I Want to go to Mars

Yes, I am well aware of the fact that I used this song in a previous blog this week. I am so enamored of this woman, and it appears as if she wrote the words for all of us, and none of us at the very same time. What I do know is that she knows the pain of betrayal, and possibly the pain of rejection, loneliness and addiction.

So, this is part two of my testimony. There will be an ending, as with all things-but I haven’t written it yet as my life has just begun to unfold. When you accept Christ, you die to this world. I wish I knew that as a child, banished to the kingdom of naught. It is more than enough that I know this now.

I write this blog in order to come alongside my brothers and sisters, the words written by the Holy Spirit and all glory going to God-my writing has taken on a life of its own-I am just the vessel in which He uses to communicate His message of hope and goodwill to all of His children.

“People” have never, ever understood me. Until I read Ezekiel I had no clue that the reason I didn’t fit in was because I was literally not a part of the game called life-I had no interest in popularity, no interest in money, not one iota of interest in what others find interesting. And although there have been times of extreme emotional pain? Each day in bed, each bout of depression and each earth shattering scenario has made me the person I am today-and I like her. I like her very much.

As a matter of fact? It wasn’t until very recently, and due to my salvation that I realized that God doesn’t make junk. My mother had some mental health issues related to her own upbringing. As a young child, I recognized the importance of pleasing her-and I did everything humanly possible to make her realize my profound love for her. I cleaned the house and took care of her Saturday hangovers. Oh, the joy I felt when she called me her little angel! That all changed when I reached the age of 11 and wanted my own friends, my own life.

“Only whores play street hockey,” she said to me one morning as I was placing her Tylenol and coffee on the side of the bed.

I didn’t understand. My heart crumbled into a million pieces and I had to do a double take-this wasn’t the mother I knew and why in the world would she call me a whore? The answers lay in her own insecurities, her need for control and her Borderline Personality Disorder-not officially diagnosed, but I know it wasn’t Narcissism because later in her life she changed, dramatically, and I knew we were loved.

My relationship with her in my formative years was indescribable. I remember picking her Tiger Lillys, telling her I loved her, begging her to love me-but as I grew her resentment of me took on a life of its own. She verbally abused me on a daily basis, then wondered aloud why I had no self esteem. This is when the shameful voices began, so ingrained that I distinctly remember the day that they stopped.

It was a few years after I got sober. I sat down at my computer early one morning, and instinctively knew that something had changed. But what? I called out to Jesus and asked Him, what is happening, am I losing my mind?

No. I was regaining perspective. Gone were the taunting, cruel and unusual whispers of persecution.

You’re a piece of shit. You can’t do anything right. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Lose some weight you pig, why can’t you touch anything without it turning to crap? Nobody loves you, why would they? You don’t deserve love, no whore does.

It was constant and I drank to get rid of the ghosts. I drank to feel something but less than, to quiet the rage and the thoughts that led me to weeks in bed at a time-depression so severe I often thought of offing myself-I just didn’t have the courage.

A few years ago I went to a doctor’s appointment-a specialist. I had been measured at 4’11” my entire life. When the nurse called out 5’1″ I thought she was talking to someone other than myself.

“Umm, can you take that again? I hardly think I’ve grown two inches in the past year,” I laughed.

She did take it again and with the same result.

It finally hit me like a ton of bricks. The shame, self loathing and mocking voices had kept me hunched over. As I grew in my recovery and healing, I stood straight for the first time in 50 years. My self loathing had been so horrific that I had literally crippled myself.

In tomorrow’s blog I will address my rebirth as a born again and how Jesus took me by the hand and taught me the greatest lesson I have learned.

Keep hope alive, dear ones. God is real and true and loyal and He wants you to know that above the din and darkness of this world? There is nothing but love awaiting you.

The Hurdy Gurdy Man

A little birdy told me that this song was written about MK Ultra. Thanks LP.

I have had it. Literally as done as done could be. Triggered by the information coming at me from every angle-but now is not the time to look away. Now is the time to fight evil, with every ounce of my being I deplore these vipers. I want justice and if my discernment is worth a hill of beans? I know it will be delivered by an extremely angry God.

