I Think it Strange You Never Knew

I took what I wish I could tell you was my last drink in the beginning of October, 2007.  I ended up in the hospital after a suicide attempt, which is another story for another day.  What sobered me up was a combination of my husband’s frailty, my will to live and a gift-the blessing of clarity that comes from Jesus.  I won’t even try to tell you that this road has been easy.  We addicts push down the truth, and push our loved ones away-fact-and until we achieve sobriety?  Well, there will be no healing, no peace, no end to the pain that holds us in bondage.

Months afterwards, I was hiking in two feet of snow with my golden retriever, Dylan.  A shining star and beloved pet, it hurts my heart that I wasn’t with him for the first 5 years of his time on this earth.   I was here, but I wasn’t present, and I have no memory of what could have been the best years of my life, had I not succumbed to the melodic pull of oblivion.

So I am trudging up this hill, and I am overcome with love.  I feel forgiveness surround me.  I cry out to God and confess the absurd backslide I have taken with alcohol and pain medication.  I cry out to Jesus and I tell him to take my life, it isn’t mine to begin with, take it Jesus, mold me Jesus, cry with me and then I’ll get tough, I promise…….

“I have been here with you from the very beginning of time.  I have cried your tears, tasted the salt of your remorse, and I will deliver you from this travesty……”

I think it strange, I never knew….

 

Release The Fear

From Our Daily Bread
February 27, 2018

“When we’re feeling breathless with anxiety, we can rest assured in Jesus’s power. Whether He calms our waves or strengthens us to face them, He will give us the gift of His peace that transcends all understanding. And as He releases us from our fears, our spirits and our bodies can return to a state of rest.
-Amy Boucher Pye

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We are all God’s precious children.

Lord Jesus Christ, help me when the dread seems to cling to me. Release me from my fears and give me thy peace.

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I’m Poor, But I’m Kind

This morning I took my poor dog on a hike that, due to my incredible lack of skills in the direction department, almost killed us. 🙂 It began as a relaxing stroll, with killer views of the lake, and miles of pine trees freshening the air around us. What could POSSIBLY go wrong? Uh, plenty. I wore my new hiking boots-mad comfy in the store-but not broken in at all. And things took a horrid turn for the worse when I made a left at the big oak tree, instead of a right. We walked for almost two straight hours, uphill. The bushwhacking downhill was more than I was prepared for, and Jesse desperately looked for a drinking hole. Why didn’t I bring water? I scolded myself. Why didn’t I know where I was going? Turns out, not exactly my fault, the Wildlife Conservatory had cut down acres of trees, thus muddying the waters of the visible trail.

Safely at the river bed, Jesse drank from the living waters-I took a swig of seltzer and we called it a day. Upon our return, I looked at my poor cat Uno. I named her for her one good eye, as the other had been treated repeatedly for infection, but left the poor thing blind. She lay in the sun on our deck, and I noticed she was nursing her front paw….what she hasn’t been through, let me tell you. Yet she remains a stoic sister, unfettered by her disabilities, a wild and domestic feline-she takes a licking and keeps on ticking….not unlike myself.

God and I were doing really well in the healing department. I felt happier, lighter and stronger. Until the debacle, until the day or reckoning. That was before my step son ripped out my heart and kicked it around. And the real misery comes from knowing that my husband no longer recognizes the child he helped bring into this world. His heart is crushed. Completely and utterly shattered. That combined with the premature diagnoses of DID from a woman I had spoken to for twenty minutes. My discernment and a weekend of praying has resulted in me putting off any head shrinking for the foreseeable future. I will be forever grateful for my brother’s act of kindness, but I just can’t afford to have a stranger, no matter how qualified, messing around in what little remains of my sound mind.

And if I am dreadfully misguided, time will tell.

Live full lives, full in the fullness of God. God can do anything, you know-far more than you could ever imagine or guess or request in your wildest of dreams! He does it not by pushing us around but by working within us, His Spirit deeply and gently within us.
-Ephesians 3:19-20

Who Do You Expect to Meet?

