Good Wednesday morning to you all. I was unable to attend church this week, and I was supposed to be working the Welcome Center. At this moment I am almost hysterical at the idea of being held hostage by a bad knee and a chip on my shoulder. I keep telling myself that others have it much worse (and they do) I think of the homeless in weather like this. I almost drove to the city with warm blankets for the plight, but quickly realized that the roads were like ice, and I was left in frustrated despair. I am left with decisions, so many, do I go to a Specialist? Shouldn’t I just trust God? I am not going to ask Why Me? because that is a ridiculous supposition, we all suffer in one way or another, right?
I want to rant and rave. I want to hide in the fetal position, as I am as afraid as I was as a little girl, terrorized by thunderstorms. As a sufferer from CPTSD, I do not do well with unanswered questions or the unknown. I loathe going to the doctor, deplore their inadequacies in diagnosing, well, anything. I trust that He will heal me, much more than I do the medical profession. God has never, ever let me down; big Pharma and human physicians have, on more than several occasions. .
I feel as if I stand outside the window, looking at the healthy and content, as if they have something I desire, something I need. They look oh so pleased on the outside, and maybe that’s the secret.
I’ll just fake it ’til I make it……I want someone to hold me and tell me it’s going to be okay. I want, oh how I desire, to be that ten year old child once more.
I had just watched this video the other day, in preparation for my blog. I am a bit slow on the uptake, and have been praying that God would take the scales from my eyes-He has, in so many ways. Yet I just couldn’t buy the notion that the Satanists, in an effort to be “pure” in the sight of Satan, were switching their genders to fool us.
Think Barbara Bush-you tell me, if that isn’t a man, well, and the daughter of Allister Crowley, the most evil man to walk this earth. What a combination! Of course, there are hundreds more, I just can’t come up with the names at this very moment.
Watch this video, and see if you see what I see. Then see the two videos below. The veil is thinning people, and it’s your choice to know, or stick your head in the sand.
I remember my sister and myself, attending a party years ago; my childhood friend Mark was dating a real hum dinger-no one particularly liked her, but she was honest, in a crippling kind of way. I overheard this observation:
Well, if it isn’t Twisted Sister and Little Bo Peep.
I knew I wasn’t meant to hear her, but I have bionic ears. My husband marvels at the fact that even when the television is playing at a deafening volume, I can hear a tiny field mouse in a bag of chips on the other side of the house; or the kitchen door alarm, dryer buzzer and what the neighbors are discussing at any given moment in time. I kid, of course-I don’t want to know what my in laws talk about, believe me.
Anyhooser, as I was saying, this girl Mark was dating had no clue who she was messing with. My catchphrase used to be-
Don’t F with a mother F-er.
and I had the reputation to boot! I have never taken kindly to the idiocy of some people, and quite frankly? I told people off with wild abandon. But there was a missing link, alas, I could not do the same with the people in my life that needed to be kicked in the ass; and then, later in life? The codependency. In essence, I pick my battles with great care-but I can be one scary bitch if I need to be.
Yes, I have an Irish temper, yet God has carefully redirected my rage via hiking, gardening and Kayaking. I grew up in King of Prussia, Pennsylvania-best known for the Court at King of Prussia. I lived there before the mall, when there was nothing but the Valley Forge shopping center. As I grew closer to graduating from high school, I knew from a place deep down inside me, that I would not stay. The mere thought of running into the cheerleaders who had turned their nose at me for years- in some run down 7-eleven, whilst buying a pack of Marlboro lights. I think you smell what I’m about to step in: I was a wild child.
I was a loner as well, still am, to this day. I could lose myself for hours in the woods-and back then, there was little danger of being kidnapped, bludgeoned or left for dead in the middle of a country road (that happened years later, when I was hit be a drunk on a Harley. I was the drunk on the road) Good times.
As a child, I questioned everything. My poor mother must have wanted to shove a sock in it, on more than one occasion. One day, I was about four (so the story goes) when I stormed into the kitchen and announced that I would one day be living on a farm, and nobody was going to change my mind. It gives me chills that I ended up doing just that.
A farmette, but a farm nonetheless. An outdoor cat colony (thirteen at present) and indoor cat colony of four, and a golden retriever. I live in Amish country, and haven’t returned to King of Prussia since my father passed away-no reason to. I remember sighing with relief, when we made frequent trips to see daddy, once we took our exit on the turnpike. Once you take the girl out of the city? It’s virtually impossible to get her back.
As I have grown in my faith I have learned, and on some level always known, that my peace and joy would come from the simplest of things: a snail shell found in a corn field, the ice formations on maple leaf, the snow fall on a Winter’s day, a spider’s web of antique lace. I recently wondered to myself if I would ever grow up, and the Holy Spirit led me to this bible passage:
How many are your works, Lord! In wisdom you made them all; the earth is full of your creatures. Psalm 104:24
Look at life through the eyes of a child-and there you will see His splendor and majesty.
