SURVIVAL: HATRED TO LOVE

I have had body image issues for as long as I can remember. In fact, I never remember feeling good about myself and my looks despite the fact that I was constantly told growing up that I was beautiful. I had a wonderful childhood. I had parents who loved me unconditionally and an older brother who loved and adored me as I did them. In spite of all of that, I always felt out of place, the ugly duckling, if you will. I had no identity. It was completely wrapped up in them. I was Dean's and Bennie's daughter, or I was John's little sister. I was never just Krystal.

My brother graduated from high school in 1993, and in March of 1995, he joined the United States Air Force. Now I was really lost because the main identity that I had always clung to was "John's little sister." But now John was gone. I didn't know who Krystal was or how to be her. What I did know about her, I didn't really like. In my eyes, she was ugly and obnoxious. That is when my depression first started to rear its ugly head. I began to pack on the weight. When John was home, I was always active. We were an active family but after my brother left, it was almost as if I didn't exist anymore. You see, I wasn't the only that was depressed. My mother sank into a deep depression, and everything ceased. We didn't go anywhere or do anything as a family anymore. Mom and I fought constantly. I am not just talking normal "mother/ daughter" squabbles either. I was convinced that she hated me, and I now know that she was convinced that I hated her. I guess to some extent, I did because she stopped living when my brother left. How was that supposed to make me feel? I was still there and still needed my parents. We didn't celebrate holidays anymore. Literally, everything stopped when he left. At least, at 16, that is how it felt to me. And my poor father? He was trying so desperately to continue to be there for me and my mom, but he was overwhelmed, and of course, he missed my brother as well. He spent the bulk of that year playing referee between Mom and me. With all of this going on, the constant fighting, the weight gain, the anger toward my mom, I was even more lost than I had been. I really had no identity, and now, all I saw was fat and ugly. I was smart, and I made straight A's for the most part, so I had that going for me. Unfortunately, that wasn't enough to keep me from hating me.

In August of 1995, my brother was set to come home from boot camp and A school. He was supposed to get married that month as well. It should have been a happy time, right? Well, it wasn't for me. It was during that time that I began to plan my suicide. I wrote letters to my parents and my brother telling them that I loved them and that I was sorry for always being such a burden. That is how I felt. Like I was always this horrible burden that everyone had to put up with. On August 04, 1995, my parents went out to Wichita Falls, TX to Sheppard Air Force Base to watch my brother graduate from A school. I don't remember why I didn't go with them, but this was my chance. After they left that morning, I got my dad's S&W .357 magnum revolver out, loaded it, and placed it under my pillow. I went about my day putting the final touches on the letters and doing a few other things. I may have been working at that time, but I don't remember. I do remember being at the house at about 5 pm when the doorbell rang. It was my best friend at the time. It was the last night of the revival at her church, and she wanted me to go with her that night. I tried to tell her, no, but she didn't really give me much of an option. I finally caved/ was dragged from the house. I went to the revival, and honestly, I don't remember much about it. I can remember thinking "FINALLY" when the pastor gave the invitation. I also remember feeling a tightness in my chest and a fullness in my head. The next thing I remember is sitting in a room across from the sanctuary with the youth minister and bawling as I asked Jesus to be my Lord and Savior. I also remember a tremendous feeling of peace. The youth minister went into the hall and got my friend and her mother because they were waiting on me. Apparently, when the pastor gave the invitation, I stood very still for a few minutes in the pew. My friend says that I wasn't breathing and that I was "white knuckling" the back of the pew in front of me while tears poured down my face. She and her mom told me that I moved past them out of the pew and ran to the front of the church. By the time the youth minister went and got them, the service had been over for 45 minutes. My friend wanted me to stay the night with her that night, but I told her that I couldn't. I had her take me home. I went straight to my bedroom, picked up the revolver from under my pillow, unloaded it, and carried it and the bullets back to where my father stored them in his bedroom. I then went and got the letters that I had written, and I walked up front. I opened the flue on the fire place, placed the letters inside, and struck a match. I sat and cried as I watched those letters burn until there was nothing but ash left. I then went to bed. I got up the next morning and cleaned out the fire place so that no one would know the difference, and then I went out to my friend's house. It took me almost 6 years to tell my parents and my brother the truth about that day. My friend and I aren't really friends anymore. We are barely acquaintances. To this day, she has no idea that she actually saved my life on that August night in 1995.

The next several years were a whirlwind. They were good. I got involved in church. I began spending some time with my friends. Mom and I were still fighting constantly, and the anger and resentments were almost palpable in the house. Dad was still refereeing and hiding. I graduated from high school in 1997. I tried to go in the military like my brother and Dad, but they wouldn't take me because of my flat feet. So I went to work. I got a job at Raytheon E-Systems, and, ironically, I was working on air craft for the Air Force. I enjoyed that job, and I was beginning to like me. I was getting there anyway.

