritual relationship together and with God.  So you can imagine what it felt like to hear comments on how I was probably really going to meet other guys and using church as my excuse. 

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