"Good girl."
Okay, I have to admit this is really, really hard at first. I cannot stand to look at my arms. They make me feel sick inside-like I'm such a stupid loser. Oh sure, this is a good visual reminder of why I never want to go back to cutting. But the scars are so ugly. So freaking ugly. Sometimes I look down and see them, and I get really angry at myself for ever doing this in the first place. I get so angry that I actually want to hurt myself. But that's when I remember I can do something else. I can sketch. I can breathe. I can do a little yoga. Or, better yet, I can talk to someone.
It really helps having these other girls around me, girls who've been to the same dark places, girls who understand the pain. But I still wish more than anything that I'd never done it at all. And I still call myself "stupid" every time I see my scars.
"Shut off the internal bashing," Nicole warns us again and again. "You're all doing it," she says as she points her finger at our small group. "You call yourself names. You lay on guilt trips, you take the blame for everything." Then she points at me. "Right now, Ruth, what is the name you most often call yourself?"
"Stupid," I say without even thinking.
"Well, it's a lie!" she practically shouts. "What do you guys think? Is Ruth stupid?"
"Sometimes she is," says Alexi with a mean grin.
"She's smart," says Jessica.
"She's intelligent," says Cassie. "I bet her IQ is really high."
"See," says Nicole. "You are not stupid. That's just a label someone else gave you. It's not the truth. What are some of the other labels you girls have given yourselves?"
And so we go around some more. Girls confess what they tell themselves, their inner dialogue, and we in turn refute it. We tell them its a lie, we tell them what we see as the truth.
The Bible says, You shall know the truth," Nicole eventually says, as she writes this sentence on the whiteboard: "And the truth shall set you free. "
Okay, by now I know that Nicole is a Christian. But she doesn't shove her religion down anyone's throat. It's like it's just a part of who she is. For whatever reason, it works for her. My roommate, Cassie, is also a Christian. And although I really like her and she's a sweet and caring person, I do get a little tired of her trying to "save me."
"I don't need that," I've told her over and over. "I mean, its fine for you and Nicole and some of the other girls. But I personally don't need it. Okay?"
"How can you not need God?" she persists. "Everyone needs God. Maybe you just don't understand that yet. But you will, Ruth. Someday you will."
"Maybe someday. But not today. Okay?" I usually turn back to my sketch, hoping she'll take the hint.
"Well, I'm going to keep praying for you," she says, like it's a big warning.
"Whatever trips your trigger," I toss back.
But here's the truth: I am beginning to wonder if the Christians might be onto something. It's like I can see this difference between the girls who are taking God seriously and the ones like me, who are not. And it's the ones who are taking God seriously, like Cassie, who seem to be making better progress. It's like they have some kind of inner strength that the rest of us are missing. I wish I was imagining this whole thing, but I'm afraid I am not.
To be perfectly honest, I'm not really sure what my problem with God is. It's possible that since I've heard God called "the Father" that I'm thinking he may be just like my dad. And that's pretty freaky. I mean, what if he's angry at me too? I just cannot deal with any more anger or disapproval, especially from someone as big as God. I don't need it.
And yet I find myself thinking about God a lot, and I'm wondering if Cassie is right. Maybe I am missing something. I suppose this all has something to do with the The Cutter's Twelve Steps, a paper that Nicole gave each of us to read and study daily.
I've read these steps once a day since I've been here. But I have to admit that I feel slightly stumped when I come to the steps that include "a Higher Power." Unfortunately, most of the Twelve Steps are based on this.
The Cutter's Twelve Steps to Recovery
1. We admit we are powerless over our illness of self-mutilation and cutting.
2. We believe that a Higher Power can restore us to wellness.
3. We make a choice to turn our will and our lives over to the care of our Higher Power, to help us to rebuild our lives in a positive and caring way.
