Jesus, Baby……

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Yesterday, while taking time to speak to God, He whispered some terrifying words: Go and help the homeless, it is time.  I have prayed for a ministry, and have always felt an aching pain within my soul at the plight of the men, women, children and dogs who litter the street with their vulnerability.  I have often thought, there, but for the Grace of God go I…….and yet the idea of being in downtown Lebanon, alone, sent me reeling in fear.  PTSD or not, these are dangerous times.

“Oh man, tomorrow?”

Yes.  Tomorrow. He replied.

I felt a lurch in the pit of my stomach.  Earlier in the week I had been thinking along these lines, and immediately my friend Jason came to mind: the heart of a lion, combined with the strength of a cougar (I mean, he hiked the Appalachian Trail, twice.)  He works hard as an organist for his church, and having the male element involved, well, that calmed my nerves a bit.  Alas, he has a very busy schedule-working by day with autism, Down Syndrome and Intellectual disabilities, he spends the evenings practicing his music, pouring his heart and soul into that organ.

So, it was with trepidation that I set out on my first day of ministry.  I packed water, toilet paper, granola bars and soap.  This was just a trial run, I told myself.  But failure wasn’t exactly an option.

As I drove through historical Lebanon County, I was reminded of just how desperately I am in need of His grace.  Stopped at a red light, praying for God to lead me, to give me the right words, I was literally HONKED out of my prayer zone.  What the?  The light had just turned green……why, this is my BIGGEST PET PEEVE!!!!!!  I honked back in righteous (?) indignation.  The guy behind me flapped his visor (is this a new way of giving  someone the finger?) and yelled at me.

I then proceeded to drive approximately 10 miles per hour for the next three blocks.  And, you know, the Holy Spirit working inside said………

“Get off my jock you shit head,” I screamed in the most unladylike way imaginable.  Nice.  It never fails……..if I begin to take myself a bit too seriously, Abba is always there to remind me that all the Glory belongs to Him.  I am but a lowly servant, and if anyone needs His forgiveness, well, it’s me.

Pulling into the parking lot of the Downtown Market, my eyes searched the scene for someone I could minister to.  At first I thought He was leading me to a man on the corner, whom I thought was surely in need, but when I caught up to him he had walked into the local TempForce, and I wasn’t about to follow him.  How embarrassed would he have been if, while standing in line for a job, I indiscreetly handed him a roll of toilet paper?  No, not my guy.  I crossed the street and immediately saw that God was leading me to a man, sitting on a fire hydrant…..his belongings?  A shirt and two lottery tickets.

“This is my first day of ministry in town.  Can you lead me to people who are in need?”

He was proud, I could tell right away.  I introduced myself to the dark-skinned man, his hair lightly silvered.  He told me his name was Marcella,  and then he did the strangest thing:  He began to minister to me.  He spoke of how he didn’t consider himself homeless.

“I don’t look at it that way.  God provides.  I am from Puerto Rico, and one day, in His perfect timing I will go home.”   His hands shook as we parted.  I gave him a bottle of cold water, but he turned down the granola bar.  We prayed together, and hugged one another, each of us clinging to the other.

“If you come next week, I am craving an orange.”

It was all I could do to get back to the jeep before sobbing  a lake of tears.

 

I Put a Spell on You……………….

https://youtu.be/PnqGr-TRMAA 11060012_971825489522822_3731756336227851706_nWe’re gonna talk about men here, so if you are of the male persuasion, don’t get you socks in a knot.  It’s all good- we love our men, but they drive us bat shit crazy.  Indubitably…………….

I fell  incredibly hard for the man of my dreams, whom I have been married to for almost 25 years.  Yeah, count ’em.  As a matter of fact, I put him on such a pedestal that I thought of leaving him the first time I saw him sit on the toilet.  Seriously.  He was all I ever wanted in a man….which was the male essence, the strength and humor I found in him.  And his green eyes……I could swim in those eyes.  But let me tell you brother, if there is a creature on this planet who can make my blood boil, it is this man I love.

For instance, we had a super duper, extra special nuclear argument just this very weekend.  He has started a new career, and found a fabulous job.  I am very proud of my man.  He is working long hours and at the end of the day he would like me to present myself as Marilyn Monroe/Julia Child and the energizer bunny-in that order if you please.  He wants me to be all wifey and shit, and sometimes, well, actually often, I come down with a cold or sinus infection that I have no control over.  I was never sick for a day when I drank, but sobriety, Lyme disease and an undiagnosed immunodeficiency disorder have plagued me for the last ten years.  So this is how the dog fight started.

It is Friday and someone is trying to break into my home.  Pounding on the door, jiggling the lock, looking in the windows…..why it is my husband, Dwain!  I thought he had a key…..I am in bathrobe and slippers because my brain is exploding with a sinus migraine……I open the door, he looks at me with fire in his eyes………

“What the hell is your problem?” I demand.

“Actually, I was having a good day until…………………”  I have no idea what he said because I had hightailed my ass up to my woman cave and went to bed, leaving him to rant and rave about the injustice of me not being all sparkly and all when he walks through the door at 5 p.m.  I did not speak to him again until the next day when I called him at work.

“Seriously!!!!  What is your problem?”  I was angry at this point and he knew it.  He hadn’t kissed me goodbye, and for Dwain, that means that something has upset his sensitive side…………..and I was going to get to the bottom of it.  Sherlock Holmes has nothing on me-I will beat you down to get the information I need, relentlessly picking until committing Hare Kari is your only option left.

