The Story I'll Tell

TRIGGER WARNING - This is a hard story to read. But please read all of it.

I am sitting with so much going on. Just accepting the war I am in. Yet again I am in a storm. And the outside world says, You are so strong, you will get through. It will be ok. But it does not feel ok. Nothing feels ok. And the journey has been the longest trip home.  I can hear my friend Michaels’ voice… “Comparison is the thief of joy.” So I try to keep my eyes up not everywhere else or at anything else.  But the vessel I am in seems to be exploding around me in the middle of the darkest storm. 

Allowing myself to process the feelings I feel and my way of doing them.  Remembering that I am on this journey to show you it can be taken.  

When I was younger I felt defeated and lost. My thoughts would rage and obsessions over taking my own life would be so real I could feel myself dying.  This is a hard subject because it requires me to allow others to see the depths of what that looks like.  The last time I attempted to take my own life I remember every moment which is a little unusual.  So I know it is a story that is meant to be told.  

I experienced every depth of darkness within me.  Seeing myself split into 5 people.  A girl covered in mud, mud pouring from her mouth choking. Another girl who was hollow eyed and empty without opening her mouth she was saying “We weren't supposed to live, we should have died here. We are always dying and still being here is just too much for everyone else.” A teen version of me screaming “Look we are an abomination, we shouldn't be here! We are the mistake because we cannot even see their world!” She was so angry screaming at me. She wanted the rejection to stop and she knew. As long as we breathe it will not end. Because she was right. We cannot see like anyone else. And no one was seeing what we saw. Another me was covered in blood scars all over her, she was scratching herself more to try to get the deep gashes off and with every scratch ripping them open.  She was saying, this is all anyone can see. Her broken loss was endless and she was panicking, scratching endlessly. Screams out with flesh falling down “MAKE IT STOP IT WONT STOP!  They won't even touch us! No one will just hold us here!  We are too much!” Then another me, a perfect mirror of me in the moment.  Except she was flashing with my grandmother's face. Smiling at me. You are me Brinny, you are me. Dark demonic energies flying around her.  You destroy everything around you. You will go crazy with it. And never have peace, because you don't deserve peace.  

I cried back, WHAT DID I DO? SOMEONE TELL ME WHAT I DID!  I WILL BE BETTER JUST TELL ME WHAT I DID!  They all stood there. 

So I took a bottle of pills and crawled into a bath to die.  And one after the other they crawled into me to die with me. A horror story of spiritual reality.  In the hospital I stood in the room with my Mom and a male doctor while he was telling her I was gone.  I was aware of everyone in the room and the people in the hall. When suddenly I was forced back into my body and heard “You will NOT die a meaningless death.” I sat up singing a worship song. 

I was 18 years old and the things I had already survived would traumatize anyone I told.  My story made my own Mother question her faith not the other way around.  This being a third attempt I understood that I needed to figure this out and began a 20 year journey.  To understand what I knew about the spiritual and the physical.  How the mind and the spirit work together and how evil will come for us.  I went on to have my son Bryson. He is my greatest friend and reason in life.  He has autism and the wars we fight together reminds me daily how I have to keep going.  Not to just keep going, not just keep swimming but make sense of it all.  FIND THE REASON!  FIND THE LESSON!  Diving into physiological and neurological books to understand how our minds work I am constantly reminded that the bible never lied.  Every principle that science confirms the way the bible tries to tell us to think.  Every negative theory like “Your son will never smile, laugh, or feel cognitive empathy” I remembered his brilliant smile and laughter. I would not give up on that for anything. It took years of work. Trying and failing.  But 2 years later my friend passed away. And while I cried in my kitchen my giant 14 year old came in. He pulled me into his chest.  He HELD ME!  While I cried for Joe and Becky, for their kids, for the pain. He cried over me and just held me.  The miracle in that painful moment was not lost on me.  Now I have the most entertaining 24 year old.  His flat affect is the best part because I watch people squirm, totally unsure if he is kidding. 9 years later I had my twins. Who are so abundant in love and passion for every small thing in life.  I can see so much purpose through them.  The three of them are the greatest of me.  And the 20 year journey of staring down the devil or crying myself to sleep… alone. No matter what I was able to turn every storm into a purpose.  

