Here’s the Rub…

This blog is killing two birds with one stone. In all of the hustle and bustle, I completely spaced New Music Thursdays! Not important in the grand scheme of things, but hearing Norah Jones through “new ears,” not once-but twice in one weekend initiated a foray into her unique, jazzy, vintage sound.

I had always linked this tune with roads untaken. As much as my addictions took years from my life-my social anxiety has robbed me of much, much more. I find it ironic that getting sober brought on a new list of phobias and nervous ticks – I pick at my skin when anxious, am completely incapable of dealing with any kind of stress, and would rather have a root canal than travel sans Jesse, my golden retriver. I am a germ phobe extraordinaire, a dog hypochondriac and feel uncomfortable (make that extremely uncomfortable) around people I do not know.

1450868_670242899675796_1120820745_n Jesse, to the left. Our beloved Dylan to the right of our son-may He await me at the Rainbow Bridge

What we regret in our lives is never as painful as chances, opportunities not taken. With Social Anxiety, you are forced to cancel plans depending upon just how strong you feel on that particular day. Interestingly enough, my nerves are their worst in the evening, which I attribute to the notion that I am not fully awake for the first four hours after rising. If you want to give me bad news, do so as the sun rises-with any luck? I won’t remember what you said by noon.

I was completely uninhibited as a child-thinking nothing of knocking on doors, asking the neighbors to bake me cookies. I had a sense of myself from very early on, and as a young girl, my father doted on my propensity to not take crap from any person, place or inanimate object. I learned quickly that pleasing dad meant everything. I yearned to make him proud, he was a nurturing father to me, despite many less than ideal situations; such as, my mother-who was pathologically jealous of our closeness. And herein lies the rub:

In your formative years, you have nothing but the reactions of others to mold and guide you in your very human quest to be loved, to fit in. When your own mother dislikes you? Well, let’s just say I was at an extreme disadvantage. Later in life, Satan’s Seed (aka, my sister)did not miss an opportunity to berate, humiliate or gaslight me-I sunk further into depression.

There is hope and I am here to say things are so much better on the other side of recovery from narcissistic abuse. You begin to see the very things the narc disliked about you (pure and total jealousy) are the very same things that others will love. I did my research, and once I felt I knew enough, I dug deep into the Word. A combination of incredible support from my husband and friends, a return to a creativity I thought had left me long before-and a deep faith in Jesus led me out of the muck and mire that is codependency.

I don’t care who you are, your opinion of me has much more to do with you than any other factor. I am no fence sitter-folks either love me or hate me, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. Be of good cheer, God is in control~

At Work Forces…

I laughed out loud last evening when I heard that Rage Against the Machine was banned from the set of Saturday Night Live. Apparently, their politics don’t mix-go figure.

I am here to tell you a few things that are FACT, so much so that you can look these things up on that is what I finally told my brother. Frankly, I sent him a text telling him that there is a high probability of martial law in the very near future. I am going to share the following video, as I find it fair, balanced and from very reliable sources.

As far as I can surmise, and this being my opinion based on certain facts-I think it fair to say that George W. Bush is missing. His Twitter account is now marked private, and his own wife is not following him. Not much to go on, but if you are privy to the QAnon boards, this makes total and complete sense. I also believe that after John McCain and Herbert Walker Bush’s executions, George W. was the next in line, due to the severity of his involvement with 9/11. The mainstream media does not want you to know that 9/11 was a fraud, perpetuated by the very same government we elected. This is treason in its highest form, and horribly upsetting, the lives lost-families torn apart!

Here is what I have found about the Martial Law issue. Basically, we have a curfew and will have the United States military, united with veterans who can freely join in the movement, as can citizens-just like you and me.

See something, say something.

Have two weeks of supplies ready at any given time. Medications, water, First Aid, cash.

President Trump and the US military are fighting as we speak. Fighting to bring our country back to its people, fighting for our very lives.