I have nothing left to give, not even to my beloved fur babies. I have reached my quota of ignorant, selfish and deceitful people. Chances are? If you come at me with mocking, hatred or even stupidity?

I will END you.

The truth is reaching critical levels. The repugnant MSM is causing hysteria, the kind that you’d expect at the end of tribulation-not to be confused with the panic one sees in empty toilet paper and hand sanitizer aisles. That’s right-we have no bread on our shelves and they are charging $24 for a regular bag of cat food. The walking Zombies of the Apocalypse of me-me-me are out and about, wearing masks, thinking only of themselves. Wait until they learn the truth.

Awhile back, while on the 8kun channel, I saw a post by Q intimating that 99% of the world would be hospitalized if they knew the truth: only now do I believe it. These people are sick, and they want a way out of taking any responsibility nor ridicule for their crimes against humanity.Who am I kidding, right? I believe that anger is fear unleashed, and while God has taken the spirit of fear away, my anxiety is through the roof. Do you know what it’s like to be this angry, this wounded? I pray not.

You see, my heart bleeds daily-for the underdog, the abused, the bullied. For some time I thought it a sin to be angry or even miffed; I allowed people to perceive my kindness as weakness and I pushed it down, you know-love your enemies.

Spiritual warfare calls for intensity, and pushing down rage is akin to pushing down grief-it will come back up and kill you in the process. Nope, not this girl. I can finally take comfort in the notion that my enemies will be given the full wrath of God. I can no longer afford the pity-or the idiot compassion.

I wrote the following blog last evening, but the “powers that be” shut down my computer, and I didn’t have the strength to fight back.

Now, all bets are off. Just three years ago my life lay in ruins. No family. No friends. I had just relapsed, over the gaslighting dished out by the most evil woman I know. Yet miraculously, I had Jesus and it is because of my beloved Lord and Savior that I survived that period in time. What doesn’t kill you does indeed make you stronger-mess with me and you’ll get burned and badly at that. Fair warning.

The upcoming days will be revealing, revolting and yes, retribution is at hand. To those of you who wish to do harm or delight in the terror and chaos they knowingly create? I have news: the end won’t be for everyone.

Jesus is Coming, Jesus is COMING!”, I found myself screaming at the stranger beside me at the gas pumps at Walmart. He nodded his head, smiled and ran like Pistorius towards the market. I jumped in my jeep.

WHAT. THE. FUCK. JUST. HAPPENED?, read the thought cloud above me.

Don’t get me wrong, it’s not like I cared what he thought. As a matter of fact, for a moment I resented him for not throwing caution to the wind and raising his hands to the heavens. But that’s just me.

Earlier in the morning I had called Lynn, my closest friend, to tell her the exact same thing. As soon as she picked up the phone I yelled my delight: I am full to the brim, overflowing with joy. I feel it, I know it. He’s coming. He’s so close, I’m so happy…..

You get the drift.

I want to be comforting, but I want to be honest. You deserve nothing but the truth after the decades of lies, lawlessness and brainwashing at the hands of the people you trusted. They were playing a game, all the while amassing vast wealth and, tragically, the blood of our children.

Waking up was the most painful experience of my life and I did it alone, but I did it with Jesus. It became so harrowing at one point that I asked for mercy, as if I even broached the subject with anyone? I was silenced, rejected or treated as if I was mentally ill.

It was the fucking pits.

Tomorrow’s blog will be what I wanted today’s to be-one of hope and comfort.

Dark to a light so bright it’ll knock your mother loving socks off.

Love Is Wild……

What is love, really? And how do you know if you’re on the right track, if you are loving someone enough, or …in a way that tells them they are loved?

Love is patient.
Love is kind.
Love does not anger,
nor does it boast.

This is what we find in our bibles, and make no mistake-God meant what he said, but how many of us can rise to that place? For me? Love is compassion. Love is validation. Love may take it up a notch or two-as lovers are passionate, and the frenzy can make us crazy. My husband and I still rant and rave, but at the end of the day? Love, somehow prevails. I remember not so long ago the days of begging him to love me, and now the tables have turned-love doesn’t hold anything over your head, and if you wax and wane poetic, but have no understanding or compassion, what does it amount to? Dust. Dust in the wind.

True love allows the other person breathing space. It listens, nods its’ head in sorrow, puts you in the shoes of the lovee.