But here I was again feeling hopeless with every option expended. My Mother is sitting across the room watching tv and playing a game on my phone. She says “I hate to see you hurt like this, I feel helpless.” And I can hear her without judgement. I hear her, she loves in the capacity that she can. She is there in the way she can. To relate it to how she feels. Because the discomfort I experience makes her uncomfortable. She wants so badly for me to feel her. But she's not capable of feeling me. She can only feel herself. That is not a judgment. It is how she's built. She asks if I want a pill. And was proud to hear myself say “No, I need my mind.”  I shake and fight back the thoughts.  I hear them coming in. Whispers in the room coming into remind me.  You are a failure. See… you cannot be what you think you are or this would have broken free already. Your presence is nothing more than a pain. Go to the bathroom. 

So I pulled out my laptop and wrote a suicide note. I let myself have that moment. A skill I learned in the years to survive.  Write it out. Let it be on the paper.  All the thoughts of loss and grief. This is not a suicide letter, or an attempt.  This is a process to give all of me a voice. It is a way to accept them and not reject myself. 

The pain of knowing I poured out so much into my husband, my home, my job, my children, my family, my friends, the guy at the gas station. I still found ways to walk, feel the sun on my face, and smell the flowers.  Loving others has never once emptied my cup. I could cheer on the world and never run dry. 

Who cheers me on? Who sits with me? No one, because I am still 18 alone in that bathroom with the wretched pieces of me who just want to die.  Not sleep! Not REST. I do both. They want it to end. So I give them paper. I see them and hold them. I feel them and allow them to be there. Hold them while I sit alone on the sofa. Pulling all the pieces in and allowing them to be heard and held.  Because no one else can do that for us. I can. These are not attempts or even actual playouts. While the world wants us to silence those parts, while so many want pills and escapes. It will come back over and over. So I allow it. I allow myself to be held by me. And I hold that 12 year old me, covered in mud silenced by the filth. I hold the sick 11 year old that is praying for the needles and tests to stop. She's tired of being the canceled plans and the derailments. She is afraid it will always be this way. The 15 year old me sees evil everywhere and hears the lies being spoken by people who are worshiped. She can talk to the dead and she can feel the heart of God grieve. She can light up a room but enemies come at her endlessly to take her down because of how she sees. She's survived so much already and cannot see the destiny in it. I hold the 18 year old me close, we can both be covered in blood while she is afraid and feels so alone in this moment.  Afraid that all anyone sees is the filth and depravity covering her.  That is all anyone sees. And my grandmother. I hold that one too. I tell her I am so sorry no one did. I am so sorry that she was so left and abandoned that she believed what the evil around her told her. But I am going to change this for both of us.  But I pull in the Mother of 3 living in a hotel eating granola bars, I pull in the mother sleeping on the floor outside the mental hospital her son was in. I hold the 33 year old me, while she's being beaten in the head repeatedly. While she sits across from an officer totally shut down. Saying nothing at all. While she is screamed at and called Whore and Bitch by people who were supposed to love her, she cries and doesn't understand how anyone could think that. Let alone someone that knows her at all. She asks me, is it true? And I can hold her say NO IT IS NOT!  I can hold the grieving daughter that is accomplishing all she can to honor her father and I can hold her hand knowing no matter how hard she tries she cannot earn his love. That was already given everyday.  And the wife on the floor throwing up trying to figure out what she could have done to deserve this. I hold the beast that has moved everything and done the work alone. I can hold the friend who grieved her friend. I can hold the woman who stood in a courtroom crying. Because this person she loved so much was ok with losing her. I can hold ME right now. Trying to find a way to pull the pieces together. Remembering the twister games with my kids, the beautiful Christmas with 6 stockings. The laughter on my honeymoon.  The dances and hiking trips with my kids. The adventures I have seen in the mountain air.  I can remind myself that along the way I have held my baby's hand. And heard my son's jokes.  I can feel my best friend standing with me and saying YOU'VE GOT THIS BRINDLE SUZANNE!!  YOU'VE GOT THIS!  His spirit is always at my side. 

I held ME and allowed myself space. To process and define the details. To allow each part of me that felt so forgotten, abandoned, beat and hopeless to feel HELD!!!  To feel heard.  So today… I can sit in the moment of loss and impossible odds and hold me too.  

