Witness to Withness

The Sound of silence

1I have always carried around of aura of quietness and silence. As a youth I was on a red settee cushion lying down, listening as persons shared making believe I was asleep. It was a good metaphor for my life as I was healing from the horrors of being emotionally ill. I was afraid of my feelings. The only safe place I knew was in shrouded silence as far away from others as possible. There were times that I would fantasize about being without breath, blind and deaf. I had trouble understanding the arena of life. In my dissociated silence I feared more than anything the loss of my temper. At one point I through my lunch box through a glass door. I feared about who I might hurt or even to what extent I wanted to live. One night I went down stairs to my mom and dad terrified about death. Mom told me not to worry and to go back to sleep. I was like an emotional bombshell ready to explode.

I became a survivor doing the best I could to isolate myself from the dangerous person
I thought myself to be. I watched at the age of sixteen as my brother became catatonic and I was sure his sickness was my fault and if there was a God and I was pretty sure there was nothing but trouble ahead.

So I became this religious person in a secret place. My on going prayer night after night "now I lay me down to sleep I pray the Lord my soul to take." And even as I did I prayed for mom and dad and every one else except me and that was the one. On my knees I prayed with variations on the theme. Hopefully God would love me even if I had a lot of trouble loving myself.

There were a few helps for me in fighting off the demonic like consummation. There were the few people who looked beyond my emotional outbursts and depressions and loved me. I raged and exploded on a van with Persons who called themselves Christian. Then there was the woman who looked at my battered and beaten self washed my hair. Maybe there was hope.

Over time I did find my way out. Time healed wounds

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