Don’t you speak over my words. My reality is hard won, and I won’t trade my newfound jewels for stones-not today, not ever~

I Want to go to Mars

Yes, I am well aware of the fact that I used this song in a previous blog this week. I am so enamored of this woman, and it appears as if she wrote the words for all of us, and none of us at the very same time. What I do know is that she knows the pain of betrayal, and possibly the pain of rejection, loneliness and addiction.

So, this is part two of my testimony. There will be an ending, as with all things-but I haven’t written it yet as my life has just begun to unfold. When you accept Christ, you die to this world. I wish I knew that as a child, banished to the kingdom of naught. It is more than enough that I know this now.

I write this blog in order to come alongside my brothers and sisters, the words written by the Holy Spirit and all glory going to God-my writing has taken on a life of its own-I am just the vessel in which He uses to communicate His message of hope and goodwill to all of His children.

“People” have never, ever understood me. Until I read Ezekiel I had no clue that the reason I didn’t fit in was because I was literally not a part of the game called life-I had no interest in popularity, no interest in money, not one iota of interest in what others find interesting. And although there have been times of extreme emotional pain? Each day in bed, each bout of depression and each earth shattering scenario has made me the person I am today-and I like her. I like her very much.

As a matter of fact? It wasn’t until very recently, and due to my salvation that I realized that God doesn’t make junk. My mother had some mental health issues related to her own upbringing. As a young child, I recognized the importance of pleasing her-and I did everything humanly possible to make her realize my profound love for her. I cleaned the house and took care of her Saturday hangovers. Oh, the joy I felt when she called me her little angel! That all changed when I reached the age of 11 and wanted my own friends, my own life.

“Only whores play street hockey,” she said to me one morning as I was placing her Tylenol and coffee on the side of the bed.

I didn’t understand. My heart crumbled into a million pieces and I had to do a double take-this wasn’t the mother I knew and why in the world would she call me a whore? The answers lay in her own insecurities, her need for control and her Borderline Personality Disorder-not officially diagnosed, but I know it wasn’t Narcissism because later in her life she changed, dramatically, and I knew we were loved.

My relationship with her in my formative years was indescribable. I remember picking her Tiger Lillys, telling her I loved her, begging her to love me-but as I grew her resentment of me took on a life of its own. She verbally abused me on a daily basis, then wondered aloud why I had no self esteem. This is when the shameful voices began, so ingrained that I distinctly remember the day that they stopped.

It was a few years after I got sober. I sat down at my computer early one morning, and instinctively knew that something had changed. But what? I called out to Jesus and asked Him, what is happening, am I losing my mind?

No. I was regaining perspective. Gone were the taunting, cruel and unusual whispers of persecution.

You’re a piece of shit. You can’t do anything right. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Lose some weight you pig, why can’t you touch anything without it turning to crap? Nobody loves you, why would they? You don’t deserve love, no whore does.

It was constant and I drank to get rid of the ghosts. I drank to feel something but less than, to quiet the rage and the thoughts that led me to weeks in bed at a time-depression so severe I often thought of offing myself-I just didn’t have the courage.

A few years ago I went to a doctor’s appointment-a specialist. I had been measured at 4’11” my entire life. When the nurse called out 5’1″ I thought she was talking to someone other than myself.

“Umm, can you take that again? I hardly think I’ve grown two inches in the past year,” I laughed.

She did take it again and with the same result.

It finally hit me like a ton of bricks. The shame, self loathing and mocking voices had kept me hunched over. As I grew in my recovery and healing, I stood straight for the first time in 50 years. My self loathing had been so horrific that I had literally crippled myself.

In tomorrow’s blog I will address my rebirth as a born again and how Jesus took me by the hand and taught me the greatest lesson I have learned.

Keep hope alive, dear ones. God is real and true and loyal and He wants you to know that above the din and darkness of this world? There is nothing but love awaiting you.

Wonderwall

Well folks, we’ve made it to Easter yet still we are picking our noses and wondering what will come of us. People in the grocery stores are fist fighting over toilet paper. If you’re not wearing a mask it’s grounds for outright paranoia, yet still the general public is concentrating on COVID19. And that is how the Deep State Cabal wants it to be.

