I originally posted this years ago...but in the time since then a number of highly significant things have come to light. So I'm going to try and re-do this whole thing. If it seems kind of disjointed or skips around bear in mind that I have ADHD, my mind skips around a lot.
I'm going to start when I was six years old. We went to church every week, I attended Awanas, I looked at our church pastor like a grandpa. I accepted Christ one night at Awanas with him. Early the next summer, while on a church trip, I was sexually abused/assaulted. By that same pastor. I didn't tell anyone until just about three years ago.
I ended up going into 2nd grade that year with ADHD nad PTSD. And my teacher that year took it upon herself to do things like reccomend me for special ed, keep me out of the school district's Gifted program (because a gifted child is a perfectly behaved child), and stand me in front of the entire class and humiliate me anytime I did anything she didn't like. And all my classmates latched on to this, so I was picked on, insulted, humiliated, basically treated with contempt most of the time from then until I dropped out of school eight years later. This treatment was not only at school, it was where ever, when ever any of them saw me.
With my ADHD and PTSD raging out of control, the years ticked by, my grades got worse, my behavior got worse, my self-worth and self-confidence virtually disappeared entirely. I started escaping in books and music, and became very, VERY angry. I tried to kill myself for the first time when I was twelve years old. I swerved my bicycle out in front of an oncoming car. They missed me by a few inches, and I had never been so angry before. Angry that they missed me.
School dragged on. It got to the point that I had to force myself to go to school, after getting sick every morning thinking about it. There were a few good teachers, even more that questioned why I was never moved ahead a few grades, and a few friends here and there. I questioned my identity, had episodes of dissociation pretty often, and, between my abuse and preferential treatment of my sisters, started to question my sexuality. My PTSD was choking the life out of me. Classmates started to respect me for my intelligence and creativity, and I didn't notice. I was SO angry, but forced myself to act like the good little Christian and like everything was fine. My grandpa died, a few months later my grandma and grandpa died less than a week apart. That summer a friend of mine hung himself. A few months after that another friend of mine killed himself. I had fewer problems with other kids at school, but had FAR more problems with teachers. My anger was so bad that I almost beat one of them with a text book after he yelled at and berrated and called me stupid to my face.
I dropped out of school after that. Stopped going to church, pretty much stopped leaving the house, and discovered internet porn. After a few months, I tried suicide again. I spent an hour desperately looking for something to make me feel better, I had some music playing, and just gave up. I got out one of my knives, put it to my wrist, and nothing happened. Not even a scratch. I threw it across the room in anger and went searching for another one. I had several in my room and I couldn't find them anywhere. Couldn't find any in the kitchen or with Dad's tools. I went back to my room in a daze and sat down. The song Scarecrow by Skillet came on. And so did the power of God. I completely broke down listening to that song, God telling me he wanted me back the whole time.
To me, that moment is when I came to Christ. That was when everything started changing. I started going to church again, somewhat. But mostly I read and read my Bible. Looking back from that moment, I could, and can, see God stepping in. Foiling my suicide attempts, providing just the right influence at the right time to keep me going, providing me with one great friend that stuck with me no matter what, etc.
So much more has happened since then, but I think that's a good start...
I'm going to start when I was six years old. We went to church every week, I attended Awanas, I looked at our church pastor like a grandpa. I accepted Christ one night at Awanas with him. Early the next summer, while on a church trip, I was sexually abused/assaulted. By that same pastor. I didn't tell anyone until just about three years ago.
I ended up going into 2nd grade that year with ADHD nad PTSD. And my teacher that year took it upon herself to do things like reccomend me for special ed, keep me out of the school district's Gifted program (because a gifted child is a perfectly behaved child), and stand me in front of the entire class and humiliate me anytime I did anything she didn't like. And all my classmates latched on to this, so I was picked on, insulted, humiliated, basically treated with contempt most of the time from then until I dropped out of school eight years later. This treatment was not only at school, it was where ever, when ever any of them saw me.
With my ADHD and PTSD raging out of control, the years ticked by, my grades got worse, my behavior got worse, my self-worth and self-confidence virtually disappeared entirely. I started escaping in books and music, and became very, VERY angry. I tried to kill myself for the first time when I was twelve years old. I swerved my bicycle out in front of an oncoming car. They missed me by a few inches, and I had never been so angry before. Angry that they missed me.
School dragged on. It got to the point that I had to force myself to go to school, after getting sick every morning thinking about it. There were a few good teachers, even more that questioned why I was never moved ahead a few grades, and a few friends here and there. I questioned my identity, had episodes of dissociation pretty often, and, between my abuse and preferential treatment of my sisters, started to question my sexuality. My PTSD was choking the life out of me. Classmates started to respect me for my intelligence and creativity, and I didn't notice. I was SO angry, but forced myself to act like the good little Christian and like everything was fine. My grandpa died, a few months later my grandma and grandpa died less than a week apart. That summer a friend of mine hung himself. A few months after that another friend of mine killed himself. I had fewer problems with other kids at school, but had FAR more problems with teachers. My anger was so bad that I almost beat one of them with a text book after he yelled at and berrated and called me stupid to my face.
I dropped out of school after that. Stopped going to church, pretty much stopped leaving the house, and discovered internet porn. After a few months, I tried suicide again. I spent an hour desperately looking for something to make me feel better, I had some music playing, and just gave up. I got out one of my knives, put it to my wrist, and nothing happened. Not even a scratch. I threw it across the room in anger and went searching for another one. I had several in my room and I couldn't find them anywhere. Couldn't find any in the kitchen or with Dad's tools. I went back to my room in a daze and sat down. The song Scarecrow by Skillet came on. And so did the power of God. I completely broke down listening to that song, God telling me he wanted me back the whole time.
To me, that moment is when I came to Christ. That was when everything started changing. I started going to church again, somewhat. But mostly I read and read my Bible. Looking back from that moment, I could, and can, see God stepping in. Foiling my suicide attempts, providing just the right influence at the right time to keep me going, providing me with one great friend that stuck with me no matter what, etc.
So much more has happened since then, but I think that's a good start...
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