There is nothing to fear, God’s got this. #WWG1WGA


Christmas By Myself This Year

I am ready to crawl into the fetal position and be done with this nightmare. What was the movie?The Nightmare Before Christmas? Never saw the flick, but who cares? Who gives a flying fazuck? It’s Christmas time, the halls are decked, the tree is done, my shopping almost complete. Wake me up when it’s time to take a long Winter’s nap; put a fork in my for crying out loud-I’m DONE.


As a matter of fact, this Facebook post just about sums it up right now. All I want for Christmas is to have my husband and critters healthy and safe. That’s it, that’s my list. But the unseen forces of this world have a different idea-they want me a withered nub of nothing, so I have news for them.


Last Sunday, exhausted from a weekend of socializing, I drug my weary ass cheeks up the concrete stairs-I had a drink in one hand and a purse in the other. I was also carrying my dog’s collection of toys; left like little bodies, littering the yard. And so it was that I had no hands to break my fall when the inevitable happened. I tripped, my forehead breaking my fall.


Not very pretty, but after an OK from the Emergency Room doctor, I went home-thinking, this won’t be so bad. I’ve suffered worse, believe me. But a week later? I still feel nauseous and the headaches are not so pleasant. But none of this matters, it truly doesn’t. Last night, God put everything in perspective for me. I was spent from crying all morning; I miss my parents at this time of year-Christmas was truly special at our home. I know what the reason for the season is-I just want a modicum of peace to fill my heart and soul.

I turned the music up (Charlie Brown Christmas, my favorite holiday tune) and Jess and I began to dance. Jubilant for over a minute, the smile was wiped from my face when I bent down to hug the dog-I found a small lump on his chest. The room began to spin, my heart was beating erratically, this can’t be happening, NO, no, no, no. My husband was in the shower; I yelled up to him, told him the grim news.

I thought a word of comfort, solace…maybe even hope. What I received instead? Name calling, of the you ruined my Christmas variety. It was if he thought I was purposefully looking for bad news: Lord have mercy! He had put up the Christmas lights, cut us a tree, dealt with my weeping just hours before.

He gave me the silent treatment. I gathered my things and headed for bed. 5:30 folks. I went to bed at 5:30 p.m. I awoke to the piercing pain in my heart. I remembered the lump. My husband slammed the door as he left the house, as I was none to eager to hear his apology. Actions speak louder than words, you know.

I phoned the vet, made an appointment first thing. My mood was as low as low could be; until I stopped in at Walmart for a few things. I asked a woman for help finding the cat nip, and the look on her face told me two things: I forgot to comb my hair, and I was now the freak at Wally World. I stopped to take a perusal of my appearance-sweet Jesus, the tattered clothing, combined with a shiner reminiscent of Muhammed Ali? Not good. I didn’t care, I was on a mission to be at the vet on time. I paid for my things and drove to the animal hospital.

To my surprise, Dwain stood at the door.

“What are you doing here?,” I mumbled.

Thirty minutes later, with a diagnoses of a fatty tumor, I took my dog for a hike. I thanked Abba with all I had in me. And when we returned? Tootsie went to comfort his friend.


We must remember what is truly important at this time of year; and that is our family, friends and treasured children; whether animal or human. Be grateful for the small things, and let God take care of the rest.

She’s Got No Heart


Fear is here to stay, love is here for a visit. –  Elvis Costello

Oh my GAWD I am going to freak the fuck out!  Clearly, my mother in law has not read and agreed to my Zero Tolerance for Bullshit of Any Kind policy.  Hormonal as it is, (yes, I am 57 years old and I still menstruate. There, I said it) I was in no freaking mood for this voicemail:

Hello, it’s your ((passive aggressive, narcissist)) mother in law.  We need to get shopping for the flowers for our anniversary party (DON’T GET ME STARTED-HER ANNIVERSARY WAS IN DECEMBER)  I’m going to have to find someone else to do the arrangements, I suppose. Love you.  (Seriously????  REALLY????)  Serenity now.

My husband tried to give them an anniversary party back in December, but it snowed and the restaurant closed-leaving him with 30 pounds of cake and a shit load of calls to make.  Now, oh I fear I may spontaneously combust-the unmitigated gall!  Air bitch slap.  Three months ago, she asked that I do the floral arrangements for her tables (yes, she rented out a fire hall-for all 7 of her friends.)  I promptly agreed.  She took me to her armoire, which was full of depression glass, porcelain vases and country crocks.  I had everything I needed, and knew I would still have flowers in my garden come October.