The World Health Organization, the United Nations and Bill Gates have surpassed the MSM in unlikability-their numbers are off, their predictions ridiculous-and then there’s Biff’s vaccinations. Enough to make you batshit crazy and then some.

I want to live in a civilized society, yet I don’t trust the rules. I am what you would call a rebel and have never, ever liked being told what to do. The way I figure it? If I’m minding my own business and not hurting anyone in the process? Fuck. You.

A few weeks ago I was hiking in our nearby state game lands. I know all of the conservation officers as I hike there daily. I also volunteer on the 2,000 acre property, and drive a 30 year old Jeep Wrangler-let’s just say I am well known: most of them call me the Hippy Chic because they read my blog. Just prefacing the story I am about to tell you.

Three years ago I was walking amongst the dense forestry surrounding the lake. It was Summer and the views and fauna were breathtaking. As I passed a thick Holly tree, I heard the leaves rustle. I chalked it up to my angels, but then I felt the hairs go up on the back of my neck. I was walking a long log, placed over the muckiest, grossest swamp you’ve ever seen. I had done this many times, but I still took my time as the last thing I wanted was to face plant in the disgusting muck and mire.

Suddenly I felt the hairs go up on the back of my neck. I turned to see a half naked man, carrying what I thought to be a crossbow. I don’t have to be hit over the head to know when I am being stalked. I gestured to my golden and we ran; to this day I think it a miracle I didn’t fall off of the log. As I neared the boat launch I saw my angels-in the form of conservation officers doing trail checks.

Annual trail checks.

Long story short, he was caught. As I left the parking lot, my PTSD in full swing, I see the red haired man. I pulled up behind him, and mind you I didn’t know he had been caught at the time. Jesus nudged me to get the license plate, and on a straightaway-doing 90 mph-I followed him to a stop sign and retrieved his numbers.

I didn’t say the officers were smart, but they made up for it with their compassion. Hell, they made up for it by saving my life.

They caught him masturbating but allowed him to throw out the evidence. They let him go with a warning, completely forgetting to run his plates. He was never charged, but officer Graham made sure he knew they were watching him. That episode cost me months of therapy, oodles of outbursts and my husband’s last nerve. But hey, praise God for the divine intervention!

Anyway, so back to my story. My dog and I walked, blissfully unaware of the deer hunters that surrounded us. I looked up to see Officer Graham driving towards me. I didn’t much care for the look on his face.

“Michele, now you know darn well you aren’t allowed to walk here during hunting season. What in the HELL are you doing?,” he barked.

I tried to charm him, but let’s face it-I was wearing three layers of clothing and I’m pretty sure there was snot coming from my nose. My hiking outfits are other worldly, to be kind. I once had a friend refuse to walk with me if I wore “those neon purple tights.”

I plead not guilty, but Graham knew better. Like I said, they know me.

I don’t wear a mask because I know the truth. COVID19 is a parasite. The “powers that be” wanted this to be a mass depopulation exercise. China (always ready to help out, those guys) most certainly did aid and abet the deep state in not only patenting the virus? There was foul play involved, but the Trump administration turned it right back on them.

The above video is a special treat for you to share with your friends and family. Even though I am estranged by my family for telling the truth? I emailed this to my brother. This documentary was released yesterday and it’s the best breakdown of Hellywood I have seen. Liz Crokin is a former Mockingbird Media reporter -she has reported for Entertainment Tonight in the past. Years ago they put a hit on her and she went into hiding. Now she works for us, and yes she is a part of the Great Awakening.

We will pull through this, I have no doubt. Don’t feed into the negativity around you-they feed off of our fear. And don’t forget-this is the end of [them], not us.

RAW

Those who attack you.

Those who mock you.

Those who cull you.

Those who control you.

Those who label you.

Do they represent you?

Or, do they represent themselves (in some form)?

Mental Enslavement.

The Great Awakening (‘Freedom of Thought’), was designed and created not only as a backchannel to the public (away from the longstanding ‘mind’ control of the corrupt & heavily biased media) to endure future events through transparency and regeneration of individual thought (breaking the chains of ‘group-think’), but, more importantly, aid in the construction of a vehicle (a ‘ship’) that provides the scattered (‘free thinkers’) with a ‘starter’ new social-networking platform which allows for freedom of thought, expression, and patriotism or national pride (the feeling of love, devotion and sense of attachment to a homeland and alliance with other citizens who share the same sentiment).

