june 12 2016

[prismaticbleed]

I've consecrated myself (and Jewel did too) to God as a "victim soul," one who is willing to suffer as Christ did out of love for the conversion of sinners, to take upon themselves some of the debt other sinners must pay, to help their conversion, to save them from damnation.

It's what I've felt obligated to do since childhood, in a collective sense. Even that somewhat foggy-headed girl part of me, the one who stopped living actively around 2007, the one who is perpetually about 14-15, even she is aware of that background whisper, the joint fear and desire, fused in the feeling of scapegoat and martyr both.

In our very very young years, before all memory, we were obsessed with blood. I'm not sure why. It still stands out so much in my head that one of our earliest pieces of artwork, from kindergarten-- age 5-- was of a smiling, rosy-cheeked bat, whose claws were dripping with blood. Our favorite dream ever, in first grade-- age 6-- was of us being a bat, on some sort of adventure, climaxing in my being trapped in an icy, snowy cave, with sharp claw-like stalactites tearing into my chest, pouring my blood all over the silent whiteness, ripping deep to my heart.
I loved that sort of thing. Deep down, I still do. Deep down, THAT is what defines me.

When did we lose sight of it?

I feel today, we were guided to get it back.
Yes, we want an innocent, white, snow-glitter heart, all lilies and tiny flowers and softness. We want that so deeply. But, just as deeply, we want a heart that is rich and red, pierced with swords and thorns, bleeding and joyous, soaking into the cottony fragility of purity and enriching it with a love so profoundly sincere that it becomes a new color altogether, red and white, inextricable.

I think that's what I'm being called to be.
We haven't had a "host reset" in way too long, and I think that is why. We kept assuming the Core had to be White, but that wasn't working as we hoped; guys kept freezing, bleaching, fading, calcifying. Pure White wasn't working; a key piece was missing.
I was researching alchemy for a while and I was shocked to realize that white comes before red, and red before gold.
I keep thinking of Sandmen pajamas.

Anyway. The point of tonight's writing is… when I first consecrated myself, verbally and in total sincerity, I was basically on my knees and soaking the floor with tears and snot, to be blunt. Sobbing and scared and unsure what I was even trying to say, but knowing in my heart what I wanted to do, beyond the crippling fear, beyond the doubts and confusion. My head had been too clouded by thoughts of doom and damnation, I felt incapable of love, I felt lost and didn't know why… and… would you know, it was a simple tag statement from E that broke through my paralyzed heart and left me genuine and weeping.
"he's an absolute sweetheart."
I just…
after several days, weeks, months, of feeling utterly cut off from God and love and those I love here, of being able to love at all, that simple little statement of sincere friendship just pierced my heart and
it was exactly what I needed.

i wanted to live up to that again, more than anything.

I was scared, at first. I thought being a "victim soul" meant living like that forever-- waking up shaking with fear, constantly paranoid of sin, sobbing constantly, never happy, never feeling peace, never feeling capable of love for self, never feeling capable of loving others enough or with any real honesty… it was hell.
I was wrong.
I read a lot of accounts of "victim soul" saints and that did scare me too, to read about how intense some of their trials were, but..
(11:11 just now)
Sickness, stigmata, possession, abuse, poverty, the whole package-- these saints accepted it all with joy and patience, many of them even entering ecstatic states during the worst of it, despite being bedridden and in agonizing pain.

I thought of Laurie and I remembered how I used to adore when she "beat the sh*t out of me" because it made me feel loved for some reason. I took the 'abuse' because it was penitent and she didn't hate me, she hated that I was acting against love, and her violence was a way to not only expunge my sins but to tune me back into a selfless mindset.
It's so weird. Pain, for me and many of those saints at least, is weirdly… holy?
I think that's why part of me is still struggling greatly with the end of the hacks. Yes, it was literal hell for over a decade, but in that struggle, in that seemingly endless suffering, we grew. We did penance, we offered it up, we thought, "if our suffering this can save even one soul from suffering this instead…" we bled and cried and prayed and we became better people and looking back, as weird as it sounds, I wouldn't sacrifice any of that journey for what it accomplished. Yes, thank God it's over, but also praise God for the good he wrought through it.
Then it stopped cold turkey and we were left reeling in the sudden absence of pain.
I think THAT'S why we started abusing so badly with the eating disorder. We were desperate for suffering, for the compassion it brought with it, for the empathy, for the penance, for the lifting up of the mind above the body and to God. We weren't sure how to get it anymore though, now that atoning was forbidden by the family, and was no longer needed for its original purpose anyway. So in a desperate, lost, addled mess, we just started beating up our body in a "non-violent" way, longing for some sense of purpose again.
Does this make sense?

