She Killed it With Kisses…


My cup runneth over…it is well with my soul-even after the email I just received from a member of my family.   Are you SURE you don’t have BPD???????

Jesus Mighty, Mary and Joseph.  When will this end?  When do I get to stop apologizing for breathing?  For being a modest success and overcoming alcoholism and addiction to opioids?  I am no longer the black sheep, but I am sure as Hell the Scapegoat-and that shit is over, whether or not the narc “approves.”  My poor brother is worried.  He thinks my anorexia led to Borderline Personality Disorder.  Stop the madness, step off and WHAT THE HELL YOU TALKING ABOUT, WILLIS?

I know.  It’s a holiday weekend!  We must ensure she not enjoy it, maybe terrorize her with a new diagnoses?  Yeah, that sounds good.  Not that he knows what he’s doing, but I can tell him what he’s doing wrong, and that would be talking to our sister.  He is concerned about my anger during his last trip to my home, in which he stated, flat out:

“I don’t believe you.”  Courtney, you can wipe that demonic smirk off of your face.  Are you proud of the person you have become?  Are you right with Jesus?  Why have you deemed therapy a no-no?  Why did you call me two years ago and beg me not to go no contact?  Why did you admit to keeping the children from me?  Why did you admit keeping me from family vacations?  Why do you care?

I can answer every one of the questions, but rather than do that, I will stop reading emails, taking phone calls and feeling guilty because my kin is a psychopath.

I have earned this time of relative happiness.  My husband has been through enough.

Consider this your CEASE AND DESIST.

Your opinion doesn’t matter.

Nothing you say is true.

Deep down inside?  You are a coward of epic proportions.

Step off.

You have been served.



Into His Arms…


I have to start out by telling you I have consumed my happy juice and am a bit crosseyed at this time.  But praise Jesus, for he has given us every herb, plant and fruit bearing tree so that we will live healthy, peaceful lives.  Medicinal.  Used for my CPTSD, it can take me from despair to joy, and that my friends is worth its weight in gold.

I’ve been thinking about what is happening in this world, and obviously, it all but freaks me out.  After watching a video I shouldn’t have, I was overwhelmed-feeling as if the entire three ring circus was on my back.  First sad.  Then frantic.  Then Jesus.

I tell him, Jesus! I am clinging to your robes today, I need you badly!

These are the times when I run, full throttle, all engines on to God.  I picture myself running in to his amazing hug, and hear him say There, there child.

I can’t do this Jesus.

I know too much, why do I know so much and when did you make the decision to take a scaredy cat like this girl, and lead her in the direction of Doom.  Real news.  Investigative reporting.  I have felt the Holy Spirit driving me in this direction, and some days?  Down with the ship I go.

He never pushes, never demands.

I come to the realization that He alone is my Lord and Savior.  He will not leave me nor forsake me.  He is in control.  

I take a long hot shower.  I plug in my tiny white lights strategically placed all over my home, to give comfort.  Put some cinnamon on the stove.  And then He takes me back to who I was before I got clean.  I am profoundly grateful.

I fall into His arms.


I Cut You Off……..


I have NEVER heard of this band, but I can tell you this-I will be listening from now on.

When it comes to Narcissistic Personality Disorder, I know a few things, and what I know brings me to my knees. The echoes of earlier years, when she and I were close and loving. The survivor’s guilt I feel, which makes no sense as I didn’t get away unscathed-anorexia, bulimia, OCD, CPTSD, alcoholism, depression and crippling anxiety? Yet I worry about the fate of my sister, I wouldn’t be human if I didn’t.

This is what victims need to come to terms with: whether you lose a lover, a mother or a friend-you are losing the idea of who you thought they were.

And if you offer a hand to help them up and out of the muck and mire? Be prepared to see them walk away, because they don’t think they need help-they don’t think they have done anything wrong. Their brain is misfiring and they will think absolutely nothing of dragging you down with them, so FIGHT, FIGHT, FIGHT to ensure that you are physically, emotionally and spiritually prepared to go to war.

Then, once you have gone no contact? Enjoy the return of your creativity, self esteem and individuality.

No one can do this for you. Just remember: you are missing the ghost of the person you thought them to be.

The Zoot Suit Riot……..

So, I have been struggling with returning to the local ER, where I volunteer.  Sick since August, with the latest plague offered up at the hands of reckless, inconsiderate patients who A.  cough directly into your face, 2.  Kiss you on the MOUTH and c. get into your personal space without your permission.  I wrote to my boss about my lack of immune health (Lyme disease) and thought that would be the end of that.

