False Alarm

I am attempting to get my bearings, as what I have just experienced has left me sickened, without hope or desire.  I am shutting down.  I indeed shut down two days ago, when the latest Holiday loomed, as I had recently let my mother in law know that we would not be attending their Thanksgiving festivities.

And, as is the case with all narcissists, my husband has taken my dread of the Winter months to a new low.  A kick below the belt.  He achieved his annihilation of me by telling me that I had ruined his holidays because I am a selfish brat.

I am out of here, and for the life of me I cannot figure out why I kept forgiving, praying he would change, never hurt me again.  And as per usual, there would be promises made, promises broken.  You see, narcs want your attention-when they don’t get it, they think nothing of the getting the wrong kind of attention.  In all actuality, I was having a peaceful and meaningful day.  The hot shower pelts felt so good on my aching body.  I decided to dress up and even put on the dreaded makeup.  I looked forward to going downstairs and watching the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade.

I played Pandora, played with my kitten, even a touch of Chanel No. 5.  I got into the word, and asked for forgiveness for my attitude over the last few days. The lack of food over the last twenty four hours had been a fast of sorts, I supposed, resulting in a clarity and spiritual peace I hadn’t felt in months. I was feeling content, and didn’t mind the loneliness.  As I stepped into the living room, my husband stepped out.  I went upstairs, he came down.  I was thinking he needed his space.  I worried that he was feeling guilty, as anyone would after treating another human being like he did.

Jesus, please speak to his heart.  I don’t want him to hurt.

I went to check on him, and that’s when I was accused of ruining his life, his family, our churches and friendships.  His eyes turned black, the vitriol unnerving.

He did feel guilty, but he projected that guilt on to me, his wife of 30 years, during a time when she was incredibly vulnerable, teetering on the edge of admitting herself to Philhaven.

 

 

 

As we argued, I could see it-the Jezebel spirit, alive and well.  I am voiceless, still sick, haven’t had a thing to eat in days.  My blood pressure goes nuclear, along with my rage.  When I am injured, I am eerily capable of pouncing back-with the force of an untamed Lion-yet today, it was different.

Today I fought back with facts.  In the past, the gaslighting-at the hands of some of the most proficient narcissists know to mankind-I would be confused, caught off guard with the projection.  I was depressed, anxious and my PTSD was triggered each and every fucking time.  I would lay in bed for days, punishing myself when I was the one who needed self love and nurture.  My nature is one of love, compassion and fierce loyalty.  I can be irrationally Irish at times, cripplingly sad at others.

Today was not that day.

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As weak and fatigued as I felt, the lion roared.  Armed with facts, my faith and a raging migraine-I spat back better than I got.

 I have no family, not a soul to spend the holidays with.  I get morbidly depressed at this time of year, and you are fully aware that I will not spend one more moment with abusers.  Yet you care for me by completely ignoring me for two days, while I languish in bed with the flu and withdrawals?

You are blaming me for the actions of your son, who almost put me in a psych ward, and I am to fault because?

Did I hold a gun to your parents’ heads, making them neglect and abuse me; treat me like the most insignificant part of their life?  Did I ask your parents to tell rumors to the neighbors, so I could anticipate the shunning that followed?

I am betrayed and forbade to enter the kingdom of peace.

I don’t know what lies ahead, none of us do.  I will not be a victim, that train left the station, I will fight back with all I have in me.  If that means leaving him for an apartment in the country, just me and my dog, well then?

I pray He will grant me the strength.

I pray that Dwain will open his heart, and listen to the God who loves Him.  I pray for better, brighter days ahead~

 

The Girl You Want…………(ed)

If I could go back in time, I would tell myself to hold tight to the female friendships I have cultivated.  Let’s face it, when you head for your forties-well, you start to realize what is important in life and what is detrimental.  You begin to stand up for yourself, and by the time you reach menopause?  You’re a whirling dervish of angst on the road to having no female friendships because you have told off just about every friend you have, for one reason or another.

But what about the girls who don’t make the cut?  Who, as it turns out, are toxic as 5G on hormones?  The nervous breakdown you had last week?  You thought it was your dark mental health history, turns out it was your dark Jezebel worming her way into your psyche.  Is it really as simple as just walking away?  What if NO CONTACT isn’t an option, say because you go to the same gym.  Class.  Mother of God.

I knew I had to go, I had no choice.  I wasn’t sure I would go, but that strength I prayed to Jesus for?  It came the next morning-in buckets.  As I finished my makeup, I consoled myself with this thought: Maybe she won’t be there.

But that was the point of going to class: as a sufferer of PTSD, and while in the midst of a horrible episode due to this particular “friend.”  I had blocked her on all of my social media, but was still reeling from what had occurred before I ran away, like OJ on crack.

“She’s here,” my friend Sasha stated, as if she were announcing the bride of Satan.

I admit it, I panicked.

Haul ass, I’m not standing next to her, I blurted.

She walked in on three women who appeared to be doing some odd rendition of a Shakespearean tragedy-we tripped over one another as we hustled to find new spots on the floor.