“These are perfect, and I’ll have flowers.  No need to go shopping,” I smiled.

But NO!!!  Why God?  Haven’t I suffered enough?  What fresh hell awaits?

It’s a bluegrass shindig.  I was a florist, and I know that her stock of containers were perfect for a bluegrass event.  I told her what I thought I would do.  I picked both of my wedding gowns within five minutes of opening the shop door.  I am not long on patience, it’s one of my imperfections, among many-needless to say, I hoped we could agree, and quickly.

“Oh, maybe we should do silk flowers, and I think we should buy blue, uniform vases…now wait, we can go to the dollar store and……yada, yada, yada, well, we’ll get right on this.

Jesus, Mary and Joseph. 

I tell her in September, we’ll go whenever you want.  The date came and she couldn’t go.  That was two, count em, two days ago.  She has done this stupid shit for 27 years, and I won’t go through one more hair pulling event.  That’s my hair that would be pulled out by the end of this train wreck.

I scream at my husband, let me at her, what the?, who does she think she’s screwing with……..scream, cry, belch.  No, he says, just call her.

Frustrated to the point of rage, I ring her up.  Straight to voicemail.

Hey Dolly, why don’t you just go ahead and find someone else.  Love you!”  🙂

Rally Round the Family…

Life goes along at warp speed until something stops you dead in your tracks: As was the case Sunday morning, after a full weekend of loving and socializing, the enemy came to take his due-you don’t think he isn’t out there trying to devour everything good in your life? Au contraire, mon amies! But here’s the good news-call out to Jesus, and you are free. He can’t hurt you if you are covered in the full armor of God.

But what about those times when evil does strike? Well, Abba will protect you in ways you couldn’t imagine, and that’s why I’m alive and writing this blog-my Lord and Savior sent His angels, and they protected me from a massive head injury and internal bleeding.

Just out of Dwain’s truck, exhausted from a weekend of frivolity, I could barely pick up my feet. I had promised my husband that I would pick up the myriad of dog toys that lay around our yard, at the whim of my golden retriever, who thinks he has to entertain the grasshoppers and blue jays with his cacophony of babies. It’s so sweet, until it isn’t.

I had my purse in one hand, my drink in the other, AND I was carrying six, that’s SIX dog toys to boot. We have concrete stairs, no railing, and the stairs are ridiculously dangerous. It did not escape my mind, while sitting in the ER, that I had traipsed up and down said steps while drunk, high on cocaine, and worse. Never once even tripped. But yesterday was different. My boots caught on Jesse’s blue elephant, and down I went. I had no hands to put out, and I landed on my noggin.

I immediately called for Dwain, who could hear me, but couldn’t find me. Pain so severe I thought I would vomit, I remained perfectly still until my husband arrived on the scene. I am an EMT, and a CNA-I have volunteered in the Emergency Room, with hospice and prison ministries-I have seen it all and maintained my composure. This is the precise reason I am prone to freaking out when I get hurt-I simply know too much.

Head injury? I was out of my mind hysterical. It didn’t help when my husband picked up my head and his eyes bulged out of his-

“My GOD, is it THAT bad?,” I wail. He didn’t answer, he was too busy putting my ample white behind in his truck, grabbing ice and driving like a bat out of hell, towards the ER I had recently walked out of-after calling out the employees no less. As I walked in, I immediately placed my eyes on Dawn, who calmed me as she directed me towards the door. I knew where to go all right. I just didn’t know if they would help me, or hurt me. They had so much power at that moment.

A friend of mine, Katie, was the charge nurse, praise God. She gave me a hug and an ice pack, told me the doctor would soon be in. As Dwain sat on the bed, this came over the PA System:


“Fabulous,” I murmured. And then it hit me, we were the only people there, aside from an 83 year old man with a dizzy spell. What the Harry???? They were talking about me for crying out loud! I couldn’t figure this out as the knot on my head was the size of a peach, but the wound wasn’t bad, it bled very little.

