I Need...

Needy is a good word I've used to describe myself since the early days of my healing. At first I saw needy as applying only to me and perhaps to those really, really messed up people who try to glob on to us and want our constant attention.

I still feel isolated and impoverished when I'm in a group of strangers and no one smiles at me or talks to me. Sometimes I tell my circle of acquaintances about my newest success (or failure) and no one seems to listen. In those instances, I feel like that sad, estranged boy again.

Whether it's belonging to a church or a gang, we've been created to be with others. We deserve acceptance, affirmation, and appreciation—the kind we can get only from others.

Some are better suited to relating only to one or two people; others need a crowd. Regardless, when we're rejected, shunned, or ignored, we reflect negatively on ourselves. What's wrong with me?

My alcohol-addicted brother once said to me, "I don't need anybody." Then he gulped down half a bottle of beer and lied to himself once again.

He never changed because he drowned his neediness. I changed because I faced mine.

I need. I deserve.

Those are good healing words.

(This post was adapted from Not Quite Healed, written by Cecil Murphey and Gary Roe.)

Who Am I?

(This is a guest post from a reader named Roger.)

The assaults I suffered in childhood and as an adult left me confused as to who I was. I read a lot of science fiction in middle school and high school and thought I would like to be a physicist and study the nature of our universe. I was fascinated by science and I wanted to be part of that.

But that wasn’t to be. After high school, Dad insisted I go to Bible college, probably hoping God could undo the mess my father’s incest had made of my life. But I was a lost soul at that point. No vision. No more dream and emotionally too messed up to focus on any goal. I settled to just go from one day to the next, trying to keep it together so no one would see how totally messed up my thinking and attitudes were.

I became a social chameleon. I became whomever I was with. I desperately wanted to fit in somewhere, but deep down knew I couldn’t. So I faked it, and in doing that I lost whatever sense of who I was.

I lived that way for decades, and it wasn’t until I came back to my faith in God that I began to heal. God has helped me see that regardless of what happened to me, I’m still His creation. God can’t undo all that has happened, but He can make something beautiful out of it if I allow Him and give up trying to change myself into something I’m not.

I don’t have to be like everyone else or what others think I should.

My Sorrow Seems to Hang Around

(This poem comes from a reader named Joseph.)

I grow old outside;
but deep inside I’m still that five-year-old
who needs to crawl into Daddy’s arms
and know I’m safe and loved.

It’s not his fault.
He died before I was born.

After church, I see the boy run to his daddy
who stoops down to catch him in his arms
both laughing at the joy of being held.
Arms around Daddy’s neck,
the boy nuzzles his head on love’s shoulder.

Sorrow disintegrates me.

Unhugged
unwanted
ignored
I lived abandoned in our house.

One day in the men’s room at the park,
a fatherly man reached for me
touched me
made me feel wanted.
I did not know I was abused, that he was perverse;
we briefly met each other’s twisted needs.

I searched for other father-substitutes,
found public men’s rooms where they waited,
accepted their minutes of pseudo-love,
then watched them hurry out when they were done with me

A starving child will eat from any garbage can.

"This Is Hell."

(This is another transparent, courageous email from Lee Willis.)

I've read the posts and could feel a connection. It was reassuring to read that I am not alone in my struggles and feelings. I walk this journey by myself since there is really no one to talk to.

I noticed the other day how church is very difficult. I look at the men in the church and I feel like a freak and an outcast. I know I don’t fit in because I haven’t acknowledged my own sexuality and gender.

Being sexually abused by men, I shut off that part of me. I didn’t relate when I was growing up. I thought when I became an adult that it would go away, but I still feel like I’m the nothing on the playground. So I question my own masculinity and wonder who I am and what I am.

This isn’t life. This isn’t joy. This is hell. How do I endure each day? I realized that I have shut off my feelings. I put on an act for everyone so I can fit in, but it’s not me. Sometimes when I get brave, I say a little something about being abused, but no one wants to know. I don’t think they know how to respond.