I don’t know about you, but I am sick to death of gloom and doom, evil that cuts you off at your knees, leaves you shaken, breathless. The enemy is losing, in leaps and bounds, but the news, the mainstream? They want you frightened and feeling vulnerable, to be honest, at times I don’t know what to believe, but I do believe in QAnon, and let’s just say the concentration seems to be about the blood lines, the Illuminati and their puppets-satanic symbolism and transference runs RAMPANT in every mode of entertainment to be had, the news is enough to make me cry, and never, ever stop. But I need to stop investigating and start living. I know more than I should, and by that I mean I wish I knew nothing at all-but then I wouldn’t be me, and I have felt spiritually led through the entire process.
I had a good week, socially. Lunch with a friend two days in a row! I actually made my commitments over the last few days, and it feels so, so good. I also, after 40 years, began eating a small meal at lunch. I had a hard time pulling it off as of late, I was having dizzy spells and acid gut. Please………….I deserve it.
This cracked me up this morning. Enough so that I actually posted on social media! 🙂
Speaking of deserving……how in the harry do these people sleep at night? Do they hang upside down from trees, waiting for some unsuspecting dope to come along? Do they NOT KNOW where they are going at the end of the day? Seriously, what is their thought pattern? They are blatantly throwing it up in our faces, but know this: they are running scared. President Trump, with the aid of the United States military, has put a few of their Cabal buddies in GITMO. Do they not see a common thread? What did they THINK would happen when Trump began to wage a war, drain the swamp, look at evil so bleak that a group of NYC policemen vomited and wept when looking at evidence. I hear they are all still receiving therapy.
So, karma is real, man. I wouldn’t want to be a thug/pedophile/Satanist right now, because the tables are turning. I am heartbroken and angry, but life is for the living and I have a heavenly father who wants me to thrive, to be genuinely content and at times, euphoric. I try to have a sense of humor about these happenings, and I find great fun to be had looking into the Q Memes.
The only, yet most important thing we can do right now is pray. Pray like your lives depend upon it, He is listening, this I know. Instant Karma’s gonna get you Bitches, it’s going to knock you right. in. the. face.
My knee injury has placed me at the mercy of technology. That answers one of my questions-why am I so depressed as of late? Believe me, I had it going on two weeks ago after my pc took a nose dive into the abyss. I stopped using my laptop, which was replaced by my phone, which wasn’t working at the time. The unabashed joy I felt at living my life without that monkey on my back! Only now do I realize that Abba had given me a break from reality, now it’s back to business-as usual.
I have learned, over the years, that very few people can be trusted with your feelings. Mired in codependency, I sought love and affection from the very people who despised me. I was surrounded by assholes; knee deep in self deprecation; my own worst enemy. People that speak about Narcissism as if they played no part in the sick exchange of feeding each other’s pathologies are fooling themselves. I was a needy mess, perfect supply for the raging thief that is the narcissist.
I want to be loved for who I am.
Jezebel seeks to devour her supplier, heart, mind and soul.
So, you see, I don’t trust women. My preference? Gay men. Before you judge me, let me plead my case. It’s not the shopping, it’s not the gossiping (I deplore gossip, I used to thrive on it) and it’s not that I wouldn’t befriend a woman with the same great qualities. There is something so broken within my gay male friends-there is often a friendship at first sight-a common knowing of the pits of despair.
Only recently have I befriended women who genuinely care for the authentic me-and finding myself worthy of affection is a big leap of faith, praise and glory going to God, who recently taught me a thing or two about truly living life out loud. When you are coming out of a narcissistic relationship (and I am, again) you have to really work hard at finding yourself, even loving yourself again. The endless mind games, fight picking and putdowns do something to one’s psyche.
Hear me loud and clear: God wants you to be joyful and at peace. The narcissist is consumed with the Jezebel spirit, demonic energy, for sure. What does the Bible say about the Jezebel Spirit? That she devours her prey-she has no soul and looks for victims who she greatly admires, then grows to detest: full of a jealousy and rage, yet desperately trying to appear as benign or charming as possible.
My current narc’s mask slipped, and I mean BIG TIME. Jesus woke me up, and whispered in my ear the definition of insanity:
Repeatedly doing the same thing and expecting different results.
She will not “snap out” of it. She is desperately ill. She is a psychopath.
When your inner voice is whispering “something is desperately wrong,” take heed. Ask Abba to show you what doesn’t make sense-and for crying out loud-please don’t go back for more once you realize what you’re dealing with!
It takes weeks, months and sometimes years to heal after a toxic relationship with the narc. Your self esteem and everything you know about yourself will cease to exist and the narrative of Jezebel will haunt your thoughts.
Cry out to God-there you will find the way back home.
I heard this song for the first time yesterday, and considering I had my headphones on, playing another music video-and this song was playing in the kitchen? Well, it shook me right out of my doldrums and I think that was God’s point. Why does a chick, who had it all going on, get the doldrums you ask? (insert wink here) Let me introduce you to my other, oh so not better half: the girl who cried wolf had become the wolf who cried Girl, get your act together! Get your shit together I say!!!