Coming out of this weekend a wiser, albeit exhausted human being. Trying to keep my anxious thoughts from ruling the inner dialogue, I have managed to put together a few thoughts on this Dissociative Identity Disorder. I know myself, I know my body and I know my brain. I am concerned that the new therapist has jumped the gun, and I hope to set her straight this week. Don’t get me wrong, I like her-a lot, but she misunderstood a few things, and I wasn’t much help as I sat on her comfy couch in shock.

After reading the list of things my step son said to me last Wednesday (let’s just call him B from now on, so much easier) Nancy (therapist) said this:

“This is blind rage. This is coming from a place of pure, unadulterated hatred, and I believe you may have put this child through torment and don’t even realize it, because I believe you have DID.”

Here we go again. If it isn’t bad enough being the victim of Narcissistic Abuse, professionals continue to miss the mark on diagnosing it. B levied an attack on my moral conscience, he knew what he was doing, and because I “challenged” him by asserting myself, he went full blown ballistic on my ass. I am of no use whatsoever to him, as he cannot control me-neither can my sister, next door neighbor or any narc within a 50 mile radius of Central Pennsylvania.

Nancy is also under the assumption that I saw my previous therapist, Pamela McDermott, (don’t get me started) for five years to work on my PTSD. I didn’t have a chance to correct her, like I said-SHOCK-but I saw Miss Pam for substance abuse and depression. So there’s that. The biggest reason I have to poo poo the argument of DID? I have no lapses in memory, nor does my husband see two different Micheles. I have no alter ego, no angry friends, no problems with my relationships as a rule-my friends still love me, and no one in the history of my life has ever, EVER told me I have an altar ego. No, I am suffering from NAS, or Narcissistic Abuse Syndrome, and the crime here is that very few professionals out there are prepared to address it, as the research on this prevalent disorder is new, raw if you will.

I will have my day in court, we all will. There is no way around Judgement Day-we know this. I will pray for my sister and step son, and I will refuse to listen to those who don’t know the first thing about me-my painful journey, or the love I have in my heart for humanity.

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Jesus Christ, Superstar

Wow. I feel as if I just stepped off of the longest roller coaster ride of my life. I am drained, physically and emotionally. Feeling a bit woobly this morning, the rain like cats and dogs-I thought to myself, ‘it would be so much easier to sit here and skip church, it’s too yucky, and I’m just too exhausted.’

Preparing to write my previous blog, the words of the song-along with the Holy Spirit-sparked a fire within me that got me up and dressed for the service. After the heart breaking events of our week, Dwain needing it as much as me-I knew I needed my church family-and the ensuing morning would prove my discernment, as it was life affirming, soul filling and just plain mind-blowing. God works in the most baffling and thrilling way-if we are lucky, we will have more than a few moments alone with Jesus that tell you that, beyond a shadow of a doubt, He is with you. He is inside you. And worshipping Christ is your only way of getting to God, it’s just that simple.

We met with Dwain’s parents last evening to discuss our growing concerns about my stepson, Bud. After his vitriolic and frightening assassination of my character and heart-we have yet to hear from him, and his behavior is out of control. I spent a few days angry, really angry/broken. I didn’t eat, couldn’t sleep right, I shook-from head to toe. Ever waking thought was of his face, the veins bulging in his forehead, screaming his hatred and resentment of the woman who “ruined my father’s life.” Dwain also told me that Bud has a problem with “working to pay her SSI income,” and that my friends is what this blog is about. I knew nothing he was saying was true, but the NPD victim in me wondered. “Am I a joke to the entire family? Is it true they think me a “freak?”

By the time we met with my in-laws, I had developed a deep concern for my step son’s well being, the pain he was in-his heart crushed. I believe what happened was a Narcissistic rage brought on by my lack of interest in arguing over his current or ex girlfriend. And when I set my boundaries, telling him that he had a attitude, he realized then and there he couldn’t control me through emotional manipulation. And I became the scapegoat-once again.