Some people know I suffer from PTSD, but they are not interested in how and why. So the lonely kid on the playground grows up to still be the lonely kid on the playground still wanting to be like all the other guys, but knowing something is really wrong. Knowing I’m just a freak.

I Need . . .

(By Cecil Murphey)

Needy is a good word I've used to describe myself since the early days of my healing. At first I saw needy as applying only to me and perhaps to those really, really messed up people who try to glob on to us and want our constant attention.

I still feel isolated and impoverished when I'm in a group of strangers and no one smiles at me or talks to me. Sometimes I tell my circle of acquaintances about my newest success (or failure) and no one seems to listen. In those instances, I feel like that sad, estranged boy again.

Whether it's belonging to a church or a gang, we've been created to be with others. We deserve acceptance, affirmation, and appreciation—the kind we can get only from others.

Some are better suited to relating only to one or two people; others need a crowd. Regardless, when we're rejected, shunned, or ignored, we reflect negatively on ourselves. What's wrong with me?

My alcohol-addicted brother once said to me, "I don't need anybody." Then he gulped down half a bottle of beer and lied to himself once again.

He never changed because he drowned his neediness. I changed because I faced mine.

I need. I deserve.

Those are good healing words.

(This post was adapted from Not Quite Healed, written by Cecil Murphey and Gary Roe.)

We Belong (by Gary Roe)

I asked Gary Roe to write several posts. He also shares his story in my book When a Man You Love Was Abused.

I belong.

I look in the mirror and I say it again. I shout, "I’m here. I count. I matter. I belong."

I’ll likely bump into other people today who don’t feel they belong. Statistically, I’ll encounter several people today who are also survivors. I want to give them the right message—the true message through my facial expressions, words, and actions. I want it to be a clear, resounding, “You belong.”

YOU belong. I belong.

We belong.

I Belong (by Gary Roe)

I asked Gary Roe to write several posts. He also shares his story in my book When a Man You Love Was Abused.

My abuse lies to me. It tells me that I am worthless and less than nothing. That I am an object waiting for others to take advantage of me. That I don’t exist apart from the perpetrators and what they did to me. My lying abuse tells me I will never belong.

My abuse wants to define me.

I mustn’t let it. I must remind myself of what I know is true.

I’m not an accident. I’m not merely the result of the union of a sperm and an egg. I’m not just the genetic combination contributed by my parents and my family tree.

I’m a personal creation of God himself.

Knowing I belong is the beginning. I have to believe and acknowledge this fact before I can begin to live it.

How do I do that? I don’t know. I stumble along as I travel forward. But I started by telling myself the truth. Repeatedly. Throughout the day.

I belong.

I don’t just exist here. I belong.

I’m not simply biding my time, trying to make the best of things. I belong.

I belong on this earth, doing whatever God has called me to do.

I belong to the people around me whom I love and who love me.

I belong.

For me, this is making a difference. Over time, this truth will sink in.

The Need to Belong (by Gary Roe)

I asked Gary Roe to write several posts. He also shares his story in my book When a Man You Love Was Abused.

I grew up feeling different. Different from other boys. Different from other kids. Shy. Insecure. An outsider. Feeling very small, less than, and badly damaged.

Given the sexual abuse and the verbal messages of my perpetrators, it’s no wonder I felt that way. If there is any wonder, it's that I'm as healthy as I am.

For a long time, no matter whom I was with, I never sensed I really belonged. I always felt I was outside the happy home looking through the window at others' lives. I wanted desperately to belong, but my self-confidence was non-existent, and my self-hatred was enormous.

Then one morning, while reading my Bible and journaling, it hit me. God knew me before I was born. He personally created me in my mother’s womb. He wanted me and he wanted me to be happy.

God wasn't simply trying to make the best of a bad situation. He thought of me and planned me. He wanted me.

I belong. I belong to him. I belong here, on planet earth. I was meant to be here at this time.

I belong.

So I am going to face the world today as someone who belongs. I am going to continue to heal.