After the Lesson, the Blessing

I wrote this blog last Spring, while in the heat of the horrible moment.  Devastated by an argument with my step son, I simply could not see the forest through the trees.  There was never an apology rendered, but I have forgiven Bud and he knows this.  I like to call this phenomena Grace-but really I just did it for myself and my husband.

Dwain, interestingly enough, has not forgiven him.  Yet there have been great strides towards healing, and rather than trying to be his son’s best friend?  He has risen to the challenge of being a father, i.e. no more tolerating arrogance or disrespect.  I believe we are all closer as a result of his temporary insanity.

When God puts you to the test, and you pass with a combination of trusting His wisdom?  Oh my dear friends, this is when the miracle happens:  a peace that surpasses any understanding-inner joy and self love come out of hiding.  Often, the hard part is recognizing the blessing.  With practice and determination, you can take the gifts from above and pay it forward.   Grace abounds, indeed.

*******************************************************************

I have been having what some would call “hearing hallucinations,” and I know they are real, as real as the grass in the yard, the puffy clouds on the horizon, and the Spring peepers who cry out their mating call at this time of year.

Okay, how do I explain the inexplicable?  I’ll have to go back to the early days, circa 2013, after an incredibly stressful demolition of our church, by Christian Hypocrites who simply took over, spewed their venom and caused one of our pastors to turn to Atheism.  I was distraught over what I then thought to be the end of my life as I  knew it.  I got sober in this chapel, every single person knew my story and they showed me love and grace, not harsh ostracism.  The travesty is, we were beginning to do some amazing spiritual work……we were in sync, and you could feel the Holy Spirit-lifting us up and out of our day to day lives.  And then:  Kaput.

I began to experience a strange, but lovely thinning of the veil, if you will.  I began finding feathers in crazy places-different colors and hues.  I collected twenty of them and put them in a crystal glass.  No explanation for how they came to be in the middle of my bedroom floor; no cat toys missing pieces, no feathered anything to be blunt.  I did not realize they were feathers from the Angels at the time, no not until the last feather was gifted me:  a large, purple beauty, somehow I knew that this would be the last one, and it was.  I have brought these feathers to bedside vigils, to give others the hope of better days to come, when we are once again home, the complete and unwavering love of God, His mercy and forgiveness.

Shortly after the last feather appeared, I had been toying with the New Age.  I came out of that nightmare unscathed, but now things were getting downright eerie.  Five minutes before I was stalked by a half naked man, causing me horrible PTSD symptoms, I heard my angels wings.  So loudly, I turned around as I expected to see a Vulture, or other huge bird looking at me.  Instinctively, I knew what it was.  I believe I was guided by the heavenlies that day, and I have good reason:  the Conservation Officers were doing their annual trail checks that day, and I had the good fortune to run out of the woods and into the arms of the officer who took the case.

One day, I was absolutely driven to get up off my buttocks and take a picture of my back yard.  It was a dreary rainy day, and there was nothing to see…..but listen to myself I did.  As I brought the camera to my eyes, I saw 6 or 7 white crosses-along the garden plot.  If I took the camera away?  Nothing.  Each time I brought that camera into focus, I saw the white crosses, and I felt protected, if not a little shaky.

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This picture was taken when I was nudged by the Holy Spirit to snap a pic in fog and drizzle.

Yesterday, while getting out of the shower, I heard those wings again.  I knew the angels wanted me to know they were with me, which scared the bejeepers out of me.  What now?  Why now?  I had to sit for a spell and calm myself down.

So, it is evening and my husband and I are preparing dinner.

“Honey, you know if you need to talk about the Bud (formerly known as my stepson) debacle, I know how much you’re hurting.  I want you to know that I am here for you, and if you need to vent, please do so.”

What he said next was so crazy making, so vile and putrid and everything that goes along with the loss of a child.

“I text him, last week.  I jacked him up and he said there will be no apology forthcoming.

No apology?  That man-child stood in my garage and screamed cruel and untrue things, called me a freak, told me the whole family thought I was a freak.  And, as it turned out, he was plenty pissed that I am on SSI, as “it’s not fair I have to pay for her income with my taxes.”`  He was this close to hitting me and when I went to go inside, he came after me and I just waited.  If he hit me, then I could go to court, get a Protection From Abuse-hey, I’ve suffered worse things, believe me.