In 1998, I decided to start college, so I moved in with my aunt and uncle. I adored them. They were my favorite aunt and uncle. I got a job at the Olive Garden, and I started school at the local junior college. I enjoyed school and work for the most part, and I was making new friends. In early 1999, I changed jobs. At my new job, I met someone. I was very attracted to him. He asked me out, so we had our first date. A few months after the first date, he asked me to marry him. I was feeling pretty good about myself at this point. Not great, but I didn't hate myself anymore. After about a year of being engaged, we were fighting all of the time. He had gone off to college, and so we were doing the long distance thing. It wasn't going well, but I stuck with it. Honestly, I had found my new identity, and it was Jeb's fiancé. I still wasn't Krystal, but I thought I was happy. He was very controlling, and that only got worse as time went by.

We got married in 2002, and I knew walking down the aisle that I was making a mistake. I went through with it anyway because I didn't want to disappoint our guests, and I couldn't let go of the fact that I had given him my virginity. As a Christian, that was it. He was the guy I was supposed to be with because "two shall become one." Now, I was Jeb's wife. We fought constantly. Within about a year, maybe a year and a half of marriage, the verbal and emotional abuse began. He told me that I was fat, stupid, and ugly. If he didn't say it verbally, he showed me that he felt that way through his actions. He was also isolating me. He didn't want me going to church or spending time with my friends, so I didn't. I even stopped reading my Bible because it bothered him. I was lost. I felt worthless, hopeless, and full of self-hate. I began contemplating suicide again on a pretty regular basis. You know, when you hear things like "God your fat" or "Go put some clothes on...nobody wants to see that," you begin to believe those things. Things got so bad at one point, that his parents told him that if he didn't stop, they would help me get a divorce and move away from him. His friends were questioning him as to why he spoke to me the way he did. Some of them even stood up to him and told him that if he didn't stop he would have to answer to them. He just watched his words when he was around any of them. The abuse didn't stop though. In ways, it got worse.

In 2007, he told me that he was leaving me because I was not good enough for him. I had let myself go, and he could no longer stand to be around me. I was crushed. Now who would I be? About a month after he left, I was in a very dark place. I was contemplating suicide again. I wanted to die. I knew that I needed help, so I started making phone calls. Because I was a student, I could get counseling on campus for free. I made an appointment. The day of my appointment was a bad day. I was crying so hard that I could barely breathe or see. I had no business driving, but I got in my truck to go to my appointment anyway. About half a mile from my home, I lost control of my vehicle. It flipped end over end, and then barrel rolled two and three quarter times before coming to rest on the driver's side about an eighth of an inch from a telephone pole. The roof caved in over the steering wheel and was about an inch away from it; the console ripped out of the floor and slammed me across the face; the seatbelt did not catch; and the airbags did not deploy. In fact, the seatbelt wrapped around my throat and I was hanging from it. If I had lost consciousness, I would be dead. My angels were working overtime that day. By some miracle, the most serious injury I had from the wreck itself was two torn discs in my low back. And the tears were mild, so it only required physical therapy. The rest of my injuries were cuts and bruises. Nothing caused during the wreck even required stitches. The ambulance came, and as they were taking me out through the windshield, they cut my leg on the glass. That injury required 12 stitches. For some reason, even today, I find humor in this. A wreck I should not have survived. Pictures of the pick-up prove that out, but I did survive. That wreck on July 24, 2007, was a wakeup call for me. I had wanted to die. I had been contemplating suicide most of that day. Not planning anything, but thinking about it. God showed me a few things with that wreck. First He showed me that He wasn't done with me on this earth, and secondly, He showed me that my life was better without my husband in it. Obviously, I didn't make my appointment that day, but I did start going later. I also got involved in church again, including a faith based program for people going through divorce, and started making friends.

July 24, 2007 was a turning point for my life. I realized that day that I had a LOT of healing to do. I began working on me and getting to know me. I hoped that eventually I would at least like me. I refused to date anyone because I knew how damaged I was, and I did not want to damage someone else because of what my ex had done to me. On November 9, 2007, I met my ex at the Court House to finalize the divorce. What a happy and freeing day! Eventually, I learned to forgive him for how he treated me, and more importantly, I learned to forgive myself. For the first time in my life, I am truly happy. My happiness comes from within. It is not based on anyone else or wrapped up in anyone else. I am me, period. Take me as I am, or stay away. When I started this journey in 2007, I didn't think that I would ever get to this point. I went on my first "post-divorce" date in 2013, and I have been on a few since them. I have realized though, that I don't want or need someone else to make me happy or fulfill me. I do that myself through my career that I adore and the life that I have built for myself. I still have body issue images. I know that I am overweight and unhealthy, but I don't hate myself for it. I am OK with it. For the first time in my life, I am comfortable in my own skin. Now, when I work on my weight and health issues, I do it because I want to work on it. Not because I think it is the only way people will like me. And not because it is what society expects from me. I love me, and I am proud of the person I have become. I am a single, overweight, almost 40 year old gal who loves her life and every single aspect of it!

So, why are you reading this? I don't know. I can't answer that question for you. I can however, tell you why I wrote it. Because I needed to. I am glad that you are taking the time to read this post, and I hope that if you are struggling in any of these areas of your life that this post will give you hope that you can survive as well. You deserve it just like I did. Unfortunately, we rarely give ourselves the chance. I feel incredibly blessed to have been willing and able to walk this journey. It is the hardest thing that I have ever done in my life, but it has also been the most rewarding thing that I have ever done. I pray that anyone who reads this gets something they need from it. If you are struggling, don't be afraid to ask for help. The help is out there. Be blessed!