It's Been A Long Time Coming

Today at church I nearly lost it.

I composed myself because I hate trying to pull myself back together after a long cry.  Especially around people because they always want to know what's wrong, which is sweet, probably not sincere, but sweet.  Besides of which I'm one of those breathy cryers so if I tried to explain myself it wouldn't have made any sense.

Lately, now more than ever before, I've been resting in the FACT that there is, in fact, a God up above us.  I feel it in my bones, and my soul.  He exists.  I KNOW it.  He's an amazing God.  A loving God, and most of all a forgiving God.

I've always been weary to put my "testimony" out there for others to hear.  I am far from where I want to be in life.  It seems to me as if a testimony is a "I'm satisfied" story.  A, "I've been through hell and now I'm going to chill out cause I'm happy, and at peace" story.  I'm far from satisfied, far from peace.  However, I've been going over and over in my head this testimony to my faith.  It's something I've been wanting to share for an incredibly long time, and however impersonal a blog seems to me, most of those who are reading this are far far away from me anyways.  

So it begins in Junior High.  Do you believe it?

Cause it actually begins when I was born, but the it just gets more interesting when I turn 13.

There I was, entering junior high.  I was chubby, sweaty, and awkward.  Looking back, I don't know how I made it through.  I don't know how anyone made it through.  Well, OK that's a lie, I do know how I made it through.  With the everlasting love of my God.

So back to the CHUBBY, SWEATY, AWKWARD part.  I was, just that.  I hated it.  I went through seventh grade barely noticed, hardly visible.  I had friends, good ones, bad ones.  I wasn't much of a "popular kid" no matter how much I may have tried to be though.  My parents began to think I was depressed and should see a counselor.  That was probably just their way of not having to deal with angst later on.  They thought, "oh let's get her taken care of now."  Ha!  Just kidding.  They cared, that's why.  Anyways, I hated that idea.  I'M NOT DEPRESSED.  I made it through my seventh grade year alive.  My mother one day says to me, "Trisha, are you down on yourself because of how you look."  I meakly replied yes, or something.  I don't know, it's vauge.  Basically what came of it is my mother and I agreed to go on weight watchers together.  I lost a lot of weight that summer and felt so much better about myself going into 8th grade.  Skip ahead..... somewhere in the middle of first semester I guess.  I was on a quest to be the most unique self I could be.  I began wearing a skirt over my pantelones every day.  All the time.  Every day...  I turned into this oddly "goth" creature, still keeping all my good values and morals however, which made me very unpopular amongst the "goth" crowd at school.  Image is huge in junior high.  The attitude that follows the image, even more so.  Anyways, that wasn't too important.  I had my group of friends.  I remember it well.  We were a quaint posse.  My BFF at the time, yes BFF, well forget the last F, that didn't turn out too well.  So, back to the story, my BFF at the time was the skinniest lanky little girl you could ever know.  She was just as confused as I was, and together we made a very insecure duo.  Mostly what I remember about our friendship is that I envied her skinny lanky self, and she envied my status.  My "coolness" if you will.  Amongst our little posse I was pretty awesome.  Moving on, into 9th grade.  I toned down the look a bit.  I was still "goth" you might say.  Pretty much all black, always.  Dark eyeliner.  It was legit.  Over the past year I had gained some weight and I was very unhappy with it.  It started soon, I wasted no time.  I began to ... starve myself.  All week long I would make sure that I wasn't eating.  Dinner was my only meal as to avoid suspicion amongst my parents.  My mother at some point questioned me on why the breakfast bars weren't dissappearing.  With that, I made a stach in the bottom drawer of my dresser.  I soon came to find that it wasn't all that easy to starve myself.  As much as I wanted to, I couldn't really do it.  The weekends would arrive and I'd sit at home like a bum, or go spend the night at my BF's house.  I would stuff my face all weekend to compensate for how starving I had been all week.  It grew very frustrating gaining back all that weight.  I would drop nearly 5 pounds during the week and gain back at leas 6 or 7 every weekend.  I was determined to do something about this.  It was then I learned to purge myself.  Now, this was a "skill" that took some time.  It's not an easy thing to do.  You may think it is, but if you've ever tried to make yourself vomet when there's but 1 ounce of food in your stomach it's not easy.  Although it was frustrating I dared not give up, and one evening, after Halloween, much candy had been consumed, I got it.  It came up.  I rejoiced.  

Thus, the purging spiraled out of control.  I was sticking my finger down my throat, at the most, seven times a day.  I was weighing myself probably 10 times or more a day.  OH NO I ate something did I gain weight?  I did 30 jumping jacks did I lose weight?  "I'm going to go to the bathroom, I'll be right back."  I went from a weight of 130 to a weight of 107 in 3 months.

The methods in which I used to hide this were successful for sometime.  I'd do it in the shower, turn the fan on, grab a sack and head out to the barn.  Inevitably, however I was found out.  My mother was distraught.  I was distraught.  We sat, crying.  "Why?"  Dad came home, we talked, not much, but the decision was made for me to talk to a therapist.  I went but 5 times until I finally figured it out.  I needed God.  I had God, the whole time.  I believed in Him.  I went to church, youth group, the whole shebang.  I just hadn't really really been involved.  I was going through the motions, living a seperate life.  Being someone else on the side.  The vometting continued for a while, but soon all was forgotten and I knew I was slowly destroying myself.  I had already begun to feel the effects.  I was having difficulties digesting food, keeping it down.  I knew, I must stop.  

Sometimes I fear, I may be going through the motions again.  There is always something new to struggle with.  You get rid of one challenge, and along comes another one, nearly right behind it.  This morning at church I just felt God.  I knew He would take care of me.  I'm handing my load over to Him.  I'm FREE.  God has given me this AWESOME sense of freedom in my own body.  Something I never felt before.  I may not have some sculpted body of a model, but it's the body God gave me and I love it.  I'm free in it.  I pray that this isn't just a zealous, in the moment sort of thing.  I really really believe God is going to take care of me.  He has wonderful things ahead in the future for me and I'm ready for it.  I may not be, but He will help me through.  He is always helping me through.  He's made me FREE.  I pray He sets you free too.  It's the most incredible feeling to have those chains broken, to break down that bondage.  To be victorious over your temptations, your struggles, your fear.