Nothing to see here, folks.

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What my classmates saw last Tuesday…

After the class, as I was talking to Sasha, the Jezebel interrupted me.

“Can we talk for a moment?,” we had already exchanged pleasantries, even after I had threatened to call the state police if she didn’t cease and desist.  She made the Rocky Horror Picture Show look like Bambi Has a Family.  I was delirious.

I stood up to her, spoke my peace, but not without multiple interruptions.  I told her she had ridiculed, stalked and threatened me enough.  I told her I had been self harming, as a result of our last exchange.  I explained PTSD and what it does to a person.  She, of course, already knew this, as we have been acquainted many years.  All throughout my speech, she interjected this sentence:

But Michele, I’M DEPRESSED.”

I drove away praising Jesus, for answered prayers and for taking the scales off of my eyes, as it were.  Gawd.   Good riddance.

I have lost sisters near and dear to my heart (and a few quite recently)-but the loss was temporary, as those were the women who treated me with disrespect, dishonesty or the worst sin in my book- condescension-they were not  the friends I thought they were,but it didn’t make it any easier to end the relationship.  My best friend in sixth grade (let’s just call her Shitstorm) threw a bowling ball at me because I had the highest average in the league.  Straight out, in front of our teammates. She was also responsible for bringing a picture of me (in the seventh grade) into school in my senior year; one in which I had cut my own bangs, and let’s just say she passed it on to my high school crush.  Mortifying.  I was friends with her for 30 more years, until she did the unthinkable…..that’s right, she was another narcissist, and crossing her was akin to playing hopscotch with Satan. After one too many brushes with death? I let her go, stopped all contact-to this day I have nightmares. To. This. Day.

But when you hit your fifties?  Why, you hold on to your female friends like grim death-the ones who love you no matter what state you’re in, root for you when you are up against it, speak to your husband when you’ve relapsed. Why, they are your true blue tribe, and you have earned each other’s trust.  I am not saying there won’t be disagreements (holy crap on a cracker, that’s part of the equation ladies) but you will learn that nothing is more important than women who get and cherish you, zits, nervous breakdowns and relapses be damned.

I have spent an entire lifetime trusting women I had no business trusting, not seeing the inevitable pain that came with illumination-it’s a process. Yet, as Abba works in my life? The new friendships are more stable, enduring and incredibly comforting. You teach people how to treat you, and the only way you gain respect is by being a bitch right back. As soon as I stand my ground, the bullies run for cover.

Today I am blessed beyond measure with an abundance of loving, nurturing and life sustaining women. I am thankful they feel safe calling me friend.

High Heeled Boys

 

Good Sunday afternoon to you, I’d like to explain my absence:  my personal computer took a giant crap on Saturday morning, leaving me bitchy and floundering.  I have been in such a state of turmoil that I thought about quitting writing altogether-and then my husband lent me his business laptop.  Problem solved, if only momentarily.

I was stewing and spewing when the Holy Spirit spoke to me, loudly and clearly.

Consider the next few days a Spiritual retreat of sorts.  Just you and me, no television, computer or phone.

I mentioned that my husband is leaving for New Hampshire tomorrow morning in my last blog.  I can’t say I relish the thought of the next few days; but I am certain of one thing:  Jesus will be with me, like always, and He alone will give me the strength to manage on my own.

I have never been keen on being without my husband.  This brings to mind the trip we took out to LA, in 2005, to see my brother.  We had a lovely time, truly, until the night we met a high school friend for dinner.  My drinking was at its very worst at that time, and I clung to the tequila that evening, in a Mexican restaurant far, far away from home.  Afterwards, the boys headed to a cigar bar, while my sister in law drove me back to my brother’s home.  Unfortunately, I hid my Ativan from the baby sitter, and drunk as I was?  I couldn’t find it, not to save my life.  I began having the Mother of all anxiety attacks, and cried out loud for Dwain.  Poor Julie had to drive back to downtown LA, where she found my brother, husband and friend, drunk as the proverbial skunks they were-barely hanging on to their barstools.  As Julie waited for my brother, who was in the men’s room, she heard a loud bang accompanied with a few choice words.  It turned out that her husband had fallen into the trash can, and couldn’t find his way out.

“You are a grown man!  And you! (She pointed at Dwain) Your wife is at home having a meltdown because you’re not with her.  She can’t find her anxiety medication.  Get your asses home.  NOW!”

Back at the townhouse, I heard a scuffle in the hallway.  The door swung open, Dwain wobbling back and forth, my brother on his knees.  Julie was livid.  My niece was three at the time, and Craig was ordered to bed-only he couldn’t get up.  According to my husband, after I crashed, my brother crawled around aimlessly-the harder Dwain laughed, the angrier my sister in law became.

“Help me!  Dwain, man, help me….where are we?”

Ah, good times…

So, I will try to write when this lap top is available.  We don’t have funds for a brand new computer; not after Christmas, a new chimney, and prescription glasses for the two of us.