Dr. Ammons didn’t waste any time checking me over. I was told it would hurt like hell for a few days, but that I was extremely fortunate as if I had hit one inch below, I could have had serious eye trauma. If my cranium had hit a few inches lower? I could have knocked out my front teeth. But I knew about head trauma, and I was frightened. I kept what I knew to myself, forgetting that my man is a first responder.

And so it was, that I woke this morning with a shiner the size of Texas, and a headache to beat the band.

And because of His love? I’ll be strutting my stuff, sooner than you can say the words accident prone.

What I’m Fighting For…


In 2012 I diagnosed myself with Lyme disease.  Back then, the doctors knew very little about this enigmatic, all consuming, pain wracking illness.  The Reader’s Digest version?  It began with a small lump in my upper thigh, perhaps the size of a peanut M&M.  Hypochondriac that I am prone to being, I asked the doctor during a visit for my Suboxyne.

“Probably a fatty tumor, I wouldn’t worry about it,” Peter said.

But you haven’t looked at it.  You didn’t ask me to take down my pants.  Like the doormat I was, I smiled and headed out the door.  I returned a month later, the M&M was now a small avocado.  Again, he didn’t even ask to see it.  Shame on me for not leaving the practice immediately; like I said, back then I was a completely different person, I scurried away with the nagging feeling that this was not over, not by a long shot.

By Christmas, I was in pathetic shape.  Constant fevers, mind numbing fatigue, aches and pains so brutal, I was incapable of walking most days.  My husband and I demanded to see another doctor in the process, and as I walked past the receptionist area-all heads turned to see the pathetic case in the shabby robe and bunny slippers.  The M&M was now a grapefruit.  I cannot, for the life of me, figure out why I didn’t seek help elsewhere.

The good doctor sent me for an ultrasound resulting in a uterine biopsy, which turned up nothing.  A week later I saw her in her office.

“I have Lyme disease.  I have done my research, please script me a month’s worth of Doxycycline.”

She teared up when she said, I’m so sorry, I didn’t think…

Within a month I was completely back to normal.  I took on a job as a Direct Support provider for a company who cared for those with Intellectual Disabilities-I worked like crazy, taking on as many hours as I could, so thankful to be “normal” again.

In 2017, I suffered two bullseye rashes at separate times-both treated with Doxy.  By 2018, I was given the diagnoses of Chronic Lyme.  I went through a hospitalization for vertigo, broke my shoulder on a hike (the disease affects the brain, and with that comes dreadful balance) and ended up with one hell of an infection in the very same lymph node.  I had no energy.  I was sick constantly-all through Winter and well into Spring.  I had to quit work, which devastated us financially.

Two weeks ago I was bitten, again, by a deer tick.  I put myself on my church prayer list, got on my knees and pled my case with Abba.  I felt so stymied and completely hopeless; wasn’t there a way?  I made an appointment with a specialist for October, and prayed.  My doctor was so inept, that when I asked him to order the Western Blot test (absolutely key in diagnoses) he told me no, that my insurance wouldn’t pay-

We know you have Lyme.  We don’t need a blood test.

I was frightened.  I asked Jesus, will this be my future?

Two weeks ago, after discovering the latest tick bite, I remembered a friend at church telling me that Stevia kills Lyme disease a few months back.  I bought the store brand, and occasionally put the way too sweet stuff in my coffee.  But this day, I was led to do some research.  You can’t get well using refined Stevia-it must come from the leaf extract.

I hurried to the local nursery and bought the last Stevia plant left.  I ate one leaf a day for one week.  The bullseye disappeared.  My symptoms vanished.  I now eat a leaf every other day.  A side effect of Stevia is that it kills the Borrelia Burgdorferi, the spirochete responsible for causing the illness and debilitating side effects.  You can order the extract on Amazon, which I will do to ensure I have access to the plant in the Winter months.

Please take my advice-give it to God, and never ever give up hope.  Through Christ you can do all things-He will give you the strength and fortitude-to move mountains-but we need to ask him first.