I have been down and out since the first day I entered said hospital.  I don’t know what the illness is, as my physician, ((let’s call him Mr. Dippy Dopp)) tells me it is a virus.  I have no faith whatsoever in my doctor-I diagnosed my Lyme disease, after he ignored a swollen lymph node the size of an orange.  I kid you not, he didn’t even ask me to take my pants off, and my groin became bigger by the day.  He also gave me a flu shot the day I visited him, and I’m pretty damn sure you’re NOT SUPPOSED TO DO THAT!  If you aren’t senile, your first question is:  WHY IN THE HELL ARE YOU GOING TO HIM????????  I can answer that-no matter what physician I go to in this little country burg-well, I have to be my own advocate.  Dr.  Dippy Dopp let’s me do that.  He also prescribes my Suboxyne, and I am down from 8 mg. to I/2 mg.  I don’t want to start over, and when I am completely free of the drug that made it possible for me to stay out of prison, I will flee his office like my hair is on fire.

Anyhooser, I wrote to my boss-

So sorry to let you down again.”  Yada yada yada…….I thought if I told her I could only work Fridays, well, she would be put off and, well, case CLOSED. 

I had just read an article about the most dangerous job in the world, for women anyway.  You guessed it-ER Nurse.  Oh the humanity-needle sticks, violence, HIV………the list goes on.  Apparently, it is easier to be killed in an Emergency Room than walking the streets of Isis territory.  If that didn’t scare the life force out of me, nothing would.  Unfortunately, this was her response:

“I completely understand.  You are an asset to this hospital.   See you next Friday.”

I don’t know whether to be flattered or, as in most situations I face-hysterical.  I can tell you one thing:  have mace, will travel.  Oh, and I can’t forget the Zoot Suit…….

After Two Years of Writing, a Celebration


This missive contains updated information and a whole bunch of love!!!  After blogging for two years now, I have come to a place of  gratitude and acceptance.  Yes, I really am a writer, and this fact had to be hammered home a million times…before I would believe.  I have worked in virtually every field you can imagine: waitress, hostess, legal secretary, health food, private duty nursing, hospice, radio, advertising, and at my lowest point a janitor for a local beer distributor.  I am quite sure I’ve left a few vocations out, but my point here is:  I never understood why my employment always ended in hysteria and self degradation.  It is now my understanding that God did indeed want me to write; my only regret is that I didn’t listen sooner.

I want to introduce myself to my new subs, and also thank each and every one of you who took the chance and subscribed!  Here’s a few things about me that you may not know, and the categories I have listed pretty much describes the subject matter I write on, have experience with,  and blabber about from time to time.

My hero and therapy dog, Jesse Bocephus Hoffman.

I have struggled with a few things in this life, but God has always been with me, Jesus has never abandoned nor forsaken me.  I am not proud of so much of my drinking/drugging career-yet it has given me the compassion and understanding necessary to navigate this world untethered-by anyone or anything that tries to hold me back, namely being my family, but that’s another story for another day.

I love nature, gardening, animals, worship, and my husband-who made it possible for me to attain sobriety.  Those were frightening days, and there were times where homicidal ideation floated around in my mind…but suicide attempts were what manifested.

I suffer from depression, CPTSD, anxiety and Lyme.  I do not consider any of this a handicap, and neither should you.

Rejoice in this day the Lord has made!!!  Be glad in the perilous times, as the Holy Spirit is within, guiding you-after the storm His blessings are out of this world.

And jeepers creepers, gosh almighty…

Thank you, from the bottom of my heart.

close up of pink flowers
These are for you~

Blood. Red. Moon.


Man, I must move the litter boxes, which are situated under a settee in my dining room.  I sit in my living room to write, and no matter what time of day, which way the winds blow, or even if I have just finished putting fresh litter in the boxes-the Elkins nose is both a blessing and a curse-the stank finds me and today?  It makes me want to vomit profane.

I fell into a funk during a sinus infection.  With lightning speed my joy plummeted, and I was left looking for answers, once more.  The progression of a CPTSD trigger usually takes months-it was only a matter of days before I was sinking.  I hadn’t worked in the Emergency Room in weeks, wasn’t writing, didn’t feel well.  I succumbed to the lull of my lonesome demons, and day by day it became one big freaking festival of fear.  I had rather thought I’d put this behind me, as the grace and mercy God has shown me how to not fear, so why was I so anxious?  I was anxious because I had fallen into a pattern of avoidance.  My addictive personality is swayed towards habit and the need to find comfort in routine, repetition and familiarity.

I was praying last night.  I told Jesus that I wasn’t the girl for the job, not any longer.  I knew he would understand-I needed a break, I had burned out-the world was on my shoulders.  I hadn’t felt moved to go to the ER, but could not, for the life of me, figure out why.  I mean, I dreaded the idea of even pondering driving in the direction of the hospital.  Then it hit me, like a ton of golden bricks!  I wasn’t placing my faith in God.  The enemy had woven its smarmy way into my thought process, and convinced me that I had nothing to offer the world.

And finally, Jesus took over the conversation.  I felt the Holy Spirit move me to actually want to go back to the trenches, and I was gung ho last evening-even anticipating seeing my crew again.  I almost talked myself out of going in this morning.  I could go back to sleep, have a lazy day, take Jesse for a hike…as if I had no choice, I went through the motions of getting dressed, driving to work-my stomach felt a little flighty-I was feeling led by the Holy Spirit again, it seemed, so I took heed.