I have made the decision that he is dead, dead to me for all intents and purposes.

You see, what seemed to irritate him most? That I had suffered CPTSD, and depression.  Apparently he thinks I made it all up; that after owning my own businesses and working (often two jobs at a time) for 40 years, I just decided, as if upon whim, to close shop, be lazy and ruin my husband’s life.  How could he be that cold?

And then the inevitable kick in my aching groin:  “Bud will be at mom’s for Easter, with his gal pal extraordinaire, the woman who was the icing on the cupcake of his disaster, the woman who so eagerly took what was not hers, her best friend’s boyfriend.  Don’t get me wrong, Bud is responsible for his own actions, but being the raging narcissist that he is?  He will never take accountability.  He ruined his own life and he should have thought about that before he let his penis do his thinking.  Sorry, I’m a bit rough around the edges today.

Father, forgive him, he knows not what he does.

She talks to angels, they call her out by her name.

Mad as a Hatter

The stigma of dementia saddens me, as those who suffer are the lovliest of lovlies.

Good evening. I don’t know how your week is going, but mine has been harrowing with a 90% chance of persecution and 100% chance of marital strife. That is all behind me now, but if you ever wonder how you became so strong, so tough? The answer is God allowed you to become what you were always meant to be-and that is-tough as nails.

As a victim of Narcissistic Abuse, I can tell you there isn’t a “crazy” cell in my body, sanity wise that is. Narcissists use projection to drive you to your limits, both emotionally and physically. My case was no different, but the anger that permeates my very soul slips out now and again-last night it erupted. Here’s how it began~

“You have anger issues. I mean it, Michele, you need to work on your anger.”

After I put back the pieces (my head had spontaneously combusted) and calmed down enough to grab a drink, it happened again. I finally gave up and went to bed. Why was I angry? Let’s just say that addicts have a way of pushing everything unpleasant to the bottomless pit of despair. We make our gravest mistakes by believing that a bottle of gin or a bag of coke will allow us to forget; my personal experience attests to the fact that you cannot run from grief. Everything you ran from will only intensify. By the time you get good and sober? A mountain of lament lay at your feet, and before you deal with anything you must address the pain.

It is my belief that all addicts are running from something. In my case? Years and years of bullying, emotional abuse and neglect-I simply couldn’t handle the truth which was no one can hurt and manipulate like blood. I consider it a miracle I found my way to the truth of the matter. Narcissists are good at projection (take a look at the DNC) and what they try and pin on you is a mere reflection of the rot that lie inside their souls.

In my family, my narc would wonder out loud at the fact that I was telling the God’s honest truth, which made me feel untruthful. Fact was? She has lied about everything under the sun, but mostly about me. Despite frequent and persistent attacks and accusations, God led me to the reality that I was not mentally ill. I had PTSD because of my abuse, which led to depression and anxiety of the nightmare variety.

So, after getting into it with Dwain-he came home three hours early, whilst I was cleaning. For the life of him he couldn’t understand why after a day of sweaty drudgery I wasn’t greeting him at the door in crotch less panties and chocolate pasties.

There. I said it.

My point being? I know what it’s like to be labeled a mental case when I know with every cell of my being that I am, unfortunately, saner than sane. I spent so many years just trying to breathe that I took life as it was dealt-nothing left over to create, become or dream. And then I met Jesus.

Having run a Dementia Unit for years, and then my own home health care business-I have a pretty healthy awareness of this population. First, may I say that my parents died far too young to develop the disease, as did my grandparents with the exception of my father’s mother who lived well into her nineties and remained as sharp as a tack. However, I do know what it is like to have your family member treat you as a stranger. The crippling feeling that your beloved doesn’t see you, let alone remember you. The terrifying feeling that all of your memories, your cherished time together-they are lost to you-forever.

Years ago my father was in hospital for pancreatitis. A severe alcoholic, daddy went into delirium tremens from alcohol withdrawal. He then slipped into a coma, my poor mother left alone to pay the bills and raise three children. Each and every day she would say, “You simply must go see your father. He’s your father.” I didn’t have the words to explain my terror, my flat out inability to see my best friend and biggest supporter hurting-in any way.

It turned out that my fears were nothing compared to what transpired with my first visit, after dad had come out of the coma. He was learning to walk, to say the ABC’s and speak again. His hair had gone white, he was terribly thin.