I am working on a new blog as well, but this one will be private, hidden from the prying eyes of my family.  I will be inviting each of you personally, as I just can’t imagine writing to a better, more supportive audience than you~

Broken Halos

 

Sitting here thinking, left to my own devices and dwelling on forgiveness, my family and how much things have and will change for reasons that may surprise you.  I was devastated by the loss of my family, but if it weren’t for the broken spell of codependency?  I would not be writing, creating, and, quite possibly, breathing.  I simply could not be my authentic self and survive their disrespect, hostility, or apathy.

So, now that we got the crappy part out of the way, I was daydreaming about how God picks us up and takes us away:  from the pain, the angst and the scary monsters.  A year ago today?  I was a sniveling coward, awaiting the latest news on the possible Zombie Infiltration.  Ok, maybe not zombies, but definitely black eyed children.  I was so sure that September 23 would be the return of Jesus, that my poor husband drove all the way home from work just to comfort me.  I now know that no man can come close to even guessing at the day of Jesus’ return, and that the idiots who produced the videos were looking for likes, or subscribers. Gawd.  How pitiful.  But wait?  Was I a charity case, or was my brokenness a blessing in disguise?  The latter, actually, as it strengthened my faith and made me so much stronger in the process.

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The men pictured above, Jesse and my husband Dwain, are the true loves of my life, and I praise God each and every day for their presence in my life.   None of this would ever be remotely possible if Yah didn’t give us second chances.  And third.   And eleventy hundred.  I am not admitting to murder, or some other heinous crime-don’t get me wrong: but even if I was?  Well, I would have to confess and repent, but yes, there would be forgiveness.  People get hung up on the word “repent.”  Translated from the Holy Bible, repent  means “think anew,” and of course we must change our behavior-actions speak so much louder than words.

When I get angry or hurt by those in my intimate circle, or even colleagues at church or volunteering, what have you-I think of them as broken, and in just as much if not more pain than I could possibly know.  I may be estranged from my family, but I forgive them because I love them.  I don’t know about liking them at this juncture in our history; but I know they have pain.  I know they try their very best, as strange as that may sound.  They are loving parents with successful careers-what more could you possibly want?  But regardless, I am only too aware that they, too, have moments of despair.  My sister’s youngest child is in college, and I can’t imagine the sadness.  Of course, she thought I was contagious while going through perimenopause, and not only withheld every iota of compassion-but would not stand close to me at family functions.  Yes, this is true.  🙂

Hate your boss?  Think of him/her as a young child-it helps with prying the sympathy out of our hardened hearts.

Want to strangle your better half?  Think of the last time they touched you in your secret, hidden places, where no one else has the power or accessibility.

The elderly person on the walker, you know, the one who is in front of you when you are going anywhere.  You are in a hurry, and bloody hell why is this happening to me?  They may not have anyone left to visit them, or possibly dying a slow and painful death.  Repent!

The world is out there waiting for us, as they will know we are Christians by our love~

The Remnant

As I walked the shore of the lake this morning, I wrote this morning’s blog in my head. Many of us Anons are preparing for total disclosure, and that means people are going to awaken on a mass scale. We have ventilators, even hospitals built for the specific purpose of helping people cope with the truth.

I didn’t ask to lose my family. As a matter of fact, I didn’t choose to be alienated, tread upon or disparaged.

I chose this journey, before I was even in the womb. I would die for this country, or any child in harm’s way. I am not a saint, or even close-but I am a part of the REMNANT that God chose to awaken you.

We are indeed the chosen ones, and if you’d told me what that meant years ago? I would have buried my head in a bottle of tequila. Fear is a liar, a useless tool to keep us oppressed.

It’s on like Donkey Kong.

And to those of you who have trash talked, thrown the first punch or insisted on political correctness in the guise of morality?

May God have mercy on your souls.

While you were all wrapped up in the hate?

We were saving your children.

I wish you would have listened, but now you have no choice.

The Human Mall

Breaking News-Truthstream Media

This Can’t Be a Thing

If you are watching television, or getting your news from ANY MSM venue, including FOX? You are being deceived. America, the QAnon community is here to give you the truth. We ARE the news now. In a matter of days, perhaps hours? The entire WORLD will be forced to awaken.

The news is disgusting, demoralizing and frankly-terrifying. The evil so enmeshed in our every day world? It boggles the mind.

Every mother fucker who burned a flag, hit an elder or murdered an innocent human being in the name of George Soros and the DNC funded BLM will be mowed over like so much fluff. They are conspirators, traitors and they are evil to the core. George Floyd died from an overdose, the entire movement was a LARP and you fell for it, didn’t you?

Sarah Ruth Ashcraft, sold to Tom Hanks by her own father as a child. Repeatedly raped and tortured by her Illuminati family and their cohorts. Not a pretty story, and she has been put through hell for telling it-rest assured. But she is about to be vindicated, and rightfully so.

To the demons and dregs of society-fair warning.

You’re about to get your mother loving asses kicked off of the face of our planet.

Anderson’s brother never died.

All That is Hidden Will Manifest