the outer relfection of the inner heart's cries

"In a perverse way i was glad for the stitches, glad it would show, that there would be scars.  What was the point in just hurting on the inside?  I though of the girl with the scar tattoos... She was right, it should bloody well show."  -Janet Fitch, White Oleander

 A young girl i'll call LittleRose injured her thumb.  The injury was minor, no more than a bruise.. but for some reason she felt compelled to wrap up her entire hand and wrist with a large bandage, layered so thick round about her limb, that it appeared the problem (?) was much worse.  

     Observing this behavior, what seemed an obvious cry for attention, i was reminded of my own childhood, when i wanted so much to become sick or injured.. i remember eyeing my classmates plaster-casts with a mild envy.  i didn't want a broken bone so badly that i was willing to go out of my way to get one, and to this day now in my 30's i've still never had one (and thankfully no longer want one!).   i did, however, occasionally "suffer" sprains.. basically milking them for all they were worth --bring on the wrappings, crutches, and exaggerated limp--.   i was inwardly thrilled when i saw some part of my extremity swollen and discolored; and though i often abhorred school i didn't want to stay home during those times-- i wanted to parade around!  Only somewhat annoyed the injury wasn't more severe, that i might have a cast.



my scar

   Eventually i grew out of that, after dabbling slightly with violent self-harm (usually called "cutting" i think) for which i have a whooping two scars (that's why i said slightly), of which only one remains fairly visible today.   i specify "violent" self-harm because i did get into plenty of other more passive forms of self-harm (like alcoholism, tobacco and drugs to name the main games i lost at for years).   It would be a long list if i tried to account for all the ways and behaviors i see in hindsight were various cries for attention. 




photo credit: unknown

   As i write this, barefoot and sweating in the mid-west summer humidity, the car parked to the side of me is a flashy Ford Mustang.. bright red with racing stripes and all the extra bells and whistles, aftermarket wheels and grills.. and it's really nothing more than an expensive cry for attention.  



© Joern Sackermann

   Looking around it's easy to see lots of people, young and old, silently crying for attention in some form or another, for some reason or another.  

   Meditating on my own past i see more clearly now what was going on then.. i was so painfully broken on the inside, subconsciously my soul wanted that brokenness, that hidden reality, reflected on the outside.  Somewhere, something in my immature mind knew i needed help; and that part of me was silently crying out.  i couldn't understand the language at the time, and i'm only just beginning to now: the outward signs of a spirit that's crying, "look at me, help me, i'm dying." 



photo credit: unknown

   There's a lot more that could be said about this subject.  There's a lot more i want to say, though i'm thinking this is enough for now.  i feel it's important to keep these posts/blog entries/whatever you want to call them, on the shorter side, if possible.  Most likely i'll be revisiting what has been started here in the future, sharing more about my own personal experiences finally facing the inner darkness where the demons dwelt, and my deliverance from the torment, and process of healing. 

Until then.. Glory to Yah

Shalom.


"...i waited patiently for Yahuah to help me, and He turned to me and heard my cry.  He lifted me out of the pit of despair, out of the mud and the mire. He set my feet on solid ground and steadied me as i walked along.  He has given me a new song to sing, a hymn of praise to our Alahim. Many will see what He has done and be amazed. They will put their trust in Yahuah."

Psalm 40:1-3