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~

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:

ATTENTION: SEPSIS ALERT IN THE ER. SEPSIS ALERT IN THE ER.

“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.

No Guilty Party

Was it Erika Jane (of Beverly Hills Housewives) who said, “I am an enigma, wrapped in a riddle?”  It doesn’t matter, I deplore that woman.  I gave up watching the show after a rather disturbing birthday party scene in which Miss Thang had naked dancers, sprayed in 14k gold, placed in cages for effect.  I am not judging, just saying I have better things to do with my life, than watch hers implode.

And it will.  Implode that is.  More on that later, in another blog.

Notice the occult symbolism in this video?  The bathtub, the one eye, the MK Ultra sex slave spreading her oh so expensive legs.  That’s right, she’s had more plastic surgery than Michael Jackson.

Google the Guatemalan House of Culture.  My brother lives in LA, and even he had no idea about the Blackhawk operation that took place a few weeks back.  It appears, no it’s a fact, that her husband owns that building, and his law offices are conveniently located directly across the street.

Nefarious at best, these people.  The lifestyles of the rich and famous, do I yearn for that life?  No.  But to be honest, I did.  People magazine, Us, even the National Enquirer would keep me company more nights than not, but that was before God took the scales from my eyes-woke me up so to speak.  Please heed my warning:  these people, the elite?  Turns out they’re dog crap on the feet of humanity.  The last two years of my life, after a Spirit led quest for the truth, have left me a different person.  I am jaded, depressed and more than a bit paranoid.  That can be the price we pay for getting to the bottom of reality.  Was the whole journey worth it?  Indubitably.

When people change, truly change-the people around them are somewhat perplexed and disheartened.   When a codependent people pleaser ditches the cloak of door mattery  and tries to right the wrongs?  Well, at least in my case, people flee the scene of the crime: as if to say, call me when I can abuse/ignore/dump on you again.  I liked the old Michele-big heart, gullible and apologetic for existing.

I am alone, yet not really lonely.  I have a small group of  friends (it gets smaller by the day) but no one I would call in an emergency; fact is?  People don’t talk on the phone or even text these days.  It’s as if social media has replaced society as a whole.  I understand those who drop everything to begin life anew, in a hut somewhere west of Haiti, no phone, no contact with humanity.

But we need people, don’t we?  Isn’t that how God intended us to be?

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Yes.  The answer is a resounding YES.

My brother wrote a song, years ago, about how the ones you love slip away, but the fools stay put-nope, they aren’t going anywhere- they’re stuck to you like white on rice.

I attempted a friendship with my neighbor a few weeks ago.  That relationship fell flat before it even had a chance-she turned out to be even more unreliable than me, and that’s saying something.  I am prone to avoiding people at all costs, but I thought she was different-turns out, not so much.

Please excuse my attitude, let’s chalk it up to cabin fever…if that’s what you call losing all hope in humanity.

Here’s the rest of the LA story.  The truth will be revealed in God’s perfect timing.

 

 

You Can’t Handle the Truth!!!

 

If you didn’t unsubscribe from my blog, this doesn’t concern you.  If you want to read a scathing reaction to the absolutely incomprehensible stupidity of some people?  Carry on.

I wrote about the SOTU last evening-and each end every time I write about President Donald J. Trump?  I lose subscribers.  Yep, it really is that obvious.  Before I go off on my tangent, this is what I have to say to the sheeple, Socialists, MS13, Black Lives Matter, MeToo movement and the other .245% of the population who a.  doesn’t want the truth, 2.  thinks this is about politics, and c. has no concern for what our country and its precious people have been subjected to over the last fifty some years.

If you don’t care about Satanic Ritual Abuse, Election Fraud, Comet Ping Pong, human trafficking,  or the plight of our every person living in this country who is subjected to radiation poisoning, chemical trails in our skies, or baby fetus particles in our Pepsi? Step.  The.  Fuck.  Off.  I don’t want you anywhere near my writing-trust me!

There are actual demons walking this earth, some are sitting in GITMO, some are in political positions and ALL of them are subsisting on the blood of our children.  Yep, I said it.  Do your homework on SRA, do your own investigating and by the way?  Get used to it, because those of you who are even remotely interested in the truth?  Well, say goodbye to that as well-you won’t get it from the MSM, and by the looks of the increasing numbers of those alternative media sources who are peddling facts?  You won’t have anywhere to go once we are gone.

What the hell is wrong with America?  Let’s start with the cowards who troll decent, hard working, citizen journalists who only want to provide a service and work their behinds off to support the critical direction of this country.

If you’re in denial about any of the above topics, see ya.  Don’t let the door hit you in the behind.  This is not a game, people.  I am absolutely done with fools who live in their own Private Idaho while the rest of us suffer because of their ignorance.

I make no profit, no money actually-for providing a service that is close to God’s heart.

I won’t sugar coat this-heed my warning.

If you are not with us, bloody hell,  you’re against America.

 

,

Cuffed on a Dirt Road

 

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.

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The biggest challenge and love of my life.

 

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.

What a beautiful gift He has given me!

 

 

Praise You Like I Should…

Something flat out miraculous has happened, and rather than blab about it to the dog? (Satan hears you.  The minute you offer to a. give money to a charity, b. get excited about the new promotion or c. admit you are full of joy and gratitude-that’s when he’ll get you-every stinking time.)  The last time I spoke of making a hefty donation to our church’s missions team?  Well, my Social Security settlement came and guess what?  It was twenty thousand dollars short.  Rather than pay me for the two years since my application?  They decided (God knows how) that I became disabled as of October of the previous year.  I don’t care about money-I do care about following through on my promises, and that didn’t happen in this instance.  My check of 3,872 dollars barely covered our overdue bills, and unfortunately?  My church received our regular donation, but nothing extra for the trip our youth group was taking to Texas, to help the hurricane victims.

woman wearing grey long sleeved top photography
It’s time to take back my life.

Back to the miracle.  I had some pretty rough Lyme symptoms over the past few weeks.  I have been on the antibiotic for a week, and I had prepared myself mentally for the isolation that comes with illness.  I grabbed my morning coffee, sans enthusiasm, and sat down at the computer.  I found this song, and slowly, step by step-I was off to the kitchen and dancing.  DANCING!!!  I hadn’t planned on walking without pain for weeks, but there I was, making moves I hadn’t tried in years.

With that joy comes a butt load of gratitude.  I took the dog for a walk, went to the local farmer’s market, and I’m preparing a beautiful dinner for my husband this evening:  Caprese salad, fresh corn and the loveliest peach pie.  I intend to fill the house with flowers, music and life.

I know to whom I owe this monumental thank you~

And yes, oh yes, I will praise Him like I should~

17424764_1469848589693414_3996518279171060099_n

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~