Yesterday, my husband accompanied me on my shed hunting trek, across some pretty iffy terrain. The ground, frozen in some places, gives way at the most inopportune times, the cut cornstalks-treacherous. And I don’t have to tell you about the million and one things that can trip up a girl who is already convinced she will need a knee replacement by, oh, some time next week. I don’t like to complain, but complain I must-you think my husband wants to hear it? That would be a big 10/4 on the N. O., good buddy.
As the sun rose, so did my keen sense of doom. I had my man, my dog-I can go places I most certainly would not when Dwain is with me-I mean, what could possibly go wrong?
I need to interject with a little ditty I like to call ignoring your instincts, which I do often, and with great abandon. Dwain was hunting about 400 yards from me, and he didn’t immediately see me go down. The poor man is used to his wife falling, after a faceplant into the cement two weeks ago, the ensuing trip to the ER, (the very same ER I had left midshift, leaving them speechless-hey, I have a zero tolerance policy for B.S. of any kind, they had it coming) and two weeks of a concussion that left me nauseous and, for some reason, riddled with Tourette’s.
“Son of a *^%@^&*!!!!,” I screamed. Oh my word, was my Tourette’s returning?
I heard the pop the minute I fell. I had caught my foot on a vine, and as used to falling as I have become, did the drop and roll so as not to break my face, again. Dwain tried to tell me the “pop” was my plastic bottle of Perrier-but I knew better. Upon standing I was quite relieved; pain vanished almost instantaneously.
Later in the day, I was washing dishes when my knee gave out, completely. The swelling intensified until I was alternating heat and ice, every twenty minutes. Upon awakening this morning, I knew we wouldn’t be going to church-as I gingerly slipped out of the bed, I put a little too much pressure on said knee. It wasn’t until I grabbed my father’s antique cane that I could hobble along, but what about the stairs? Our only bathroom is upstairs, and that trek makes me weak in the knees, just thinking about my bladder.
And so it was that I whipped up a list for those of us who, despite the ridiculous danger (hey, I’m not talking alligators, but rocky terrain) and inevitable heartache when you find not one freaking deer dropped his antler within a thirty mile radius of your search.
HOW TO BECOME A SHED HUNTING LEGEND
Abandon all reason, logic and everything your mother taught you.
Ideally, choose terrain that NO DEER has travelled, in the history of the known world.
Keep in mind that the more treacherous, or impossible the terrain, that is where you need to go. You are more likely to find one on a hiking trail, but that’s okay. See step number 1.
Scream like a banshee for your dog-you will find him right next to you, with a stunned and awkward look on his face.
Become hopelessly entangled in a briar bush. Curse out loud at the highest volume you are physically capable of, scare all living things, near and far.
Emerge from the brush like Bloody Mary. The briars won, get over it.
Pose as a piece of petrified wood as twenty somethings jog on by.
Make sure to wear visible clothing, i.e. a pair of neon lavender longjohns-so when you fall over whilst peeing, the commoners will see your clothing, not your bare naked ass.
Swear on everything holy and good in your life that you will never, ever do this again, if God will please just get you to dry land.
Okay, I have a million different things on my mind, it’s my 26th wedding anniversary, and I forgot my husband’s card. I have eleventy hundred boxes of cards-as a matter of fact? I collect them. I. heart. cards. Big time. I guess I could use one of those, but hey-it’s not the same. Somehow, spending twenty bucks on a card makes it mean more, and Hallmark? You have enough of my money, thank you.
Dwain and I have moved mountains since we met, or should I say God has moved mountains for us. Financial instability, cancer, anorexia, a motorcycle accident, the almost-divorce, alcoholism and drug addiction, the death of my parents-issues that would normally drive a couple apart, only served to bring us closer.
I wanted to find a way, if underwhelming, to put those years into a blog. But there aren’t enough hours in the day-I have so many memories, which will turn into stories, perhaps, one day. So, here’s the Reader’s Digest version, ’cause it’s our day and my man is kicking me in my kidneys.
I was engaged to a decent man. Or so I thought. We brought out the worst in one another. He became abusive on our honeymoon. He knew I was in love with another man, and despite my pleas, we were married on June 9, 1990. Allowing myself to be coerced, I made the worst mistake of my life. I had cervical cancer at the time. The stress was overwhelming. I sent Dwain a card from my honeymoon.
The marriage lasted one week.
I moved in with Dwain not long after.
It was wild, all consuming, raw and passionate love. We couldn’t keep our hands off one another, it was a sickness-a curse. When he left the room, I ached. When he came back? I swooned. We are still as passionate and crazy in love.
God protected us from murdering one another over the years. Alcoholism. Drug Addiction. Anorexia. A shit ton of mental health issues, denied grief and a violent temper-all on my part. We never laid a hand on one another. We have never cheated on one another. Although, I deliberately tried to run him over when I caught him driving his secretary back from lunch one Spring afternoon, years ago.
We were poor. Dirt poor. His first wife took everything but his soul. I was a violent, malicious drunk-and the tears flow every time I think of how I must have wounded him. There was emotional abuse on both sides. Cops. Court orders. And, finally? Jesus.
He is the song I sing. He will always have me, heart and soul.