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This song in particular, struck me. It's called "Shelter". I listened very carefully to the lyrics and immediately fell in love with the heart Birdy was protraying. It also reminded me of a painting that was featured in this year's Unique exibit. The painting was of a bruised heart, and down the middle, was a zipper.
It wasn't until I heard this song that I truly saw undereath that zipper. To me, the painting expressed the healing process, not always quick to heal from pain, yet at some point, doing so.
It has been on my heart tonight to post about our inner voice and thoughts. Having tried at suicide 3 times in the past 7 years, I have only now, just begun to come to terms with them, reflecting on the understandable reasons as to why, I tried to end my life so many times.
I was young and severely physically challenged, my left arm being the only limb I could use without help. Growing up, I faced the "war of words" from many people, including someone dear to me. Having to deal with constant verbal attacks day after day, little bits managed to plant themselves in the soil of my self-esteem.
It was the last thing I needed after realizing how different I looked to other people. I was around 14 or so, when my mother let me look at my records, displaying notes on my birth, adoption and brain injury. Even though I had known since the very beginning that I was adopted, looking through all those fading papers and staring my birth mother's name in the face, was a very emotional experience for me. I wrote in a journal that day something along these lines: "These pages are thistles, in that they are a blessing, but painful. It has given me a little more closure knowing why I am the way I am. I am so blessed to be so smart and talented. They [the doctors] tracked my congnitive progress for quite a while, and in each chart, I am shown progressing..."
Having this closure, I was still wondering what could've happened to my birth mother, to make her feel that cocaine was the only escape from her pain and anxiety. For years, I pictured myself inside her womb, so innocent, so fragile...
My mother (adoptive) later spoke with my pediatrician about the relationship between my birth mom's addiction and my present condition, and my doctor explained that the drug use most likely led to me being premature, ultimately resulting in a severe form of CP.
For the past 4 years, I have struggled with hiding behind my clothes. I often sleep as a way to escape and dream what I want my life to look like. With the encouraging support of my church and counselor, I am starting to come out of my comfort zone. Other people can only help so much. It's when YOU decide to become a TEAM with GOD, that things start shifting. Learning that my voice is just as important as anyone else's was HUGE in my recovery. Using that newly found voice can be an obstacle, and I still have yet to really express it.
From all of what I have experienced, my heart has been calloused in a way. I am slowly, slowly healing from all of the emotional pain I have endured, with the loving help of God and my family. Through it all, I have been given the blessing of compassion and an ovewhelming desire to help others less fortunate than myself.
I thank God that He has given me the drive to work toward my dreams, no matter what how high the climb. Like the zipper in the heart painting suggested, though we may heal from our pain, scars sometimes show. Because we have these scars, we are living examples of how every experience we go through, makes us a stronger version of ourselves. They tell people, "yes, I've been there, but got through it and push on... an so can you."
http://www.metrolyrics.com/shelter-lyrics-birdy.html