Stand up or play dead?

Writing on top of piles of papers of projects in various stages as I sit reflecting on the message of tonight's movie. When one is dashed to the ground, one is to get up . Does it still hold if the enemy is still there with his dagger? Do we challange death to the soul or do we hide, keep silent and carry on?

My trials are so small compared to others. So small. Almost insignificant. I do not have a life threatening disease. I no longer have a brutal husband. I have moved away from the community who deserted me in time of need. I have the use of my limbs, my eyes, my ears. I have a husband and family that respects, loves and supports me. I have the blessings of a home, an income, and food on my table. So why does my old battle still rage, bringing me to my knees, pleading for an end to my endless tears?

Years ago, many years ago, I suffered injustice. It might seem a small injustice to some, but to me it has been the thorn that continually wounds. It was not the demeaning acts, but the betrayal of those who were supposed to be there to protect me. Further, it was the tearing of my faith as I, an innocent victim was mocked, then accused, confirmed wicked and insane and finally punished and austracized.

It was their power I gave them by my beliefs that would continue to fuel my agony for years to come. It was my belief that they represented God that allowed me to 'know' that God had abandoned me. It was my belief in their power which held me in fear, trembling, and in a pitch black hell for some twenty odd years.

I was not tortured in the literal sense, I was not tied or hung or beaten. They left my broken heart, my broken faith, my new insecurities to sew their own seeds. Time after time, I would believe all was healed, when someone would question my worth, my motives, my life, my perception, or my credibility and I would fight the losing fight as my self-worth began diminishing and crumbling before my eyes. I cringe, I run, I hang my head in shame. I once again, relive the pain as I re-live the past maliciousness, deceit, and the shove it under the rug mentality.

I look at where I am now, with not a problem in the world yet here I am, falling apart. Do I fight for the honor that was taken from me? Do I stand and speak and dare to suffer the consequences once again? Or do I lie down, shut up and play dead? If I didn't have to speak up for others, if it was just to speak up for me - my dignity, my rights, my life... would I think I was worth it? If I spoke truth to those who destroyed my life, would it be finally over? Could I then begin living again? What could life be if I became the power in my own life?