When ‘non-dogmatic’ information becomes FREE & TRANSPARENT it becomes a threat to those who attempt to control the narrative and/or the stable.

When you are awake, you stand on the outside of the stable (‘group-think’ collective), and have ‘free thought’.

“Free thought” is a philosophical viewpoint which holds that positions regarding truth should be formed on the basis of logic, reason, and empiricism, rather than authority, tradition, revelation, or dogma.

When you are awake, you are able to clearly see.

The choice is yours, and yours alone.

Trust and put faith in yourself.

You are not alone and you are not in the minority.

Difficult truths will soon see the light of day.

WWG1WGA!!!

Q

I was up all night, but sleeping all the same. I have a recurrent dream: I am driving from one end of the country to the other, in several feet of snow-I get lost, I am frightened-I can’t make it to the person on the other side. The person who needs me is there, they are counting on me, I can’t fathom letting them down. Last night, the nightmare du jour was the children laying at the bottom of Gloria Vanderbilt’s pool at Biltmore Estate.

https://images.app.goo.gl/bMYf1RFevUbXvreX6

My mission? To save the babies. I was not successful.

This is how anons around the globe are feeling right as we speak. We have been prepared, normies have not. I walk from room to room, asleep yet awake-fumbling for my weed I hit the wall. I go down on my knees, I break before Jesus. My golden retriever comes to my side. Funny, I know I wasn’t making any noise-he is an incredible comfort.

Today the force of what is truly happening around the globe hit me full in the face. My PTSD triggered by an insensitive asshat, I don’t want to be making it worse. Try as I might I just can’t leave it alone. I want to make myself suffer, because they are suffering. For the first time in a very long time I self harm.

NO! NO! NO!

I will not allow the ignorance of others banish me to the kingdom of Naught. I have spoken nothing but the truth since word go-the mocking and hurtful behavior will not bring me down. Not this time, because God needs me to be present, fully aware of my surroundings. There is work to be done as the hands and feet of God-once we overcome the shock and despair? That is when you’ll see change, that is when you’ll see miracles. Pray for the medical professionals on the front lines.

If you need help, please reach out-I will try to have the information and phone numbers in tomorrow’s blog. There is no shame in grief, no shame in a broken heart. We are with you.

I hereby declare a bloody war on the next person who tries to fuck with one of His children. I will cut a bitch.

If I have to, that is.

This Shit Ends Today

I don’t like writing on this subject as I don’t relish speaking ill of my narc, and this despite what she has told innumerous people-I can only imagine the horror. I learned long ago not to engage in any attempts at honesty with the flying monkeys that hover about-they don’t want the truth-it doesn’t fit the family dynamic.

I mean, you’re the loser, right? You’re the one who belongs in a psychiatric ward because they have to tell people that you’re bat shit crazy in order to render you a mental case, not to be believed. That is what a covert narcissist is-these are the unstable geniuses who specialize in manipulating even the feistiest of souls.

I would like to address the stalking issue with my narc. I see you, following-then unfollowing. I want you to know that I do not spend one millisecond thinking about you-lurking will only bring you heartache, as the only way to help other victims is to speak on the matter.

And, speaking on the matter I leave you with this.

Ten Days of Darkness

Oh my dear Snarky McAllister-how will I make it through the day without your wit?

Well, the Zombie Apocalypse is here folks. It will never be what [they] wanted-to create deadly bio-warfare via Covid19-but Trump turned it around on them, and the rats are running, every which way.

I wish I could tell you differently, as I have been in denial for days-hoping against hope that Ten Days of Darkness meant anything but the internet shutting down for ten days. Vincent Kennedy confirmed my worst fears today-and now I am relaying the news.

Once I get over the shock, I start thinking about the amazing opportunity we now have to get back to God, back to the things that matter. I can actually read a book, get into my gardening-even get closer to the man of my dreams. The possibilities are endless, and I need a serious break from the grim reality that is my research.

