Words come back to haunt me. Images plague me. The simplest things set me off. And I am spinning, out of control, and I feel sick. Everyone always talks about how hard it is for people who have PTSD, soldiers who drink their sorrows away and have anger issues that are unfathomable. But seldom do people want to talk about what it's like for a family member who grows up watching them, being hurt by them, watching others be hurt by them. Feeling rejected, alone, and unable to please. Because growing up with an alcoholic with PTSD brings about a certain type of trauma on the brain. Trauma that is hard to erase and almost impossible to escape. It follows you everywhere you go.
And I put on a brave face during the day, fill my day with activities and push myself to be busy. Because it's easier than having a moment to sit, be still, and remember. And sitting still was never my strong suit anyway. It's true that nothing here in this moment is worth singing for.
And yet, a song arises. Because even in the darkest night, nothing can steal my song. I sing praise songs at the top of my lungs, with tears pouring down my face, trying to banish the visions. I tell Satan who I belong to. The raging storm will know my force, will know that I belong to the King of Kings. And so I sing. And nothing can steal that song from me.
The song of the one who is knocked down, but gets back up. Who finds her knees on the valley floor, but climbs up the mountain no matter how hard it is, even if she has to crawl with bleeding hands. Who knows who her Savior is and won't let the enemy have the final say. So I will keep bringing symphonies to Him, over and over. Every breath I breathe.
"Symphonies" by Natalie Grant is my anthem lately. I play it on repeat in my car, I sing it in the shower, I whisper the words in the dead of night. Satan, you can throw what you want at me. But I will never stop singing.
And when I can't find the words to say, Lord teach my heart your melody.
"Symphonies" lyrics
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