Sirens

It’s that time of year again-it’s always ‘that time of year.’  No matter how you slice and dice it?  There will always be a birthday/holiday/death day around the corner, so why not hunker down and take the blows, feel the feels as they come?

It’s better, as the years have gone on: my grieving my father’s death.  I was always connected to my dad, two peas in a pod living with three jalapenos-taking solace in each other.  We each had a sardonic wit, and delighted in the same human absurdities via the tele.  Many a night I would come home late from a date, and find my precious father waiting up for me.  Oh, he never admitted it, but I know darn well he wasn’t just watching Lassie at 2 a.m.

I remember one particular evening, I walked in on an extremely relieved father watching The Shining.  I sat down at his request and watched the entire film, literally shaking in the marrow of my bone.  I was frightened to the point of hysteria, but I could do anything with my dad sitting next to me.  It was only a few moments later, while up in my bedroom reading-that my father opened my bedroom door.  Odd.

Yes, dad?

“Redrum.  Redrum.  Redrum,”  I heard his stifled laughter as he closed his bedroom door.

It was a very long evening.

In other news, I’ve been listening to Nina Simone, Inez and Amy Winehouse all this Sunday afternoon.  You know what that means, right?

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Nope.  The exact opposite.  Why do women listen to the likes of Adele and Amy when their hearts are shattered into a millions pieces?  Call 911?  No silly, we listen to the Sirens-the women who are mythical in their falsettos, cries for mercy, piercing courage.  We listen to these women because we are these women, without the talent.  Speaking for myself of course.  We listen because when our hearts have been served cold, on a silver platter for the world to see?

We want vengeance.  And we’re not taking your crap, not no more.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

It’s a Gas, Man

There are days, very few and far between, when I seethe in an unholy rage-directed at those who have wronged me, in particular, my sister.  I don’t dwell in this space, at least not for long.  Jesus warned us about acting out in anger, and it just doesn’t feel good.  Yet to deny the anger is not healthy either.  If there is one thing I have learned in my sobriety?  As Richard Gannon would say, you have to feel the feels.  There is a good reason why we experience the traumas in our lives, and that is to strengthen us and give us compassion towards others who have experienced same.

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Dogs are incapable of hurting the ones they love.

I wouldn’t change my history for the world, it has literally made me the woman I am today, and I am proud of her.  It took a very long time to come into this space of self love,  I respect myself.  The woman I am now seeks justice for the child I was then.  I often miss the big and open heart she once possessed.  Never thinking for a moment before offering help, often taken advantage of by narcissistic bottom dwellers of whom I pray for daily.

As I sit, putting on my oils and potions-I catch a glance of my face.

Who is that woman?

She has eyes of steel and a vengeful heart; numbed by years of scarring, emotional vulnerability.

It is in these moments of truth that she is humbled by what her Savior has done-finally, she is protecting her heart.

Like a mother bear.

Uphill is Over, Folks…

I wrote this blog months ago, and God wanted me to see it today.  I want to tell you how rich the tapestry of my life has been woven, by God.  As in before, He has blessed me beyond measure, after a dark and trying time.

I learned several things this past week.  I am a firm believer in allowing grief to take its course, to nourish and at the same time reign in our deep despair and downward spiral into darkness.  It is always, always Jesus who brings me up from the muck and mire.  He reminds me, at times subtly and at times in your face, you can’t make this stuff up-synchronicities that literally blow my mind.

I also learned that if you spend enough time in the darkness, it will envelop you.  I may have forced my laughter at breakfast this morning-but the folks in the diner knew no better.  Today I forced myself to be amongst the living, and it helped to lighten the load.  It is both a blessing and curse that I can’t speak of the truth in my rural, conservative town.  This recent trigger means I begin at the beginning, once again.  I will isolate, I won’t trust you, and chances are, I may, unintentionally, hurt your feelings.

That’s my biggest thing.  I can’t stomach the idea of purposefully hurting another human being.  I am this way because I know what it’s like to be sensitive, even overly so at times.  I used to hate my nakedness, the vulnerability out there in the big, bad world.  After daddy died?  I have been walking this earth as an orphan, since his passing-my family has fallen apart.  There are days when I feel his presence, and when I do (oh those cherished moments) I think of my other Father in Heaven.  He knew what He was doing when He put me together, in my mother’s womb.   I wouldn’t change me for the world, but it took decades to live in this space.