I have realized that my job here is not to awaken you; that realization came after seeing an anon speak on the matter. Those of us who know, who have known? We were chosen for a reason. We can handle the truth, but the fact is that we will be looking at hundreds of thousands of psychiatric and medical emergencies due to the nature of the news. When Trump speaks about all of the hospitals being built, the medical equipment coming in-he is speaking the truth. Throughout the country thousands of trained professionals will be facing unprecedented panic: they will need us when this is over.

There will be survivors of SRA and satanic cults-not to mention the children we have rescued from the deep underground military bunkers-many of them found in cages. This is it-and we as a nation have a choice in the matter. We can sulk and hide, throw the blankets over our heads? Or we can pray for all of the addicts, victims and children who will be facing a deprogramming from MK Ultra.

We can be the hands and feet of our spectacular Lord and Savior. We will live to see the glory of the risen Christ-at least that is my fervent prayer.

So, I was thinking about the word Glory. And as it so often happens to a Hippy Chic like myself-it reminded me of some pretty awesome music.

See you on the other side. 🙂

Rising he justified, freely forever-one day He’s coming. Oh Glorious Day.
Drinking and drugging won’t help. You are needed, please stay straight. 🙂

The Pill Mill……….

When I was younger, I was appalled at how many pills my mother took.  She was extremely ill, emphysema, cancer, osteoporosis.  She died at 59, after the doctors mistook an ovarian cyst to be scar tissue.  I wish I had known then what I now know.  Mary Lou had every symptom of Ovarian cancer, the extreme bloating, constipation, pain and upset stomach.  When the doctor came in to the waiting room, I had to be held back by my siblings-the jerk never listened to her, I was there when he did an exam after her complaining: he felt her stomach and abdomen-she was fully clothed, why bother right? I was there when he told her she was “fine, absolutely fine.”

What shocked me, after her death, was the bottles and bottles of Ativan-she took 4 a day, and I thought that to be too much, too addicting, too sedating.  Now?  I take Ativan daily.  As a prn.  Ironically, the first time I ever took one was the day of her funeral.  Surrounded by friends, I fell asleep on the couch-and didn’t wake up until the following morning.  What addict is going to turn that away?  It was easier to let the melodic pull of oblivion take me away, to dreamless sleep and few cares, if any.

Today I take 200 mg. of Zoloft, 2 mg. Suboxyne for opiate addiction (down from 8 mg. and let me tell you, it was rough, really rough to taper) and one Trazadone for sleep.   My husband thinks this appalling, but I have fought hard to maintain an appearance of normality-in an increasingly abnormal world.

I can tell you that as a nurse, EMT and hospice worker, I could not get into the Suboxyne program soon enough.  I was in a dirty city, walking the streets of dilapidated houses, children in various stages of undress, and very scary men, who gathered on street corners to deal their goods, help a friend in “need.”  I asked a few of them, but as white on rice as I look?  They didn’t touch me with a ten foot pole.  Looking back, I think they thought me a cop.

I was working as a private duty nurse, and volunteering at a local hospice.  I was starting to face withdrawal from OxyContin, and I didn’t want to be the girl who steals patient’s pills.  My cousin by marriage (not a normal person in that family) ran a methadone clinic, and rehab.  I had attended that rehab until our fearless leader Tony called me out on missing a class, in front of the entire room.  When you quit drinking you are wired out of your mind, so many emotions coming from one heart-it’s maddening and exciting at the same time.  I told him off, asked why he allowed drinkers and cokeheads to use in our meetings (was this even remotely fair to the others who were serious about recovery?) and slammed out the door.  He wasn’t going to use me as an example when people were slumped in their chairs, or re-dusting the entire room, like the energizer bunny on crack.

Anyway, back to Scott.  I called him from my  locked car that very day.  I told him where I was, and I asked if I could come to the methadone clinic to talk to him.  He shut me down, but two minutes later?  I heard a commercial about Suboxyne: it has served me well, saved my career and, most likely, my life.  My advice to anyone starting the program?  Start at a really low milligram, that way you won’t have to detox every time you take a step down.  I ended up calling my girlfriend one morning, I literally couldn’t move, I was that weak.

“I can’t take it.  Would you please take me to the doctor?”

