Blade Silver: Color Me Scarred (21 page)

"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.

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

Uncle Garrett

Abby

Glen

Ms. Blanchard

Mr. Pollinni

Dad

And I put my name on the last one, without an address, and I
slip it into the back of my notebook.

I feel a little worried as I take my eleven sealed envelopes downstairs to put in the mail. I mean, no one on my list, besides Abby and
Ms. Blanchard, has any idea about what's going on with me. I've been
tempted to tell Glen during our weekly phone calls, and I suppose I've
even dropped some hints. But hers been so great about me being gone,
and he seems so into me, that I just couldn't bear to risk everything.
Until now. But, I tell myself, what choice do I have? I can't hide this
thing forever. Either he'll be able to handle it or not. Time will tell.

But instead of obsessing and freaking, I do remember to ask God
to take care of these things. Then I hand over my letters to Juanita, and
as I walk away, I feel an amazing new sense of freedom, like I've just
come clean with everyone and I no longer have anything to hide. In a
way it's exhilarating. I have no idea how anyone will react. Especially
Glen. But in some ways I don't even care. It's like I really am free!

It's only as I come to the end of my final week that I begin to
fully realize my time here will be finished on Sunday. Then I start
to get concerned. What happens next? And am I really ready to go
back home and face my dad?

I confess these fears during my last group session on Friday.
"I'm starting to freak," I tell my friends (some who are new, a few
who came here about the same time that I did). "I'm afraid that I
might fall apart. I might end up like I was before, or even worse."

They remind me that I'm stronger now, that I have skills to use,
and that I've changed.

"You're so strong, Ruth," says a new girl named Katy. She's only
fourteen and has only been cutting for a couple of months. "I mean,
I really look up to you as kind of a role model here. You always
have such good things to say during our small group. I know you're
going to do great when you go back."

I wish I had Katy's kind of confidence in myself. While it's
encouraging and I hope that she's right, I'm still not sure that Fin as
strong as she thinks.

"This is one of those times when you really have to trust in your
Higher Power," says Nicole. "You need to remember that you cannot
do this on your own. You do need help. Just ask for it. God will
show up, Ruth. Just trust him and see what he can do."

So I'm trying to do that. And every time I start to freak, I remind
myself that it's time to pray-it's time to ask God for help. And by
Sunday morning, I am amazingly relaxed.

After Bible study is finished, I talk to Nicole privately. First, I
thank her for everything she's done for me, and then I promise to
stay in touch.

"But what's next?" I ask. "I mean, I know that today's my last
day. But when do I leave? And how do I get home?" The last time
I asked her about this, she said to wait and see. "I guess I could go
stand out on the road and hold out my thumb."

She laughs. "Yeah, we usually make our girls hitch a ride home
when they're done here."