I immediately noticed the attempted suicide room was occupied; because of a past that includes an attempt at slitting my wrists, I am always drawn to those who know emotional pain, and have been so strong, against all odds, for so long that there begins a crack in the façade.  Some don’t crack, but those that do are crying out for help, and I have felt the burden of isolation in my own journey with mental health issues.

I went in as the psychiatrist walked out.

“Hey, girl,” I all but whispered.

She said nothing.  As I inched closer to the bed she held her arms out, and I held her as hard as I could, with as much love as I could possibly convey.  It didn’t take me long to see that one of her tatts was the Illuminati pyramid with the all seeing eye.  My heart sank.  After a few moments, I blurted it out:

“Hey, can I ask you what this is,” I traced my fingers up and down the area, as if my touch could burn it away, this evil, this epidemic of brain washing.

“You know, the Illuminati, money is all powerful, the most important thing.”

I sat at her side, she scooched over for me.  She began telling me, almost as if she were apologizing, about what drove her over the brink.  Her story ripped my heart from its chamber:

My brother was 14.  He was the first person killed in Lancaster this year.”

And then she sobbed, and told me the rest.  I left the room to clear my head, and instead, I heard His words, loud and clear.


I have worn two gold crosses around my neck for some time now.  I break chains often, and I buy crosses at thrift stores as I can’t afford the real deal.  My favorite?  An old, rugged cross-paid a buck, and treasured it until I gave it to a frightened autistic man, who sang me the Gospel in an angel’s falsetto.

I walked boldly into the room, and promptly got the necklace caught in my hair, so much for a tender moment.  I finally put the cross around her neck, and told her that God loved her.  As I left the room I heard her small voice:

I know.


Funk Soul Brother


I’d like to tell y’all about my day, but I’m not sure I want to relive the drama.  Suffice it to say, I did everything I possibly could to not end up in the fetal position.  The struggle to stay vertical is real, people-it’s real I tell you!

I don’t believe I have talked about this before, but I love you all enough to be straight out honest, as that’s why I write-to help others who may be in dire need of validation, to understand that they are not alone on their journey.  I have compassion for people of my ilk; who understand the life of the borderline challenged woman who must face absolute ridiculousness every day of her life-because she made a pact with God that she would take the insanity if He spared her other afflictions.

The many moods of the mad Irishwoman.

Oh, what I was going to tell you.  When I got my ass sober, all of my anxiety and depression caught up with me, and quickly.  I hadn’t learned any coping techniques aside from hiking, and even after cleaning the house from top to bottom?  I kept pushing myself because that nervous chatter in my noggin was becoming unmanageable.  So, I began picking at my skin.  Usually, almost always, it starts with a bug bite (I have an ongoing, year round holy war with fleas in my 200 year old farmhouse.  I am severely allergic to them, which I found out when I lived with a drug dealer who refused to treat his dog, let alone the house, for fear he may have to spend money on something besides crack.

It was the beginning of a bad habit that I am currently fighting like hell to quit.  The scars are awful, and I have been diagnosed with OCD.  I quit until my anxiety flares, when I am under severe stress?  All bets are off.  I am extremely embarrassed, and very few people in my life are aware.  I do the best I can to hide them, wearing long sleeved clothing.  I have had to wear long sleeves and pants because of the Lyme.  It was one hundred degrees in the shade today, so I braved it.  I take meticulous care of my wounds, and even after triple antibiotic I place calamine lotion on the bites, to prevent further itching.

SO, a few of the ladies in my Band Together class have commented on my “poison ivy,”  and in each instance I was mortified.  I don’t like that kind of attention,  but they teased me still…no big deal.  Today I could take no more, and wore a sleeveless top with capris.  My life, as of late, can be compared to a Hitchcock/Quentin Tarrentino flick, complete with twilight zone music backdrop.  I am anxious 99% of the time, and the other 1% I am sleeping.

I enter the class, holding my breath.

“OH MY GOD, GIRL!!!!,” my girlfriend Lori screeched.  “Is that your poison ivy?  Again?”

No she DIN’T…

I love this woman dearly.  There was no hint of malice in her question.  She is incapable of malice, so sweet is she.  I wanted to hurl, literally.  I get red as a beet when I am embarrassed, and today was no different.

I felt so defeated.

And then we began playing volley ball.  One woman was full on trying to break the church ceiling fan with the ball.  Delores, our fearless leader, put her foot down, there will be no more spiking of that ball! and the woman says YOU GUYS ARE A BUNCH OF PUSSIES to ladies who could be my grandmother, and spikes the ball again.  It goes straight for the porcelain light, and you hold your arms over your head, as if protecting yourself from an avalanche.

We finally took a one minute break and I sat next to Lori.  I took a deep breath, and took in her angelic face.

I tell her the whole truth about my skin and scars.

Thank you Jesus, for making big old badass chicks- with hearts as big as Texas.