“Hello daddy, how are you feeling today? I’m so sorry I am only coming now…”

I was interrupted by his question: “Aren’t you the gal married to the Korean doctor?”

I explained that I was his daughter, his blood. I shared a few of our inside jokes, tried to get through to him in some way. His next words shook me core-

“I’m sorry, kiddo, I don’t know who you are.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Would it help you to know that dementia patients are much happier in general? They live in the moment, no worries, no fear. I enjoyed my time with these brave men and women, so much so that when I had to retire due to Chronic Lyme? A piece of my heart went with the loss. I simply adored my residents and clients. I took each death personally, especially my favorite ever client, Marta.

Marta was my best friend’s mother. She alone inspired me spiritually, creatively and emotionally-I was the benefactor, I was the lucky one. We liked to go on outings, she loved the Llamas at a local farm-we visited often. You see, Marta loved her animals-to the point of hurting for them, just like me, just like her daughter. When with her I felt understood, truly loved for myself and nothing else.

One day I picked up a stuffed Llama at a local gift store. Now, Marta thought her stuffed animals were real. She had this really big teddy bear, and if I was talking when I entered the room, she would SHHH me-the teddy was napping, don’t wake him.

She loved the stuffed Llama, even took him to bed with her. I often saw her cooing to, and comforting the little brown toy. So innocent, so pure, so what I had been missing my entire life. Her last stage of the disease was spent in a nursing home. To this very day I wish I had visited her more. The news of her death stung like poison.

And so it was, after my brawl with my husband, did I enter my bedroom to see-and not for the first time-that little stuffed Llama named Marta, head to the side in sympathy. I hung my head and cried like a child.

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.

After the Lesson, the Blessing

I wrote this blog last Spring, while in the heat of the horrible moment.  Devastated by an argument with my step son, I simply could not see the forest through the trees.  There was never an apology rendered, but I have forgiven Bud and he knows this.  I like to call this phenomena Grace-but really I just did it for myself and my husband.

Dwain, interestingly enough, has not forgiven him.  Yet there have been great strides towards healing, and rather than trying to be his son’s best friend?  He has risen to the challenge of being a father, i.e. no more tolerating arrogance or disrespect.  I believe we are all closer as a result of his temporary insanity.

When God puts you to the test, and you pass with a combination of trusting His wisdom?  Oh my dear friends, this is when the miracle happens:  a peace that surpasses any understanding-inner joy and self love come out of hiding.  Often, the hard part is recognizing the blessing.  With practice and determination, you can take the gifts from above and pay it forward.   Grace abounds, indeed.

*******************************************************************

I have been having what some would call “hearing hallucinations,” and I know they are real, as real as the grass in the yard, the puffy clouds on the horizon, and the Spring peepers who cry out their mating call at this time of year.

Okay, how do I explain the inexplicable?  I’ll have to go back to the early days, circa 2013, after an incredibly stressful demolition of our church, by Christian Hypocrites who simply took over, spewed their venom and caused one of our pastors to turn to Atheism.  I was distraught over what I then thought to be the end of my life as I  knew it.  I got sober in this chapel, every single person knew my story and they showed me love and grace, not harsh ostracism.  The travesty is, we were beginning to do some amazing spiritual work……we were in sync, and you could feel the Holy Spirit-lifting us up and out of our day to day lives.  And then:  Kaput.

I began to experience a strange, but lovely thinning of the veil, if you will.  I began finding feathers in crazy places-different colors and hues.  I collected twenty of them and put them in a crystal glass.  No explanation for how they came to be in the middle of my bedroom floor; no cat toys missing pieces, no feathered anything to be blunt.  I did not realize they were feathers from the Angels at the time, no not until the last feather was gifted me:  a large, purple beauty, somehow I knew that this would be the last one, and it was.  I have brought these feathers to bedside vigils, to give others the hope of better days to come, when we are once again home, the complete and unwavering love of God, His mercy and forgiveness.

Shortly after the last feather appeared, I had been toying with the New Age.  I came out of that nightmare unscathed, but now things were getting downright eerie.  Five minutes before I was stalked by a half naked man, causing me horrible PTSD symptoms, I heard my angels wings.  So loudly, I turned around as I expected to see a Vulture, or other huge bird looking at me.  Instinctively, I knew what it was.  I believe I was guided by the heavenlies that day, and I have good reason:  the Conservation Officers were doing their annual trail checks that day, and I had the good fortune to run out of the woods and into the arms of the officer who took the case.

