The Story of Liz Franklin, Installment 8 - The End...But Not Really

And here, we continue on from Installment 7, where Liz's mother passed away, and see what comes of her life.  This is the final installment.

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OY!! After she [mom] died, any buffer between my dad and I was gone.  My dad had quit with the sexual abuse several years prior, but I was still afraid of him, and of dealing with what had happened.  With mom around, it was easier to not deal.  The day we buried her, I had terrible flash backs and was literally stuck reliving things.

My solution was to go back to school.  Because they had proven how good they were in cases like this, right?  I went, but it just didn't work.  I had panic attacks.  I'd never had them before; they were the scariest things I'd lived through.  I contemplated suicide again, and even ran my car off roads a couple times.  In the mean time, I talked a little to the pastor of the church at school.  He was...not as bad as the evil pastor I'd had at home, but when it came to rules, he was adamant.  They were good!  Keep 'em!  Those weren't the topics of our conversations, though.  We talked about me, my past with dad, and I saw a sweeter side to him.  He helped me through many a dark day.  He came to love me as a daughter.  Couldn't love me more if I had been his daughter, he said.

Finally, I just could not go on. I wasn't attending classes, I was having panic attacks regularly, and the urge to kill myself was growing. Around this time, my boyfriend broke up with me, devastating me more. Even though I knew I didn't love him...  I finally went to see my doctor back home, who had me admitted to the psych ward.  The church was aghast.  THIS WAS AGAINST THE RULES!!!!  And this was one of the more important rules, too.  The pastor who couldn't love me more if I were his own daughter came to see me for 5 minutes and prayed for deliverance. I never saw him again.  The current pastor at my church came with his wife, and she cried like I'd been diagnosed with cancer.  (Evil pastor had finally been voted out). In fact, the only person who showed any interest in visiting me was my dad!!

I was in the hospital a month.  The first time.  I spent a lot of time there for awhile.  I just didn't think I had anything to live for.  My spiritual fate had been decided; what else was there?  It took a lot of therapy and medication just to get me to not want to die. 

My sister-in-law ultimately saved me. When it became obvious I wasn't going back to school, she said I could not live with dad, so invited me to live with my brother and her. I got into long term therapy, and today--wow!  I'm a totally different person.  I like me.  There's a lot to like, turns out!  I'm living a good, full, and most of all, peace-filled life.  I'm - dare I say it? - happy.  I've discovered joy.  Not through the church, or god or the bible, but because I made it through my early life, and made it big!  I am so much more than the person I was raised to be! So much better, deeper, fuller, loving.  I don't thank god for what I went through in his name. ( In fact, I'm angry with him for allowing it.  Over the years, my anger has lessened, but it's still there).  Instead, I thank myself for the way I handled it, dealt with it, and didn't give up.  I had hit bottom so hard I knocked myself out for a bit.  But I got up, brushed myself off, and here I am today.

I wish I could definitively say what I've done with god.  I read blogs of people with pasts similar to mine who are atheists, and I envy them that.  I think I lean in that direction, but wow! kinda scary!  Then I read blogs of people who have a great, loving relationship with god, and I envy them that.  I just don't see that happening for me.  As an adult, I've been to churches that were all about love and grace, and did well at first.  Then, not so much.  Seems I'm only comfortable for a little while accepting god as loving me.  Then I tie myself up in knots with rules and condemnation again.  It's a knee-jerk reaction. So for now, I leave god alone, thank him for leaving me alone, and think that maybe, eventually, I'll know what I believe.  I know that whatever happens, I have myself. How empowering is that!  And so, here I am on this path, learning and loving, and being oh- so -patient with me as I work this out.  Or don't, whatever the case may be.  Life just can't get much better than this.  And I'm thankful, to my marrow, for the things I've learned, the things I've unlearned, and the strength and understanding I've gained, and the loving people in my life that I have today as a result of my healing.

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And that ends Liz Franklin's story.  The good came quite fast in the end but after eight installments of misery, it was worth it.  Thank you for reading.