The Man in the Box

 

I’ve lived the biggest part of my life in a box.

My box is a place where I’m comfortable. I can relax and be myself when I’m in my box because I don’t need to pretend I’m something that I’m not. I can be deeply authentic. I can experience raw feelings and deep emotions. I sometimes break down and cry when I’m inside my box because, when I’m most authentic, I see that the man who drugged and raped me broke me into so many pieces that I’ll never be what I could have been. Faith reminds me that “it is not good for me to be alone,” but faith also reminds me that resurrection happens inside a box.

Shame is a horrible thing.

I’m sure you’ve heard the story of an “egg-man” who fell from a wall one day, and who was shattered into so many pieces that “all the king’s horses and all the king’s men” couldn’t put him together again. The story of Humpty Dumpty reminds me that there are times in life when people are shattered into so many pieces that they can never return to what they once were. The man who rapes a boy leaves nothing but broken pieces behind him. The man who drugs and savagely rapes a little boy kills that young man’s soul. I know that death. The ever-present and always-haunting voice of shame tells me that there’s something wrong with me that can’t be fixed. The ever-present and always-haunting voice of shame tells me that my “secret” can’t be shared with other people—because, if I share my story, I’ll be rejected. My box is safe. My box is a place where I can authentically experience raw feelings and deep emotions. My box is a place where I can grieve my lost childhood. I need to grieve. I need to grieve about the many ways that my life could have unfolded differently as I look across a landscape covered with broken pieces that all the king’s horses and all the king’s men can’t put back together.

My deepest hope is that resurrection is still possible and that resurrection is something that will happen inside of my box. I find picture-puzzles parabolic because they remind me that my box is filled with pieces that can be re-assembled into a beautiful picture—but it takes a lot of time. I’m slowly finding the courage to step outside of my box and to re-enter a world filled with people who need to hear my story. It’s not easy. I’m hoping that my short reflections can help people who have never experienced childhood sexual abuse to understand what it’s like to have something taken away from you that can’t be returned. But even more than that, I’m hoping that these reflections can help people to understand what it’s like to have somebody kill your soul so completely that you can’t even accept the embrace of God—because, when people realize that, they will be better prepared to offer their understanding and support when people, like me, step out of the box.