"You Are My Enemy"

I think most people, when they think of prayer, are trying to find warm fuzzies and focus on them. And it's not like popular Roman Catholic works don't put forward this form of thinking: think about God and His blessings and how lovey-dovey He is and don't focus on the fact that most of the people that really love God suffer a whole hell of a lot and my goodness isn't His Light amazing and why is Elijah over there wanting to die from sheer despair and....

And there I go, off on another rant.

Let's just let me keep doing that, cool?

Cool.

I'm nervous. This is not a happy memory. It's a good memory, but not a pleasant one.

See, after I remembered the rape, I had more than a space of a year where it was constant, horrific, urgent flashbacks. Every day I woke up, I immediately regretted it. There'd always be something new and horrifying waiting in my mind, demanding my attention away from my incredible family. There was about a space of six months where I practically swam in memories of screaming, laughing at said screaming, and weird physical sensations that I... some truly sickening stuff happened in my body. Still, at the end of the day I'd sit down, and try to do exactly what the first paragraph was talking about. Now, if you had asked me, I would have said I wasn't doing that.

You want a quick clue on how humans operate? It's hard won.

People have no idea what they're talking about when it comes to themselves, hardly ever. Self deception is normal. I expect it the same way I automatically breathe now. Well, I hope I do. Maybe.

So yes, I was trying to do the opening paragraph. And I hit a wall. See, that particular day had been filled with memories of me hating everyone and everything and wanting the whole world to burn in a firey hell-hole and to watch everyone I knew and thought I loved suffer for abandoning me to this monstrous fate I'd been dealt.... at six. Whole days, just re-experiencing a level of rage about being unable to communicate what had happened to me and hating everyone else for not even guessing that something might be wrong with me. Resentment is not a good enough word. It's not nearly strong enough. I wanted everyone to suffer like I was suffering. 

I spent the whole day in the present trying not to inflict my wife and child with this suffering. I succeeded... mostly. I was an unconscionable pain in my wife's backside, and somehow managed to not traumatize my firstborn. It took every last ounce of my willpower not to walk around screaming all day long.

So when I got to the end of the day? I was totally tapped out. There was nothing left. And I do mean nothing. All I had left was rage, hatred, and a burning, urgent need to burn it all down. Still I knelt. Still I tried.

And I finally gave up.

I gave in. 

I began the slide into a place where darkness was not the absence of light, but was an active, positive force, all on its own. I began to feel it in my body and to like it. I let myself like the feeling. 

And all of a sudden it got all quiet in my head. Oh, the Silence! Merciful, merciful, merciful Silence!

You are my enemy, said a Voice. It wasn't an accusation. There wasn't any vitriol. No anger. If anything, it was gentle. Like a soft breeze in summer. The Voice was refreshing, and the words... the words drilled me all the way down. This gentle breeze hurt. I sobbed, body convulsing in pain. My fingers and toes began to tingle and I felt like I was on fire, complete with the lack of oxygen that actually kills people who are burned at the stake. I smelled sulfur. 

I promise you I did.

"But... but You have mercy on Your enemies!" I cried out. "You take pity on those who hate You. And I hate You with everything in my existence. You let this happen to me, FUCK YOU!" I found myself howling. "I hate everything about You! I am Your enemy! I have never not been Your enemy!" I was  before the icons I had painted for my family, body contorted into something vaguely resembling a rabid wolf the pack leaves behind to die.

The Silence returned. Oh, merciful merciful interior Silence. My body slumped. My forehead was on the ground. "You treat Your enemies better than they treat themselves" came out of my mouth. "Please, treat me as an enemy. Judge, flay, whatever it is You do. But, whatever You do, don't leave me with whatever this is. Please!!!"

Happily.

I curled up in front of my icon corner and sobbed. My chotki was against my face, tassel pressed against my eyes. My whole body shook and I wondered briefly if I was going to rip the prayer rope in half. I certainly had enough pressure on it to do so. But the chotki held. And I kept crying. I felt like my soul was vomiting something alive out of it. It felt like Someone had reached down my throat and was pulling something, something alive, out. And each sob forced it out a little bit more. 

And then. 

Just like that.

It was out.

Silence reigned supreme. And I lay on the ground, basking in it, exhausted but relieved. I got up, said my rope of 100 Jesus Prayers.

Lord Jesus Christ, the Son of God, have mercy on me the sinner.

And then I went to bed.

I woke up the next morning to do it all over again. But this time I faced the ever-present darkness with a bit of a sarcastic humor. Go ahead. Break me. Let's see what happens when you do I told the trauma. 

Since then I've found that the only thing that seems to return  me to that Silence to me is to admit, flat out, that I am its Enemy. Not with rage. Not with self-loathing. But as a statement of fact. And I won't pretend that I do it all that often. Like I said before, self-deception is the norm of humanity. We are not a good race. Our thoughts are not good, and we like to pretend they are. We like to pretend that somehow we are good, even though the world we are in is a nightmare reflection of our nonsense. But it's not the truth.

There is only One Who is Good. Period.

And when that is acknowledged He shows up, without delay. He does not hurry like we do. He waits. And when we are ready, He comes and brings Silence.

Lord Jesus Christ, the Son of God, haver mercy on me the sinner. 

I am such a wretch.