While at Hosanna this morning, hearing the music flow over me, feeling the Holy Spirit fill me once again-I glanced toward the prayer closet. When it was clear that the room was free, I walked over to the two elders who ushered me inside. Two of the most amazing prayer warriors I have seen, wept with me as I broke down and asked for prayer for my husband’s broken heart, my stepson’s state of mind, and-finally, for protection for my family-the full and mighty armor of God.

I try not to become discouraged when someone close to me hasn’t the faintest clue about mental health-especially mine. The average person has absolutely no idea how hard we fight to get through a day, how much we hold in and end up taking it out on ourselves, via self harming, drug addiction, alcoholism. Joe Blow does not get it. At all. And it saddens me when I think that Bud hasn’t seen the transformation Jesus has performed in my life. Will I forever be the alcoholic and never get the credit for my sobriety and blessed beyond measure life? Does any of this really matter?

The answer is this: we are loved beyond measure by a merciful father in Heaven, who gave us His world, His one and only Son to cover our sins, so that we may live with him forever in the heavenlies, in paradise-no more pain of any kind. We have so very much to look forward to-it boggles the mind. If we are taken aback by the beauty we see on this planet now, can you IMAGINE what Heaven will be like?

In the meantime? We truly need to love one another with compassion, understanding and respect. Hold on to your beloveds, but lightly-for we are here for the purpose of doing God’s work, and our loved ones belong to Him, no matter how terribly hard it is in the letting go~

I Was Born Sick, And I Love It…….

I don’t even know where to begin.  How my heart breaks for the callousness and hypocrisy of the world we now live in.  There is a saying I am quite fond of, and that is this:

On the day of the Rapture, there will be more “Christians” left behind than any other group of people.

Yesterday, after a sermon about what God is all about, the pastor asked us to weigh in on our nondenominational church.  Feeling nauseous-every time that mic comes out I know in my heart that God wants my behind up there……..because if anyone was born sick, it was me, and I have some news-I have been healed on every level, and that I owe to the man upstairs.  The hits kept coming in my twenties, thirties and forties.  On my 50th birthday, my husband and I had a fight down in Inner Harbor.  I went into a fugue state and found myself wandering around Baltimore, kind of swept away with the crowd, if you will.  I was extremely depressed and anxious that year, and while knowing in my heart of hearts that Dwain loved me, this was no celebration.

Dwain wanted to check out Hooters, and who could blame him?  He had taken me to the Rusty Scupper for my birthday dinner the evening before, and spent a shit ton of money on me in Border’s, Black House White Market, Gucci and other stores.  Let the man have his yucks, I thought.  I had just spent $7 on a coffee at the hotel Starbucks, and as we walked into the restaurant, a Hooter with boobs bigger than my torso snapped,

“You can’t bring that coffee in here.”

I don’t know why, but this sent me into a full blown melt down.  By the time Dwain had realized I was mad about the coffee, not Hooters, I was gone.  He frantically searched the hotel parking lot, thinking I would have gone back to the truck.  When I finally found the five story lot, an attendant ran up to me:

“Are you Michele?  Your husband is worried sick.”

And then he appeared and hugged me harder than he ever had.  I thought you were lost to me, my God, what have I done to you?”

Dwain took it hard, and not a word was spoken the entire drive home.  After pulling into the driveway, he went to bed, it was 3:00 in the afternoon.  I told him it was okay, but you have to know my husband.  He was heartsick….a permanent condition that did not leave him for all of the years of our marriage.  Alcoholism.  Family issues.  Anorexia.  Drugs.  My incredible knack for ruining everything good and decent in my life.  I was a selfish mess with a chip on her shoulder, and before it got better-well, it got much, much worse.

God will take your life, turn it upside down, pour out all the unwanted misery and melodrama-he will strip you naked and build you back up to what you could have been had you not succumbed to what each and every person, Christian or  not, has fallen prey to: the sin that separates us from peace, love and self esteem.  You see, God is LOVE.  When you believe this with your entire heart and soul, you will see changes that will blow your mind.  And here’s the miracle:  tomorrow, my husband and I will be celebrating our 25th wedding anniversary.  And none of this would have been possible had I not learned to let go, and let God.

My Analyst Told Me……..