4. We make an honest and fearless personal inventory of ourselves.
5. We admit to our Higher Power, to ourselves, and to others, the exact nature of our weaknesses and our strengths.
6. Ve are willing to have our Higher Power remove all our weaknesses.
7. We humbly ask our Higher Power to remove our weaknesses and to strengthen and heal us.
8. We make a list of anyone we have hurt by hurting ourselves, and we make a plan to make amends.
9. We make direct amends to such people wherever possible, except when to do so would injure them or others or ourselves.
10. We continue to take personal inventory, and when we blow it, we admit it, while we continue to recognize our progress.
11. We seek, through prayer and meditation, to improve our conscious contact with our Higher Power, praying to know our I ligher Power's will for us and for the power to carry it out.
12. When we have experienced a spiritual awakening as a result of these steps, we carry this message to others who cut or mutilate and commit ourselves to a life of wholeness and healing.
" 1 personally don't think anyone can successfully stop cutting on her own," Nicole has told us on a regular basis. "At least I don't know of anyone who has. I really believe that you need a supernatural kind of help. Something beyond what you can pull out of yourself. So don't be afraid to ask God for help. He's ready to give it."
So, once more I am reading the Twelve Steps. And I realize I haven't really made it much further than the first step. That's probably because the very next step involves this Higher Power thing. So I'm trying to become more open to it. For the first time in my life, I am trying to take God more seriously. I just hope that he's not road at me for messing up so badly in the first place.
twenty-one
BY THE END OF MY THIRD WEEK, I FEEL STUCK. LIKE I CAN'T GO FORWARD AND I don't want to go back. I schedule a private counseling session with Nicole for Friday afternoon.
"What's up, Ruth?" She leans back in the chair behind her desk.
"I'm stuck."
She sits up straight now. "What do you mean, stuck?"
"I think it has to do with the Twelve Steps," I tell her. "I can do some of them, but I get stuck on the others."
She nods like she knows what I mean. "The ones that involve a Higher Power?"
"Yeah."
"Do you believe in God, Ruth?"
"Yeah. I guess I do."
"Do you have a relationship with him?"
"A relationship?"
"Like, do you talk to him? Do you pray?"
I shake my head. "My family used to go to church when I was little. Mostly because my mom wanted to. Then we stopped. I guess I just never gave God much thought."
"What do you think God thinks of you?"
I shrug. "Not much, I guess."
"That's where you're wrong, Ruth. God loves you. I mean he totally loves you. So much that he poured himself into a human being-his Son, Jesus-and actually died for you."
"I know a little about Jesus," I tell her. "I've heard how he died on a cross, but I have to admit that I don't really get that. I mean, it seems so archaic and brutal, so barbaric. Like something that happened when people were less civilized and lived so differently from now. You know. Like it's not really relevant today"
She kind of smiles now. "Like physical pain and suffering isn't relevant, Ruth?"
I'm not sure what she means and so I just wait.
"Why did you cut yourself?"
I'm wondering if this is a trick question now. But all I can do is tell the truth. "To make the pain go away."
&nbs
p; "Did it?"
"For a while ... you know how it is."
"But do you wonder why you had this need to hurt yourself, to make yourself bleed, to inflict pain and suffering?"
I nod. "Yeah, I guess I sort of do."
"Does it seem barbaric, archaic, brutal?"
Suddenly it's like this tiny light comes on, and I actually feel goose bumps on my arms, right on top of the scars. "What exactly do you mean?"
"You've seen the poster that's in all the bedrooms," she says to me. "By his stripes you are healed.' Do you know what that means?"
I shake my head.
"It's from the Bible," she says. "It's referring to Jesus' stripes. He was whipped thirty-nine times across the back. Enough to kill a man. He was bloody and beaten. And that was only the beginning."
"But what does it mean?"
"It means that God understands our struggles. He understands that it would take pain to remove pain. But he also understands that we can't do it ourselves. And so he stepped in-he came to earth in the form of Jesus Christ-and he took that pain, that beating, that death upon himself so you and I don't have to, Ruth. We don't need to cut ourselves or make ourselves bleed to get rid of the pain. Jesus did it for us. He allowed himself to be beaten and killed-like you said, brutally and barbarically-so that we could escape the pain."