One day, I was absolutely driven to get up off my buttocks and take a picture of my back yard.  It was a dreary rainy day, and there was nothing to see…..but listen to myself I did.  As I brought the camera to my eyes, I saw 6 or 7 white crosses-along the garden plot.  If I took the camera away?  Nothing.  Each time I brought that camera into focus, I saw the white crosses, and I felt protected, if not a little shaky.

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This picture was taken when I was nudged by the Holy Spirit to snap a pic in fog and drizzle.

Yesterday, while getting out of the shower, I heard those wings again.  I knew the angels wanted me to know they were with me, which scared the bejeepers out of me.  What now?  Why now?  I had to sit for a spell and calm myself down.

So, it is evening and my husband and I are preparing dinner.

“Honey, you know if you need to talk about the Bud (formerly known as my stepson) debacle, I know how much you’re hurting.  I want you to know that I am here for you, and if you need to vent, please do so.”

What he said next was so crazy making, so vile and putrid and everything that goes along with the loss of a child.

“I text him, last week.  I jacked him up and he said there will be no apology forthcoming.

No apology?  That man-child stood in my garage and screamed cruel and untrue things, called me a freak, told me the whole family thought I was a freak.  And, as it turned out, he was plenty pissed that I am on SSI, as “it’s not fair I have to pay for her income with my taxes.”`  He was this close to hitting me and when I went to go inside, he came after me and I just waited.  If he hit me, then I could go to court, get a Protection From Abuse-hey, I’ve suffered worse things, believe me.

I have made the decision that he is dead, dead to me for all intents and purposes.

You see, what seemed to irritate him most? That I had suffered CPTSD, and depression.  Apparently he thinks I made it all up; that after owning my own businesses and working (often two jobs at a time) for 40 years, I just decided, as if upon whim, to close shop, be lazy and ruin my husband’s life.  How could he be that cold?

And then the inevitable kick in my aching groin:  “Bud will be at mom’s for Easter, with his gal pal extraordinaire, the woman who was the icing on the cupcake of his disaster, the woman who so eagerly took what was not hers, her best friend’s boyfriend.  Don’t get me wrong, Bud is responsible for his own actions, but being the raging narcissist that he is?  He will never take accountability.  He ruined his own life and he should have thought about that before he let his penis do his thinking.  Sorry, I’m a bit rough around the edges today.

Father, forgive him, he knows not what he does.

She talks to angels, they call her out by her name.

False Alarm

I am attempting to get my bearings, as what I have just experienced has left me sickened, without hope or desire.  I am shutting down.  I indeed shut down two days ago, when the latest Holiday loomed, as I had recently let my mother in law know that we would not be attending their Thanksgiving festivities.

And, as is the case with all narcissists, my husband has taken my dread of the Winter months to a new low.  A kick below the belt.  He achieved his annihilation of me by telling me that I had ruined his holidays because I am a selfish brat.

I am out of here, and for the life of me I cannot figure out why I kept forgiving, praying he would change, never hurt me again.  And as per usual, there would be promises made, promises broken.  You see, narcs want your attention-when they don’t get it, they think nothing of the getting the wrong kind of attention.  In all actuality, I was having a peaceful and meaningful day.  The hot shower pelts felt so good on my aching body.  I decided to dress up and even put on the dreaded makeup.  I looked forward to going downstairs and watching the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade.

I played Pandora, played with my kitten, even a touch of Chanel No. 5.  I got into the word, and asked for forgiveness for my attitude over the last few days. The lack of food over the last twenty four hours had been a fast of sorts, I supposed, resulting in a clarity and spiritual peace I hadn’t felt in months. I was feeling content, and didn’t mind the loneliness.  As I stepped into the living room, my husband stepped out.  I went upstairs, he came down.  I was thinking he needed his space.  I worried that he was feeling guilty, as anyone would after treating another human being like he did.

Jesus, please speak to his heart.  I don’t want him to hurt.

I went to check on him, and that’s when I was accused of ruining his life, his family, our churches and friendships.  His eyes turned black, the vitriol unnerving.

He did feel guilty, but he projected that guilt on to me, his wife of 30 years, during a time when she was incredibly vulnerable, teetering on the edge of admitting herself to Philhaven.