I wondered, momentarily, if God didn't want me to carry heavy bloody trials because I'd enjoy them and maybe I'm supposed to actually suffer first, or carry some totally different kind of suffering for people out there. I personally think this mental agony of screaming floating voices and psychosomatic terror is a big part of our being a "victim soul" already, and God willing it's not only doing penance but also saving other people from suffering the same. That's all I want.

But I said the Rosary twice today, once in the prayer space and it took an hour to battle past the pain and fatigue and scrupulosity-driven do-overs, and once kneeling by the bed with the grandmother. That second time was easier because we said the Sorrowful Mysteries and by the 3rd (the Crowning with Thorns), I got the sudden idea that "hey, if it's so hard to meditate on the Mystery while speaking (a mental multitasking that, currently, personally detracts from my fully devoted attention to either), why don't I take that duality completely out of the equation, and feel the Mystery?"
Meaning, put myself through sharp pain while saying the decade.
It worked. And not only did it work, it annihilated all feelings of spiritual dryness. I cannot properly put it into words but the instant I dug our nails into our forehead, wondering what the thorns felt like, the shock of pain made me totally, completely willing to suffer an actual piercing crown, blood and all, out of love for the God Made Man who suffered that for love of us, and of love for the people He died for and who I, too, wanted to see brought safely to heaven. I thought of my friends, of my family, of the people I loved, of people I'd never known but who needed prayers and intercession, of all the souls in Purgatory… and with a different bunch of nails biting into my skin, I was completely and selflessly and lovingly willing to take my Cross all the way to the hill for their sake.
All because I felt the pain that our Savior felt, and in that participation, also felt his love.

That's why I'm not scared of being a victim soul anymore. I finally, finally tasted that love again. After only being able to tap into it after Communion on weekdays lately, in states of ecstatic weeping praise, suddenly I had it in what was potentially all the trials of my earthly life outside the walls of the church, in the place I had lost it for so long.
Suddenly I'm… not scared anymore. Deep down, where it matters, where headspace resonates, where Infinitii was born, I'm not scared anymore. Deep down, where God lives and washes everything white by virtue of the red he spilled, I'm not scared anymore, because my heart gets it, and now the only thing is making sure I NEVER forget it-- incorporating that resonance into every aspect of my existence, every word and action and thought and feeling, because it IS me, God me praised this IS ME, this is what I've lost touch with for so long, this is me, you have no idea how I feel like crying with joy right now but I'm alive again and I'm so bloody happy and even though there's a LOT of work to be done in this world yet I feel like I'm finally back in tune enough to do my part fully again.

God, continue to strengthen us in Your love. That's all we need, is Your grace, to follow in Your Word and to be salt and light for the earth. It's natural when you get down to it; sin is unnatural and if we just… sweep it away, really tap into the Source of Good, even just for a moment, you can feel that. Again, words do it no proper justice but the sentiment, fumbling as it is, is there. God, thank You for all You have done for us so far, for all You have done through us, and I humbly ask that You simply continue to guide us on this path, away from temptation and confusion, in all light and holiness, as You wish all Your children to walk in always.
Continue to guide us, so that we may always be a beacon to You for others, to that Truth which we know at the very core of our heart(s) to be life and love and light itself. Amen.

I have nothing else to say for right now. I need sleep before work tomorrow, and every morning is another battle, so to speak-- virtue vs vice, as long as we live in a world where the Enemy is indeed trying to stop everything truly Good. But we'll pull through. We won't give up. I can promise you that.

Have a blessed night, everyone, and may the Creator of all that is fill you with the serenity and strength you need for the dawn.
As for my part, I send all my genuine love and compassion to all of you. May God grant me the grace to always be there for you in your need as well.