I actually feel tears in my eyes now I'm not even sure why, but somehow I get what Nicole is saying. Okay, maybe my head doesn't quite grasp it yet, but something deeper does.
"Do you know what that means, Ruth?"
"Sort of."
"It means that God let Jesus take our pain, he let him bleed and die, and then he raised him from the dead, so that we can be made whole. So that we can have a relationship with God, the Higher Power, the Ruler of the Universe. By Jesus' stripes we are healed. Do you understand now?"
Tears are coming down my cheeks now. "Yeah, I think I do." And then Nicole asks me if I want to pray with her, if I want to become whole by inviting Jesus into my heart. And I do. So we pray this very simple and straightforward prayer, and she says, "Amen." And that's it.
Then she hugs me and gives me a couple of books. "This one's just some basics about being a Christian," she says. "And this is the New Testament."
"Is that like the Bible?" I feel pretty dumb.
"Yeah. It's the Jesus part of the Bible."
And since I have about an hour before dinnertime, I take these up to my room and sit down and start reading the New Testament. I decide to start right at the beginning, like maybe I have some catching up to do.
"What're you reading?" asks Cassie when she comes in just before six.
I hold up the New Testament and her eyes light up. "No way!" She comes over to get a better look.
So I tell her about my conversation with Nicole and how I prayed, and she throws her arms around me and starts crying. "That is so cool, that is so cool," she says again and again.
And I have to agree with her. It is pretty cool. And now I feel like things are changing in me, not just surface things, but deep things, from the inside out. And the next time I read through the Twelve Steps, they begin to make more sense. And suddenly I don't feel stuck at all.
For the first time, I go to Nicole's Bible-study session on Sunday morning. Its completely voluntary and something I had absolutely no interest in attending before. Today I can't wait. I've already read the first four books of the Bible and am full of questions and thoughts. Cassie and I go down to the meeting room together, and I'm surprised that there are only a handful of girls there. But, like me, each of them has a Bible and a notebook, and they seem eager to be there. And after Nicole asks Cassie to pray for our time together, she begins.
"Today we're going to learn about forgiveness," she announces. Then she has us all look up Bible verses. Cassie helps me to find mine.
Nicole breaks forgiveness down into three categories, writing them on the whiteboard. We need to be forgiven by God; we need to forgive others; we need to forgive ourselves. Then she explains how this works. The first one comes fairly easy to me. I do see the need to be forgiven by God. I mean, I do not want him to be mad at me or hold anything against me. But she, and the Bible verses, assure us that God is all about love and forgiveness, and I am coming to the place where I can accept that God is nothing like my dad.
The second part about forgiving is a little tougher for me. I mean, I can forgive my mom, since a lot of what happened isn't really her fault. And I can forgive Caleb for running out because I understand that he was really frustrated. And I might even be able to forgive my grandparents for letting me down. But I don't think I'll ever be able to forgive my dad. Why should I even want to? The guy is a total jerk. But I don't say this out loud.
The third step is about forgiving myself. And while I'd like to be able to do this, I can tell it's going to be tough.
"This is the deal," Nicole finally says. "No one can do this all at once. And no one can do this without God's help. He's the expert on forgiving, and he's the only one who can give you what you need to forgive-either yourself or others. So all you need to do is go to him and tell him that you need his help. Pretty simple, huh?"
We all kind of nod. But I suspect we may have similar questions, similar challenges.
"But simple's not always easy," she continues. "Just know that God is prepared to equip us for everything he asks us to do. So go to him first."
