A while passed.
We settled into our new, and I started to feel better. I realized I could go a whole day without feeling depressed. This was amazing. I started to laugh. And smile. And actuallyenjoy life again.
But the Devil just seems to want to kill me. BADLY.
After about a month and a half of not hearing from dad, we get one ominious note from him saying to take down all our pictures on Facebook because the occult was trying to do something to us. It freaked me out, but not to badly. I figured he was just going into his little crazy world again.
The next day I was home alone with Abraham. My Mom had to work and had taken Scott with her. I am sitting there, doing my Math and get a call from Mom. She says that she just got a call from the police saying that Dad had reported that I was being tortured at our old house by the occult.
Wow. Just wow. He had called the police, they went to check it out, we weren't there, they called Mom. She told them I was fine, and I could check with my teachers for reassurance. They told us that they knew about my Dad. They had dealt with him before. We were beginning to get to know policemen. Oh boy.
They also said that they had gotten a call from the place he was staying, and he said someone was trying to break in. There was nobody there.
I got off the phone with Mom, who I had kept a calm exterior with, and started to freak out.
What if he finds me? Why does he focus on me? Why can't does all this have to happen right during a happy time?
But these thoughts didn't concern me as much as they should have.
Oh yeah. I meant to mention that that day was Tavie and I's anniversary to freedom. Three whole weeks of no self-infliction. It was hell and back. I had felt happy and was so excited I had made it this far.
Then I took a nosedive.
I texted Tavie, and relayed to her what had just happened. I was freaking out. But not really. I realized, I should be scared and fearful a lot more than I was. I started to panic, because the last time I became apathetic to everything, my emotions and my world, I had resorted to hurting myself. I needed to feel. I had too.
I was scared beyond my sense I would do something stupid, just to feel pain again. I was confusing God's peace with apathy. He was giving me peace and I was mistaking it for apathy.
I came to the realization, after sobbing my heart out at the thought of losing my emotions, that I had not lost my emotions. After all, I had just cried a gallon of tears. I smiled through my glistening eyes, put on my happy movie (Lord of the Rings) and laid down.
Calm down. I needed to calm down.
I got through the rest of the day, keeping myself busy with school and chores. Mom got home and told me that one of her friends had talked to the person my Dad was staying with.
They had told her that he barely ever comes out of his room, let alone the house. He wears his old hat, but has lined the inside of it with aluminum foil. He said it was to keep the demons from getting into his head.
He was going crazy. I could honestly say that.
Then it hit me. I was never going to get my real dad back. I had hoped, but now all hope had been crushed. He would never get better.
This is all your fault. You have caused him to lose himself. If you hadn't been around maybe something good would have happened. He wants you. That's why all his attention is focused on you. Your dirt. You caused your parents separation. You don't deserve anything.
SHUT UP. JUST LEAVE ME ALONE.
I choked back tears and ran to the bathroom. Whenever I feel like hurting myself, I take a shower, and try to wash away all the pain and guilt. Tears started pouring down my face. The pain inside was breaking my heart. The guilt was tearing me up.
God, I don't understand. I had hope. I needed that hope. Why have you forsaken him? Because when he hurts, I hurt. He doesn't know himself anymore. This pain is to much Lord. Take. It. Away. I can't do this anymore. I can't hold myself up. I don't understand why I love him anymore Lord! I don't want to care! I don't want to worry about him, or fear him. JUST TAKE HIM OUT OF MY LIFE!"
I repented of the words as soon as they left my mouth. Surely I didn't mean it. But maybe I did. I don't know. But God began to heal me again, after my heart had been ripped out for the hundredth time. He slowly bandaged up my heart, and put it in again.
His love is unfailing.
I laid in my bed that night. Restless. I just needed to go to sleep. But sleep wouldn't come. I just wanted to sleep. So I pulled up pictures of all the people I loved, and started looking through them. I began to love life yet again. I began to look upon some memories fondly. I began to think of my Abba. And how many times he had saved me. I pictured what I thought he looked like in my mind, and fell asleep to that image.
Whenever you feel like giving up, remember what has kept you going this long.