About a week ago, my brother sent me an email with the information for a local therapist. I had given up therapy (God and I had this) and frankly, he was concerned. If I am going to face upheaval and pain, I call my bro, as I can emote at whim and he will not judge me. He gives great advice, so I looked so forward to meeting Nancy. The appointment was made for this morning.

I haven’t eaten in two days. I shake, from my feet on up to my hands. I have crying bouts-I cannot sleep through the night, never a problem before. This isn’t good for my Lyme recovery-let’s face it, what happened Wednesday afternoon wouldn’t be good for anyone. I drove in the wrong direction for 30 minutes, so distracted was moi. Finally, after driving miles on slick, rain drenched country roads. And I drove aggressively, fearlessly-which isn’t really me.

I spoke of the “incident” with my stepson in my last blog. How he has walked around in a state of rage for three months now, first depression-now red hot anger. He went on a verbal tirade about how I was a “blood sucking leach,” that I was a “joke” to the entire family. I was in fear of him punching me, and when I tried to go back inside, he blocked my way.

So here I am at Nancy’s pad. I fill out the paperwork and wait. An attractive and cheerful woman greets me with a hug. We sit down and I commence to lose my shit, and cry like a child. She proceeds to ask me a myriad of questions, mainly about brain fog and forgetfulness. By the time she gets to what she thinks I have? My mind is moving one hundred miles in seventy different directions.

“Dissociative Identity Disorder,” she says in a hushed tone.

She gave me the reasons behind her thinking, admitted that it was too early to be sure, gave me a tissue and rescheduled. As I drove to the pharmacy on the way home, it hit me pretty hard. I broke down and called my brother from said pharmacy. I wept through my interaction with the cashier. They know me well. They were concerned.

I have a few questions for sure. I am not going to go head over heels into this without ensuring that she can help me with my PTSD and Narcissistic Abuse syndrome. The only time lapse I remember was two weeks ago, albeit a four hour lapse. I was reading my bible on the couch in the living room, the clock read 8:00 a.m. When I traipsed into the kitchen for a glass of water (I had just received a very upsetting email from my sister)and the stove read 12:30 p.m.

I would poo poo the whole thing if it weren’t for the dichotomy between my mellow self, and my ‘I will cut a bitch” self. But doesn’t everyone have another side to them? DID happens for a few reasons, but in my case she believes that I suffered such devastating trauma from emotional abuse in my childhood, that I created another persona if you will.

Emotionally and physically exhausted, I made an appointment with Nancy for next week. I won’t let this ruin my weekend, as God has the final say on what I am suffering from, and He alone has the cure. Be blessed family.

Policy of Truth

This is a story about authenticity. You can (and I did) go through life codependently, needing to be accepted-no matter the cost to your soul: or you can learn from your trauma, your grief and abuse-and live an honest, authentic and loving existence. I choose the latter, and now that my mood swings have evened out, I believe I can write about the challenges we face when indeed we do have a “policy of truth.”

Some of you have read my blogs and know that I was severely abused by members of my family. And just when I was at the point of feeling the freedom from codependence I realized that there were other narcissists in my life. Unfortunately, they are family-only on my husband’s side. I blame myself for some of it, as for years I let those close to me-including Dwain’s family- walk all over me, shame me, ignore me and spread flat out lies about my character, my life.

What occurred this afternoon will never, ever be forgotten. I am over the shock and gut wrenching pain, but my heart is grieved-and I feel deep betrayal on every level, surround me. I had addressed his attitude after Christmas, and while I didn’t receive an apology, he was cool around me later, copasetic. Yesterday, he came out to the farmette, and walked right by me without saying word one. I could not imgaine what in the WORLD I had done.

So Bud is on the farm again.

Let’s just talk things out I say, in a very reserved, yet friendly manner.

He immediately gives me the glare that narcs around the world are famous for… and blows me off. “You have an attitude,” I mumbled as he went towards his truck.

“Really? Really Michele? Do you want to go a round with me now?” He was in my face, and I began to cry as he uttered (more like in my face screamed-the following phrases, that brought me to my knees in psychic pain. Yes, I am sedated, but I need to write, to share my despair.