The good doctor had taken me off, cold turkey.  We had argued about my use of cannabis, and I stormed out-only to return a week later, begging for mercy.  And, thankfully, that is exactly what I was given.

What I would like to say is, don’t let anyone convince you to go off of any medication you may be taking for your mental health, especially if the plan is working.  Do I like having to take meds on a daily basis?  NO.  But one day, perhaps, the stigma will stop.  No  matter, because I have come to the point where I just don’t care what others think.

It’s not their body.  It’s not their mind.  It’s none of their business.

I Want to go to Mars

Yes, I am well aware of the fact that I used this song in a previous blog this week. I am so enamored of this woman, and it appears as if she wrote the words for all of us, and none of us at the very same time. What I do know is that she knows the pain of betrayal, and possibly the pain of rejection, loneliness and addiction.

So, this is part two of my testimony. There will be an ending, as with all things-but I haven’t written it yet as my life has just begun to unfold. When you accept Christ, you die to this world. I wish I knew that as a child, banished to the kingdom of naught. It is more than enough that I know this now.

I write this blog in order to come alongside my brothers and sisters, the words written by the Holy Spirit and all glory going to God-my writing has taken on a life of its own-I am just the vessel in which He uses to communicate His message of hope and goodwill to all of His children.

“People” have never, ever understood me. Until I read Ezekiel I had no clue that the reason I didn’t fit in was because I was literally not a part of the game called life-I had no interest in popularity, no interest in money, not one iota of interest in what others find interesting. And although there have been times of extreme emotional pain? Each day in bed, each bout of depression and each earth shattering scenario has made me the person I am today-and I like her. I like her very much.

As a matter of fact? It wasn’t until very recently, and due to my salvation that I realized that God doesn’t make junk. My mother had some mental health issues related to her own upbringing. As a young child, I recognized the importance of pleasing her-and I did everything humanly possible to make her realize my profound love for her. I cleaned the house and took care of her Saturday hangovers. Oh, the joy I felt when she called me her little angel! That all changed when I reached the age of 11 and wanted my own friends, my own life.

“Only whores play street hockey,” she said to me one morning as I was placing her Tylenol and coffee on the side of the bed.

I didn’t understand. My heart crumbled into a million pieces and I had to do a double take-this wasn’t the mother I knew and why in the world would she call me a whore? The answers lay in her own insecurities, her need for control and her Borderline Personality Disorder-not officially diagnosed, but I know it wasn’t Narcissism because later in her life she changed, dramatically, and I knew we were loved.

My relationship with her in my formative years was indescribable. I remember picking her Tiger Lillys, telling her I loved her, begging her to love me-but as I grew her resentment of me took on a life of its own. She verbally abused me on a daily basis, then wondered aloud why I had no self esteem. This is when the shameful voices began, so ingrained that I distinctly remember the day that they stopped.

It was a few years after I got sober. I sat down at my computer early one morning, and instinctively knew that something had changed. But what? I called out to Jesus and asked Him, what is happening, am I losing my mind?

No. I was regaining perspective. Gone were the taunting, cruel and unusual whispers of persecution.

You’re a piece of shit. You can’t do anything right. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Lose some weight you pig, why can’t you touch anything without it turning to crap? Nobody loves you, why would they? You don’t deserve love, no whore does.

It was constant and I drank to get rid of the ghosts. I drank to feel something but less than, to quiet the rage and the thoughts that led me to weeks in bed at a time-depression so severe I often thought of offing myself-I just didn’t have the courage.

A few years ago I went to a doctor’s appointment-a specialist. I had been measured at 4’11” my entire life. When the nurse called out 5’1″ I thought she was talking to someone other than myself.

“Umm, can you take that again? I hardly think I’ve grown two inches in the past year,” I laughed.

She did take it again and with the same result.

It finally hit me like a ton of bricks. The shame, self loathing and mocking voices had kept me hunched over. As I grew in my recovery and healing, I stood straight for the first time in 50 years. My self loathing had been so horrific that I had literally crippled myself.

In tomorrow’s blog I will address my rebirth as a born again and how Jesus took me by the hand and taught me the greatest lesson I have learned.

Keep hope alive, dear ones. God is real and true and loyal and He wants you to know that above the din and darkness of this world? There is nothing but love awaiting you.