Well, that's a little comforting. This whole thing is so new to me and a bit overwhelming. But if all I need to do is go to him first, it doesn't seem too complicated. And so that's what I decide to do. I take a walk out on the grounds and talk to God. I ask him to help me with this whole forgiveness thing. And then I get a real sense of peace. Like I know God has forgiven me, and I get the feeling he's going to help me to forgive myself and others too. Maybe it won't happen all at once, but I get the feeling it will happen.
And I'm thinking I can trust him with that.
twenty-two
DURING MY FOURTH AND FINAL WEEK AT PROMISE HOUSE, NICOLE TELLS ME that it's time to write my "emancipation letter."
"What's that?" I ask. "My ticket out of here?"
"Not exactly. It's more like your ticket back to where you came from."
"Oh." Now this is not a happy thought. And I'm sure my face is showing it.
"I don't mean going back to the same old problems, Ruth. You're not the same person you were when you came here, and you will not return to the same old mess. But one of the things we want girls to do before they go back is to write a letter that will help to free them from returning to the destructive lifestyle. That's why it's called an emancipation letter."
"Oh." Still, I'm not quite getting it. "Who do I write it to?"
"You kind of write it to yourself. But then you send it to whoever is part of your life. Usually you send it to parents and siblings, any extended family that you're close to, and to good friends and boyfriends when applicable. Mainly the people, good or had, who've been pretty involved in your life."
"Oh."
"I've got a couple of samples here, if that would help." She hands me a few sheets of paper. "In a way, they sound kind of like the Twelve Steps, only more personal. It's like your chance to proclaim that you've had a problem, but are getting well now. And it's a way to let people know that you need support. Also, you can let people who are a negative influence know that you've changed, you won't play by their rules anymore. You know?"
I nod. "Yeah, I sort of get it." And so I take the sample letters to my room to read them and then sit and think about what I'd like to write.
After several bad beginnings, it starts coming to me. I eventually make a fairly good draft. Okay, I'll admit it sounds a little formal at first, but maybe that's the best way to get this across. Then I go over the draft again, make a few changes, and finally I rewrite the whole thing in my best handwriting. I think I've pretty much nailed it.
To Whom It May Concern:
I, Ruth Anne Wallace, admit to
being a cutter. A cutter is a person who self-mutilates her body (in my case with a razor blade on my arms) in order to escape the pain in her life. Unfortunately, cutting, an addictive behavior, does not solve your problems. In fact, it only makes them worse. That's why I'm being treated at Promise House, and because of that treatment, I am now ready to face life without giving in to this destructive behavior.
Some of you may wonder why I felt the need to cut. I wondered this myself. The pain I was trying to escape came directly from my dad's constant verbal abuse. I've lived with it most of my life, but it got worse after my mom had her breakdown. I believe her breakdown was the direct result of my dad's constant verbal attacks on her. She was miserable and tried to take her own life. Losing my mom's support was what finally pushed me over the edge to cutting.
I believe this is also the reason my brother Caleb ran away from home. He couldn't take it anymore. I don't know what will happen to me when I am released from Promise House, but I do know that I will no longer put up with my dad's verbal abuse. If I have to get a job and support myself, I will. But I refuse to go back to the toxic environment that I grew up in.
I also want to say that while at Promise House, I became a Christian, and I believe that God is going to help me to get through this. And I'm sorry for anyone that I've hurt when I was hurting myself.
Sincerely,
Ruth Anne Wallace
I turn my emancipation letter in to Nicole Tuesday afternoon, and Wednesday morning she gives me twelve stamped envelopes and twelve copies of my letter. "Good job, Ruth," she says. "Let me know if you need more copies or envelopes."
"I'm sure this is way more than enough," I tell her.
"There are phone books for most cities in the state in the office," she tells me. "In case you need to look up some addresses."
So I sit down and carefully address the envelopes. And I'm surprised that I use all twelve copies of my letter, keeping the original for myself. Here is my list:
Mom
Caleb
Grandma Donna
Uncle Rod
Grandma and Grandpa Wallace
Blade Silver: Color Me Scarred Page 14
