I've spent all my life running. Not in the physical sense, obviously, or I'd be a hell of a lot skinnier than I am now.
No, I've been running from something I've never quiet been able to see. I remember being afraid as long as I can remember. Not just a little afraid, like when you're watching a scary movie and you know the killer is behind the idiot actress and you are screaming "turn around!" But an intense fear that hits with no notice and takes my breath away. I am not afraid of anything tangible. If was, that would be a fairly easy phobia to fix, however, the fear comes from deep inside.
I was never very normal. My mom said I was the happiest kid in the world until I was about 3 years old. Then I was sad. And scared.
A few years ago, while still in California, a little girl in my neighborhood brought me a chihuahua. She said she saw a family throw him and another little dog out of their car. She was able to catch this little guy but the other one ran away. She asked me if I could take him. I named him Rusty. I went looking for the other little dog, but didn't see her that night.
The next day, I saw her across the street sleeping on the front patio of an abandoned house. I put Rusty on a leash and he and I walked to the abandoned house. At first, when she saw me, she ran. Then she realized that Rusty was with me. Her fear turned into shear delight. Her tail wagged because her friend had returned. I sat down in front of the house with my back to her and let her and Rusty visit. After a while, I stood up and sat down where she had originally been sleeping. She ran into the bushes and hid. Slowly, I stood up and Rusty and I started walking back to my house. He kept stopping, looking back at his sister, his friend as if to tell her "come on, its okay." She followed us home.
I found a can of cat food and opened it for her to eat. She was too afraid, so I hand-fed some to Rusty then handed her the can. She was so hungry. As she ate, I slowly put my finger around her collar. When she was finished, I picked her up. She was so scared. Just like me.
I told her, no one will ever hurt you again. I named her Ruby. Even after all these years, she still has to be reassured sometimes that she is safe.
But she trusts me. She trusts me more than I trust myself. I wonder if she still has dreams about what her life was before. The terror she must have felt to bring her to the point that she feels that she must run or fight. Or maybe she just dreams about being safe. Maybe she wonders what little goodie she'll find in her next meal, or what treats momma Jamie will bring home from PetSmart next.
Its ironic how I can be that gentle heart that makes her feel safe, yet feel so scared myself. I wonder, who is my gentle hands? Where is my safety? My peace?
I know the answer to that, but I'm still learning to trust again. Like Ruby, I want someone to hold me and make everything feel okay, but I'm still having nightmares on an abandoned front porch. I still hide in the bushes.
No, I've been running from something I've never quiet been able to see. I remember being afraid as long as I can remember. Not just a little afraid, like when you're watching a scary movie and you know the killer is behind the idiot actress and you are screaming "turn around!" But an intense fear that hits with no notice and takes my breath away. I am not afraid of anything tangible. If was, that would be a fairly easy phobia to fix, however, the fear comes from deep inside.
I was never very normal. My mom said I was the happiest kid in the world until I was about 3 years old. Then I was sad. And scared.
A few years ago, while still in California, a little girl in my neighborhood brought me a chihuahua. She said she saw a family throw him and another little dog out of their car. She was able to catch this little guy but the other one ran away. She asked me if I could take him. I named him Rusty. I went looking for the other little dog, but didn't see her that night.
The next day, I saw her across the street sleeping on the front patio of an abandoned house. I put Rusty on a leash and he and I walked to the abandoned house. At first, when she saw me, she ran. Then she realized that Rusty was with me. Her fear turned into shear delight. Her tail wagged because her friend had returned. I sat down in front of the house with my back to her and let her and Rusty visit. After a while, I stood up and sat down where she had originally been sleeping. She ran into the bushes and hid. Slowly, I stood up and Rusty and I started walking back to my house. He kept stopping, looking back at his sister, his friend as if to tell her "come on, its okay." She followed us home.
I found a can of cat food and opened it for her to eat. She was too afraid, so I hand-fed some to Rusty then handed her the can. She was so hungry. As she ate, I slowly put my finger around her collar. When she was finished, I picked her up. She was so scared. Just like me.
I told her, no one will ever hurt you again. I named her Ruby. Even after all these years, she still has to be reassured sometimes that she is safe.
But she trusts me. She trusts me more than I trust myself. I wonder if she still has dreams about what her life was before. The terror she must have felt to bring her to the point that she feels that she must run or fight. Or maybe she just dreams about being safe. Maybe she wonders what little goodie she'll find in her next meal, or what treats momma Jamie will bring home from PetSmart next.
Its ironic how I can be that gentle heart that makes her feel safe, yet feel so scared myself. I wonder, who is my gentle hands? Where is my safety? My peace?
I know the answer to that, but I'm still learning to trust again. Like Ruby, I want someone to hold me and make everything feel okay, but I'm still having nightmares on an abandoned front porch. I still hide in the bushes.
What's amazing is that Miss Ruby and I have changed roles, in a way. She is good at taking care of me. Of all my animals, she is the one who sleeps beside me in bed. When I am sad and crying, it is Miss Ruby, who comforts me. I sleep well knowing that she is alert and keeping an eye on things. I've even given her a job that she takes very seriously. I told her that she is in charge of making sure the cats never come near the bird or gerbil cages. As the other dogs spend the day outside or in their crates when I'm gone, Ms Ruby is on guard. And boy, is she good at what she does.
It has been good to watch her transition from a frightened chihuahua, to a confident protector. She has even learned to reach out to other people and for that, I am proud of her.
Like Miss Ruby, I am changing
slowly. I have reached out to My Protector, my Gentle Hands. And though I
still tread lightly, my confidence grows. Miss Ruby learned that not
all humans are alike. Not all humans will hurt her. And I have learned
that the portrait of God that many paint, is not always accurate. He is a
gentle, loving being that does not want to hurt me, but to hold me and
care for me as I care for Miss Ruby.
And I am trying to let him.
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