-YOU ARE NOTHING BUT A BLOOD SUCKING LEACH
-THE ENTIRE FAMILY THINKS YOU’RE A JOKE, A FREAK
-BACKSTABBING BITCH
-I RUINED THE LAST 25 YEARS OF HIS LIFE.
-LAZY BITCH
-WHY DON’T YOU RUN INSIDE AND TAKE A FEW MORE PILLS?
-THIS IS NOT YOUR HOUSE, YOU DIDN’T PUT A FUCKING PENNY INTO THIS HOUSE, SO DON’T CALL IT YOUR HOME, IT’S NOT YOURS.
-LOW LIFE BITCH
-THIS FAMILY HATES YOU

He was screaming these things in my face. I now know that I have been victimized by a family of narcissists, and I was visibly shaken, actually terrified by the time he had left. I had no idea what he was talking about, and I cried out, screamed “WHY ARE YOU SAYING THESE THINGS TO ME. THEY ARE LIES? WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT, PLEASE-please stop.” But he wouldn’t. He chased me up the stairs, and it was then I thought he would hurt me.

I was sick for two hours. In shock, I phoned a friend and she walked me through my panic attack, my crushing blow-I had worked for 20 years, full time. I usually had two jobs, actually. I have single handedly decorated, painted and restored this historical home. I have lush gardens. I volunteer. I am thrifty and extraordinarily forgiving. I never asked anything from him, and I tried to love him, but he rarely let me in. I could feel the hatred, the heat. I was losing my grip on reality, felt as if I would faint. I do the chores on the farm, take care of all of the animals, and ALL housework. I cook and clean to the point of exhaustion (OCD)because I am anxious. Nothing made sense.

And as I knelt and cried, a rumpled mess in the driveway, I realized that I have been right for 25 years. My in laws are hypocrites. They know nothing of mental illness. My maniac of a mother in law is a full blown psychopath. So, she started the campaign against me years ago. She has convinced her only grand son that I am a horrible, greedy, leeching, lazy loser who wants nothing but to ruin my husband, the absolute love of my life-our marriage is strong and loving, we won’t be going back to the days of disruption, jealousy or control. I suspected this for twenty years-and he is in so much pain, anguish the likes I don’t think he has seen since he lost the custody battle.

Dwain came to hold me as I broke down in the kitchen. I put my head in his chest and wept fresh tears-they continue into this morning. I am left in the dust…..and there is nowhere to go but to the God who knows my anguish; and there I will languish by the living waters, until my heart is mended once again.

The Girl You Want…………

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.

I have lost sisters near and dear to my heart-but the loss was temporary, as those were the women who treated me with disrespect, dishonesty-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.  She was also responsible for bringing a picture of me into school in the seventh grade, 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.

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 are in, root for you when you are up against it, speak to your husband when your sister pushes you over the edge and you grab that bottle of vodka………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.

Why, I can’t spare a square…….I adore my gal pals, each and every one of them.  And I will hang on for dear life-sorry ladies, you’ve been served.

Treat Her Better….

Why, I have broken myself! I am a tangled web of brain matter, only there are no brains involved! I have gathered so much information on the Illuminati, the Deep State, QAnon and the Russians, Narcissists, Narcopaths, the New Age- that I have spontaneously combusted into nothing.

It began last evening. It didn’t matter what my husband said, or didn’t say-I laughed at EVERYTHING. That’s what happens when you haven’t had sex in three weeks, and have set yourself on a course that no man with even a few brain cells would travel! No one believes me, so I think I’ll just enjoy this temporary madness and get on with my bad ass self.

Each morning, I traverse the news of the day, some horrific, some really horrific, and tweet myself into oblivion. Today, I skipped the hard politico stuff in favor of the video of a man pretending to fart his way through Walmart, and my, how refreshing!!!

Is any of this helping my fellow man? I think not, and even though I suffer from mush brain? I will pick up my cross and sing the song of my people.

Cumbia my Lord, Cumbia…….:)