 

 

 

As we argued, I could see it-the Jezebel spirit, alive and well.  I am voiceless, still sick, haven’t had a thing to eat in days.  My blood pressure goes nuclear, along with my rage.  When I am injured, I am eerily capable of pouncing back-with the force of an untamed Lion-yet today, it was different.

Today I fought back with facts.  In the past, the gaslighting-at the hands of some of the most proficient narcissists know to mankind-I would be confused, caught off guard with the projection.  I was depressed, anxious and my PTSD was triggered each and every fucking time.  I would lay in bed for days, punishing myself when I was the one who needed self love and nurture.  My nature is one of love, compassion and fierce loyalty.  I can be irrationally Irish at times, cripplingly sad at others.

Today was not that day.

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As weak and fatigued as I felt, the lion roared.  Armed with facts, my faith and a raging migraine-I spat back better than I got.

 I have no family, not a soul to spend the holidays with.  I get morbidly depressed at this time of year, and you are fully aware that I will not spend one more moment with abusers.  Yet you care for me by completely ignoring me for two days, while I languish in bed with the flu and withdrawals?

You are blaming me for the actions of your son, who almost put me in a psych ward, and I am to fault because?

Did I hold a gun to your parents’ heads, making them neglect and abuse me; treat me like the most insignificant part of their life?  Did I ask your parents to tell rumors to the neighbors, so I could anticipate the shunning that followed?

I am betrayed and forbade to enter the kingdom of peace.

I don’t know what lies ahead, none of us do.  I will not be a victim, that train left the station, I will fight back with all I have in me.  If that means leaving him for an apartment in the country, just me and my dog, well then?

I pray He will grant me the strength.

I pray that Dwain will open his heart, and listen to the God who loves Him.  I pray for better, brighter days ahead~

 

Hey, Ho

I spent the first forty-four years of my life running from who I was, and more importantly, from what people assumed me to be.  I was the third mammary gland, the outcast, the one perceived to be different.  Women hated me, my family didn’t know what to do with me, and I had a drinking problem so severe?  That sealed the deal on my social status.  Period.

I didn’t realize how truly alone I was until a few years ago, when the bottom dropped and I was left with not a shred of respect for myself.  Codependency issues combined with nonexistent self esteem plagued the inner workings of my mind.  My heart lay in a trillion pieces and the only thing I knew how to do was fight, fight for my place in the world.  I had not one person on my side but my husband.  I gave Jesus the wheel and began the process of coming to life, a day late and a dollar short.  Bloom I did, and I have Him to thank for my awakening.  You see, what was at the center of my dim view of life was my dim view of me.  I just didn’t know any different.

In grade school I was bullied for being overweight.  In high school I was bullied for being anorexic.  Out and about in society, I was persecuted for being exactly who I was-something that can never, ever be taken from me.  That’s right-it isn’t about the likes on social media, the bravos from the secular world, or even what your mother in law calls you behind your back.

Ask yourselves this question:  who am I in Christ?  Better yet?  Ask Abba who you are in Jesus.  He will answer you, and in the darkest of nights He will shed His loving light on the mystery of just how powerful you are as a child of God.

You see, [THEY] don’t want you to know.  That’s right, the elite, the powers that be (God is pulling them out left and right, no, wouldn’t want to be Prince Andrew or Kanye right now) want you helpless, hopeless and unawares.

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How many of you have read Revelations?  One of the reasons I left my last church is because our “Spiritual Director” admitted to me that she couldn’t open that book.

“I am afraid to read it.  I’d rather get a good Rick Warren devotional.”

Feets, don’t fail me now, read my thought cloud.

Revelations is the only book in the bible that can describe to you who Jesus really is, what Heaven will be like, and yes, who you are and how you fit into the Kingdom as a follower of Christ.

And they sung a new song, saying, Thou art worthy to take the book, and to open the seals thereof: for thou wast slain, and hast redeemed us to God by thy blood out of every kindred, and tongue, and people, and nation; and hast made us unto our God kings and priests: and we shall reign on the earth.                                                                                                                    Revelations 5:9-10 KJV

What does that mean?

God’s message of salvation and eternal life is not limited to a specific culture, race or country.

Anyone who comes to God in repentance and faith is accepted by Him and will be part of His Kingdom.

God has made His people kings and priests, and nothing in this entire universe is more powerful than one who inhabits the Holy Spirit.

Repeat after me:  I am the Storm.

 

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.