I’m in a box. No one is allowed in, and I am not allowed out. I sit down on the cold, white floor and stare aimlessly at the bare walls, longing for understanding. I want out, but there is no door. There is no window. Nothing. I sit for what seems like hours, but in my box there are no clocks. I glance down at my wrist, hoping my watch would be there, but it was not. All I see are scars running up and down my arms. Time is merely an idea built up in my mind. I continue sitting on the uncomfortable floor thinking of my past, my present and my future. I think of each of the scars on my body. I think so hard and for so long that I literally cannot think any more. The only thing I managed to sift from all the thinking was the lingering thought: “Who am I?” The hum of a fan drones out any other remaining thoughts, and my body lulls itself to sleep.
I wake up in a panic, still in the same box as before. Sweat is dripping down my back and my face. Placing my hand over my heart, I feel my pulse racing. I feel like my heart is going to explode out of my chest. I look at my barren surroundings when I notice something on the wall. A word. Very small and written in red ink. I build up energy to pick up my legs and walk over to the wall the word is written on. My eyes skim over the word, not knowing what it means or how to respond to the suddenly appearing word. On the wall was written: L-O-V-E-D. I return to my sitting spot by the wall facing the word. Thoughts return to my head. I think to myself, “What does this word mean?” And my mind wanders from there. I remember when my dad told me he had no use in putting any energy in our relationship anymore. Why? I am so confused. I remember each word of hurt someone spoke to me. This box seems to bring out the most negative thoughts in my mind. Out of the box I am completely happy. I look at the word on the wall again. Who am I? I look at the word long and hard, except I notice something. I can see the word from where I am sitting now. Very clearly. The word looks like it has grown. I sit and stare at the word, trying to push positive thoughts into my mind. It is a constant battle. Finally I remember coming home and being wrapped in my mothers arms. What a warm feeling. I don’t know how to describe the feeling exactly. I stare at the word again. After all, what else is there to do? It seems to be enlarging more and more every time I look at it. My thoughts return to negative things. I think thoughts like, “Why does everything bad happen to me?” “Why do I have to go through all of this hurt?” I want to think positively, I want to remember things like being wrapped in my mothers arms. Then I remember my grandma. I think about how she made my bed every day before I got into this awful place. I don’t know how to describe the feeling of coming home knowing she took time out of her day to do that. Who am I? UGH! I am so frustrated in this place. I look up again, the word has expanded yet again. I have no idea what is going on. I continue to try and think of positive thoughts. Sometimes I managed, but it was a constant battle between positive and negative. The scars on my arms kept reminding me of all the hurt and pain. I just want them to be washed away like bird poop on a wind shield. Gosh. I want out of here. Suddenly, the wall opens up and a man enters my box. I stand up abruptly. I ask him, “Who are you?! Why are you here?”
The man replies, “Who I am is unimportant right now. I am here to answer your questions.”
My heart fills with an unknown feeling. What if this is my way out! I am so happy. I begin asking questions, “What am I doing here? How did I get here? How do I get out? How did you get in?”
The man says, “Slow down, my child. You brought yourself here, and you already know how to get out. Now, I am here to answer your questions.”
Frustration fills my mind and my body. I want out so bad! “I know your here to answer my questions! That is why I just asked those questions!”
“You asked me questions you already know the answer to. Now, I am here to answer your questions.”
I sit down. Tears fill my eyes. I am so frustrated. I just want out. The man comes over and places a hand on my back. I just cry. All I can do is cry. Everything I’ve done wrong comes back to me at once. I am filled with guilt, shame and remorse. I look at the man with tears in my eyes. He has a look in his eyes I have never seen before. I immediately am filled with a feeling I don’t know again. He places his hand on my scared arms. Embarrassed, I pull away.
He says, “You need to let go of these marks. They aren’t worth thinking about. They don’t make you who you are.”
I sit there, dumbfounded. “How am I supposed to let go of something that is permanent?”
“You know the answer to that, my child.”
I am so confused. I know I am missing something. I am forgetting something in my past. “Who are you?” I ask the man once again.
“My child, the important thing is not who I am.”
I continue to sit there. Sobbing. I am so confused. I keep thinking about my marks after this man brought them up. How am I supposed to let them go? I think that is impossible. Maybe this man is here to help me. “Are you here to help me?”
He says, “Yes, my child. I have always been here to help you.”
Always been here to help me? I don’t think anyone has always been there to help me. How can this man say that? “How can you say that? How can you help me?”
The man looks at me with that same look in his eyes as before, and for some reason I start crying again. He says, “Dry your eyes. There is no reason to cry. You may have done wrong in your life, you may have made mistakes. I am here to tell you that you can let go. Give your scars to me.”
“What! I can’t do that. That is physically impossible. This is all insane.”
“Try it. Give your scars to me. You want to get rid of them right? Do it, then.”
I think to myself. I am in a box with white walls all around me and I have nothing to loose. I want to get rid of the scars so bad, and this man did say he was here to help me. Slowly, one by one. I peel the scars of my body, weeping. Each one holds a nasty memory. My skin looks so ugly with them on. One by one I give them to the man, and he puts the scars on his body. I don’t know why anyone would want to do that, especially for me. I looks at my arms. They are glowing and radiant. For the first time in a long time, I smile.
“Thank you! Thank you so much! Thank you so so so much!” I say to the man. I can’t help but feeling like something is missing. I feel sad. I don’t want to leave the box because I know hurt will come to me again outside of it. The man looks at me with the same look in his eyes and once again I begin weeping.
“My child, why do you continue to cry?” He asks me.
“I don’t know. I just feel like… no one wants me. No one needs me either. I don’t even know who I am. When I was out of this place I was so happy all the time, but I really wasn’t. I just pretended to be. I am so tired of hurting. I am in so much pain, and my heart is heavy. How can you help me now? No one can help me with this. I don’t understand what I am feeling. Who am I? You came here to answer my questions, but I don’t think anyone could answer that.”
The man looks at me the same way through his eyes. I feel like he knows my soul and is looking into the deepest parts of it. I continue to cry. “My child, I weep for you. I weep for the pain that is causing your heart to feel this way. I want you to feel loved. I want you to know I love you and there are so many people on this earth who love you too. I can help you by offering you a life that is worth living. I can save you from all of this pain if you accept me into your life. To answer your question about who you are. My child, You are loved.”
The man then does something that fills me with an overwhelming feeling. He hugs me so tightly and for the first time I feel accepted, wanted, and needed. Love. I know the word now. I remember it! I am loved! I ask this man again, “Who are you, sir? I want to tell others about what you have done for me.”
“My child, I am your Father. My name is Jesus.”
Suddenly, the walls of the box tear down and the man fades away.
I am sitting on my bed. Tears running down my face. I dry my eyes and I get up and dance. I feel so overwhelmed with joy! I want to go tell everyone that they are loved too by this man. This man, Jesus, saved me! I want to thank him and help others too! I run downstairs. “MOM!!! I AM LOVED!!!”
She laughs, “Yes, dear, I know you are.”
“No mom, I am loved. For real. By this man. He saved me! I was in a box and now I am out and…” I realized how crazy I sounded. But that didn’t stop me. I was going to tell the whole world that Jesus saves.