WHAT happened next I didn't see coming. 

I allowed myself to set it down and go cheer on the people that I love so much.  I turn on a live. Jordans smile and Chyanna’s heart I can feel immediately. Jonathan is trying to stand in the gap for me every moment. My heart is already filling up. But then Jordan pulls me into a box. The flood of actual love was overwhelming. It was not answers, not solving, shushing or pushing. There were no platitudes or hallmark statements. It was not for attention or likes. It was not for money or favors. I was suddenly surrounded by people who wanted to hold me in this moment.  People who were ready to stand with me. People who felt my pain and allowed me to be vulnerable, broken and weak.  People who allowed me to just BE.  We all know, it will be ok. We all know the mountain will move. We all know the words that can be said or felt or given.  But in this moment God showed me a miracle that took me 44 years to get to.  I am not alone in holding me. I could feel the energy coming through not just words. Sitting in a shed on the floor in pieces. I could feel Michael, Jonathan, Jordan, Chyanna, I could feel heart after heart. I could feel a room full of people who were ready to just stand with me when I felt defeated. For the first time in my life I was not alone. I was not shut down, dosed up, I was seen and held.  

You can have all the cars and homes in the world and never feel that. You can tell everyone everyday how you feel and NOT feel that.  

THAT is because full cups keep pouring.  When you have poured into people who make their own healing a priority when they do the work. When they are willing to exist in this mess and all its uncomfortable days.  When they hold lights for each other and you pour into THAT!  When you light up people who want to light up the world.  The difference is immense! It is not a word, it is a presence.  And you feel the love you poured out last week, coming back to you. You feel the light you gave yesterday coming back. You feel the authentic heart and soul being poured out all the time flowing back to you. Because THAT is what this journey is about. 

It is not about the individual power or presence.  It is not about how we can each be superheroes. But about the unity that we are all in this together.  So honoring each life, honoring each light. You shine so much brighter together. And when one light takes a hit the response is immediate. It is HOW the BODY of Christ is supposed to work. With one blood flowing through us all. With One energy flowing through us all. And when we create that the miracle that happens is amazing. One arm may be wounded, two arms might be!  The whole damn body can take a hit. But the blood that flows through every extremity is healing and rejuvenating. It empowers not one but all. It gives every inch of the body the ability to respond in a way that does not fill hands but heals flesh and soul. 

We all have dark seasons.  We have moments that are deep wounds we cannot heal just by observing the wound. And sometimes the wound is so deep we lose all the life we need to keep going. But when we are not just connected but committed to unity. Committed to moving as one we find a rejuvenating power that begins to heal what we cannot imagine. We begin to see the active work in the working process. I could see a mill spinning and water flowing again. Opening space to be in the moment but reminding me it will be healed.  It will be held. It will be changed and created. It will all die away and be risen from the dead. Because when we commit to showing up not as a task to complete but because we feel the body growing and expanding we feel the creation we cannot yet see. And the vision is so much greater than this moment. I know we will see this moment differently. I know we will look back at this season and each remember the impossible things we accomplished.  

While I listen to “The Story I’ll Tell” and write this.  My God never failed me. Not a single time. I have lived and died. I have felt pains that I cannot convey. I have felt so much loss and pain that giving up was my only option. And IN THAT MOMENT!  Every time in many ways. I can look back. And see…

Oh, my GOD did not fail!! 

He held the 11 year old sick in a hospital. He held the 13 year old covered in mud and allowed her to hold other 13 year old's covered in mud. He was enraged at everyone that came against her at 15. And he saved her life at 18. He reminds her everyday that her grandmother was broken and afraid little girl too.  He was there when I died and brought me back. He drove everywhere with me to plan my fathers funeral.  He was there when I lost my home and screamed on the floor for hours.  He was there every step of the way.  And just as I have been homeless before and I feel homeless again. He is here right now.  And answers a prayer bigger than a car or a home.  He shows me how he finally gave me a family. He helped me find my people.  So we can pour into each other and fill each other's cups. HE DOES NOT FAIL US!  He fills us with his life giving energy that works best when we connect it to the body, the soul tribe, the family so we can flow as one and heal each other.