So, after working in the garden all day, I jumped into the shower-my phone set on Pandora-the Seneibo Sey channel.  What followed were the most uplifting, refreshing and inspirational Christian songs I had ever heard.  Jesus was speaking to me through the music-and per our usual, He took my hand and removed me from the abyss.

And I have nothing to fear, and neither do you.  Remember who you are in Christ-

 

 

I sat on the couch, my mouth ajar. Come again? ‘Scuse me? What the Harry?

How is it possible that seemingly overnight, my blog had 3,000 visitors, from all over the globe? How does one go from 50 views on average, to 2,328? There is no bravado or pride in my shock-quite the contrary, I am floored.

I looked over the last week of my life. The bad fall, trip to the ER, the head injury I am recovering from. Oh, it didn’t end there. After drinking Chia Kombucha, against my better judgment, I had a case of diverticulitis so ugly, I am still, three days later, passing gas. The pain began Saturday morning, in my gut; by Sunday it had travelled to the pit of my arm-leaving me to wonder: did I break a rib in the fall?

Anyhoosers, as I was crying out to Jesus yesterday, I knew. I knew within the fibers of my very being that the joy would indeed come in the morning. I thought back over the trials and triumphs He has brought me through. The common thread is an overabundance of joy after the lesson is learned. I know that He wanted my attention, and perhaps, had I given it to Him earlier, I could have avoided the shiner of a lifetime.

“God is going to bless us, Jesse. Just you wait and see-it’s going to be beautiful,” I sang just the morning before, to a golden retriever who’s soul, I am convinced, is a mate to my own.

We can be blinded by the negativity of the world, or we can live freely, moment by moment, clinging to the Grace of God. I believe there is a season and time for everything. I know that Trump is winning the war on evil-the evidence of SRA is daunting, and I was brutally reminded of God’s wish that I back off from digging any further-after seeing a clip of HRC, in a slasher movie, with Huma Aberdeen and a child. Yes. This is true. This is fact.

I turned my pc off and head down the stairs for God’s word.

He alone can seek vengeance, and vengeance will be His.

Into His Arms…

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

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

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

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

I can’t do this Jesus.

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

He never pushes, never demands.

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

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

I fall into His arms.

Into His Arms…

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

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

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

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

I can’t do this Jesus.

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

He never pushes, never demands.

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

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

I fall into His arms.

Check Out My Melody…

I have gone over and over the reasons I left the E.R.   Is it possible that Yahweh put me in that place to free one, count em, one person, from the throws of demonic possession? There will never be another chance to comfort the least of these-no, not in that particular place.  I will have other chances, of this I am sure-I truly yearn to be of comfort to those who are nursing their wounds, both physical and mental.  I assume part of my drive is due to the upheaval and pain I have suffered in my own life-but more than that I have always fought for the underdog.

A few weeks ago, we were invited to the house of friends of ours at church.  Delightful couple-I jumped at the chance.  Who’s going to turn down ribs and a swim?  Not this girl.  We were so popular when we imbibed-nary a weekend went by without a party, cook out or pub gathering.  Things change when you find sobriety-and I’ll be blunt-the partiers don’t want to hang out with the sober-not now, not ever.  Now we make friends who don’t need to be drinking to have a good time.  Funny, charming and compassionate Christians, who know a thing or two about persecution and loneliness.  As we arrived at their lovely home, Joyce led me into the living room.  She began speaking of her utter and complete isolation when dealing with groups of women-

“Why?  I don’t understand what I have done.  I was in a book group for THREE years, and not one of those women dropped me a note, asked me out for coffee, or even talked to me at meetings.”  She shed bitter tears, tears I immediately recognized as my own; shed during times when the pain is just to much to handle-why, why would people shun us in this manner?  What was it about us?

“I have prayed about that very question, and God’s answer was sufficient.  He told me that I am not a part of this world.  I am a child of God, and his children are persecuted, alienated and shat upon.  But it’s okay-we have each other.”

At this she smiled, sighed true relief, and calmed her ruffled feathers.

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This fact was brought home to me the other evening, when discussing my perplexing plight concerning my good friend’s beach house-and the fact that it’s been three years and not one invite extended.

“Honey, I truly think it’s because she likes to party.”

Ouch.

At this point I wouldn’t accept an invitation, to be frank.  I will take the good people God has sent my way.  I will cherish them, as friends should be cherished.

Not being a part of this world has been a daily, and often torturous reality.

And if I am to be honest-from this point on?

It’s my way-my way or the highway.

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.