Deciding to Heal: A Quote and a Trepid step towards Rage

(Deciding to Heal is a new series on Sociology of Sheena after a reader posed the question, “So you just decide to heal?” If you have not already, you should start at the beginning and read part one, Deciding to Heal: Side Effects and the First Trigger.)

In Part 1 of “Deciding to Heal” I listed some of the issues I needed healing from and I wrote of one of the first triggers that pushed the pain to the surface. I had no clue that acknowledging and naming the pain would cause even more pain. I just wanted to keep pushing it away. It didn’t feel right that I was still hurting. Hadn’t I hurt enough?

But then two things happened.

First, I saw a movie called The Spitfire Grill. What stood out most was the quote from the lead character Percy, “Do you suppose if a wound goes so deep, the healing of it is as bad as what caused it?”

That quote resonated with me. It made the sobbing make sense. It made the memories make sense. Dealing with whatever was my issue was going to hurt just as bad as what caused my issues to begin with. I understood that but that just pissed me off. Not only did I have to deal with the pain of sexual abuse. But I had to deal with the pain of getting over it. That sounded like some ironic bullshit to me. It seemed as if I was left to pick up the pieces of all the things that had shattered me.  I felt like every time I touched a memory or touched a thought, I was cut again by the sharp edges of the pieces that were left of me. But according to Percy from the Spitfire Grill, this was supposed to occur.

The second thing that happened was James F. Pyles. James was one of my closest friends during my freshman year of college. I have no clue how that even happened but he was the first person to see into my soul and even though I fought him on it, I let him in. One night during my freshman year, after my breakdown in the theater and after seeing the Spitfire Grill, James and I sat in the basement of our dorm and talked. We would talk all night until 6 am many nights of the week and not even notice that the sun had risen. Weeks before, I had given James a copy of a fictionalized story of my life. It was obvious from the story that the real life Sheena had been abused and James had decided he wanted to talk about this story.

“I read the story over Christmas break,” James said.

“Let’s talk about something else,” I said fidgeting.

“I want you to know that I read it and I cried for you,” James said.

James and I had a flirtatious friendship. We had a friendship full of dares and jokes and silliness. While we were close, we had never been emotional with each other. At this point we each still kept each other at arm’s length.

“You cried for me?” I asked.

“Yes. And I was and still am mad at God for what happened to you.” He said.

“Don’t say that James!” I said. I was scared to direct any attention to God.

“No! I will say it. I am mad at God for what happened to you. For what happened to my sister!” he said louder.

His sister had died in a car crash because of a drunk driver years before. As fate would have it in 2004 James died in a car crash too.

“I don’t think I can be angry at God, James” I said.

“No. You can be angry Sheena. It is ok  to be angry and mad! It is okay to be pissed off. What the FUCK was God thinking?” he said so full of rage.

I stood to leave. “I can’t do this. I don’t want to talk about this.” I said.

“I’m not letting you go Sheena. You can’t run from this. You are depressed. You hate yourself. I have to practically force you to eat. No, you are not going. You are going to sit here and be angry at God with me.” he said sitting me back down.

“I can’t do this James!” I said. I was scared that if I even began to acknowledge the rage that was boiling I would not be able to control myself.

“I am here with you. We can be pissed off together. We can say fuck you God together!” he said.

I laughed nervously. “We aren’t supposed to do things like that.”

Keep in mind I had been raised to fear God in my religious upbringing. It was God who had anointed my step father and it was a pastor who knew of the abuse and enabled it to continue happening. And if I even thought a bad thing about my step father, God was going to send me straight to hell. How could I say fuck you God?

“Can you be angry for me?” I asked James. James cradled me.

“We are going to sit here and be angry. And tonight, I will not pray. Tonight, I will just hold you.” He said.

What does anger at God and a quote about “healing being painful” have to do with anything? I suppose they were just little seeds that started to sprout a movement within me.

I had cried for myself. Something I had never considered. I just thought if I forgot it all, it would go away.

I now found something to relate to and understand. Healing was not going to be pretty. So I needed to just brace myself and prepare for the worse.

And God and I were going to have to figure some things out. And if part of my healing meant a bit of rage, according to James it was ok. No one had ever given me permission to feel rage at God. I was told to fear him and basically take his dirty blessings and be grateful. And now I had someone telling me that for awhile it was ok to tell God to fuck off.

God and I would face off later. And we would wrestle. But for now, I pushed him away and I embraced the rage and a huge metaphorical weapon that had been embedded in me was slowly coming out ..one centimeter at a time!

Stay Tuned for Part Three

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