***This song is about Avril’s fight with Lyme.

Be blessed~

Mean Old Mrs. Jones

If I had known you could play the license plate, well, shit howdy I would have signed up for it!!! I adore these two, and it was with wild relief that I came upon this song. The song going through my head?The Beautiful People, unfortunately, I loathe Marilyn Manson, and will never, ever use him in a blog. Weirdo.

Oh my, not sounding like the Christian I am supposed to be today, eh? No, quite the contrary: I could punch a stink bug. Not proud of my blog yesterday-when I lost my integrity and called out my family. Here’s the thing-the magnanimous thing to do would be to not write of them; however, this is my personal property, as much as they hate the fact that I have something to call my very own. If people don’t like you writing about them, well, maybe they shouldn’t have behaved so poorly in the first place. For reasons I only half know? I love them still. Yet they are toxicity itself when it comes to my sanity, but that doesn’t mean I hate them. Sadly, I almost wish I could.


I forced myself to go to Bands today. Down and isolating, I haven’t been out of the house except to go to church, in the past two weeks. I promised my friend I’d send out a care package, she’s having a hard time of it lately-my tiny town’s post office is open but two hours a day, and I hit it wrong each and every time. It bothers me, and I mean BOTHERS me, when I don’t follow through on my promises. Lately, it’s almost as if there is a silent force, keeping me back, holding me from moving forward. I don’t force anything, because at this stage in recovery, I am way too fragile.
I remain my worst enemy, and can’t catch a break with myself.
My issues begin when I know I must follow through-I literally make myself sick with dread.


This isn’t what the blog was supposed to be today. I wanted to write about recovery from narcissistic abuse-and the changes you go through while in recovery. We need to do the hard work necessary to change our hearts, motivations and boundaries. Most of us with CPTSD never had boundaries to begin with; and another commonality is that we trusted, with our very lives, people who tore us to shreds, took us for granted or simply weren’t in to the friendship/relationship as seriously as we were.

The changes our personalities go through are shocking to those around us.
They expect you to assume the position, take whatever they’re dishing out, look the other way when they break promise after promise after promise. No. No. NO!

Today is my eleventh anniversary-I have been sober (with the exception of a few slips)for this many years. Yes, sobriety changed my character, faith and friendships. Yes, there were adjustments to make, along with changing my behavior I found I simply could not inhabit the places I had, prior to quitting drugging and drinking. “Friends” stopped calling-the change in our lifestyle was drastic, daunting and downright depressing; but you will find your attitude about that changes too. The past is where it should be, some good and some putrid memories were made. I have stories (oh, believe me I’ll tell them one day)upon stories of drunken faux pas. The one that immediately comes to mind is this:

I had gone out with the girls on a Saturday afternoon. We were to go on a scavenger hunt and each clue was offered at bars around the area. By the fourth clue, my friends had dropped me off at home because I was sloppy drunk-I suppose I passed out directly. When I awoke, I was disoriented and wild-where the Harry was my husband? It was 8 o’clock in the morning!!!! (NO, it wasn’t. It was 8 p.m. and I had lost an entire day. Convinced he had been out all night cheating on me, I went into a rage. I did not remember this, but trust me, Dwain surely did. The story goes like this: my in-laws were entertaining folks from their church, in the quaint little gazebo they erected across the street from our home. We had lived in this house, directly across the road from Dwain’s parents, for ten years. Although things are better, I did not get along well with them. They disliked me from the very beginning. I must have been dwelling on these thoughts when I stripped down to my flesh, went out on our roof, and screamed this:



For years I carried the shame of my addiction. I allowed people to walk all over me, so codependent that almost every one of my friends took it for granted that no matter what, I would forgive and forget. I figure it this way-bullies don’t like it when the underdog comes alive, sticks up for herself and demands to be treated with dignity and respect.

My family didn’t like it, my former friends were not pleased, hell, my dog even noticed-what had happened to the doormat who allowed herself to be treated so poorly?

She doesn’t exist. There’s a new kid in town. She’s kicking ass and taking names, so don’t get in her way.