“I am writing you a text,” he said.  Before I could say word one he had hung up the phone.

Now I have passed the pissed off zone.  I have PMS.  I have a migraine.  I have a husband who is about to be shot out of a cannon, because I am SO angry that I can’t think straight.

If he could have seen my face when I read said text, I don’t think he would have even entertained the thought of coming home:  YOU HAVE BEEN SICK FOR A WEEK AND THAT’S NOT NORMAL.  What the Venus Fly Trap?  Am I unworthy of compassion?  Am I asking too much, do I not work my behind off cleaning the house, feeding the cats and dog, cleaning out litterboxes, grocery shopping, gardening and painting the house?  I was seething.  Another day went by and we weren’t speaking.  I usually succumb to my husband’s apologies….but there were none.

Oh, (I thought out loud) you want a piece of me?  You’re gonna get a piece of me.”

It was Sunday morning before we spoke again.  I went to get baptized and figured he knew where the church was.  I sat in the front row, in tears, looking up each and every time the church doors opened.  Nope, no Dwain.  You can well imagine how hurt I was, but I didn’t (he certainly didn’t) know just how pissed I was until I came home and read the card placed strategically on the steps to our home.  I had sent him two texts, two emails and a facebook message explaining (for the 3,789th time) that I was abused as a child and his maltreatment of me when I am under the weather is a trigger.  I sent him two articles: one about PTSD, and the other about childhood neglect.

“Wow, I don’t think we ever talked about how bad your childhood was……..”

Really?  In what universe did I not tell my husband about my childhood?  Do men listen, do they grasp any reality but their own at any given God forsaken moment?  And then it happened.  I slapped him.  Hard.  I felt awful, but why do we have to be screaming, whirling dervishes of angst before we can get your attention?

Riddle me that Batman.

 

 

The Rabbit Hole

M is for Manifest……………….

Sorry I haven’t written for awhile………………….my PTSD has run amok and I am just now able to breathe, think, create.  I am writing a series on coming out of the New Age, and whilst on my morning hike I thought of how I was taught by my Reiki Master to think only positive thoughts and that we create the situations we find ourselves in.  I could never come to peace with that notion.  Do children bring abuse or molestation upon themselves for thinking negative thoughts?  Do parents bring about the loss of a child simply by worrying about their safety?  I think not.

Because I have mental health issues, (depression, PTSD, GAD, ADHD) I was terrified to have a thought, let alone a negative one.  For a year and a half I stuck by this “positive manifestation” nonsense, and I am here to tell you that no matter how hard I tried, I could not think of asking God to bless me a little more why don’t you?  I am quite blessed in many ways, too many to count.  I have a lovely home in the country (yes, our house needs work, and a ton of it, but I have a roof over my head), a good man for a husband (he drives me crazy in seven different languages, but basically, he is a decent soul) true friends and a flare for the creative.  I have my faith and that means so much to me.  I have family, and that doesn’t necessarily mean blood.

Speaking of PTSD, mine was initially triggered by emotional abuse at the hands of my narcissist mother, for which I have forgiven her completely.  At nineteen I was date raped by a man who then went out to the quad and played Frisbee with his friends-leaving me to cry, disassociate and clean up the mess.  In 1993 I was hit by a drunk on a Harley, leaving me for dead on a country road in the middle of the night.  Trigger number three.  And then, last June, while walking on Deer Path Trail in the Middlecreek Wildlife Conservation Park, I was stalked by a naked man carrying a metal detector.

Hiking with my golden retriever, I heard a rustling of leaves when we turned the bend towards the water.  “A bird,” I thought out loud.  As we reached the more treacherous part of the trail, I was hit with the paranoid thought that someone was following me.  Standing at the railroad ties that bridged the mucky quicksand, I turned around.  There he was, his wild red hair and nakedness enough to put the fear of God in me.  I motioned to my pup, who immediately got the message and ran with me, jumping over rocks and tree limbs in our path.  My heart was in my throat and I didn’t look back, just ran until the clearing……I emerged from the woods a nervous mess, distraught and breathless.  Turned out there were Conservation Officers doing trail checks (Divine Intervention) and they set out, guns at the ready, to find the perpetrator.  They found him masturbating, and trying to throw away the evidence……no charges were filed.  He wasn’t even warned.  I ended up being the one to chase him at speeds over 100 mph., just because they couldn’t get his license plate.  Harrowing……….

I shut down that day.  Completely unhinged, I went to said Reiki Master and asked that she pray over me.wonderlandcatgfairy002_vectorizedb

You know you brought this on yourself, right?”

I should have throat punched her right then and there.

 

 

 

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Chicken Little Does Crack

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I remember my mother in law speaking of THE END TIMES about ten years ago.  Right before I sobered up.  I distinctly remember wanting to throat punch her.  I mean, SERIOUSLY?

“Everything that the Bible prophesized has already taken place,” she  touted.

This would put the literal fear of God in me, and I would usually nod my head, walk back home and begin the process of terrorizing myself into an anxiety attack.  If I could go back in time I would say to myself, “Kid, you better take heed.  This is nothing compared to the Tribulation.”  After weeks of  re-indoctrinating myself into the Holy Bible and the end times (with a little help from my friends at Philia Ministries.)  Shout out to James and Lea D for witnessing and teaching with love in their hearts and your salvation on their minds.  After leaving my church and looking for the last place I saw Jesus (we will have to really be discerning, but I have a few in mind) I am ready to say that these are indeed the times the Bible speak of and I am absolutely okay with this.  We don’t know the hour, but we do know it’s coming.  Just look at the state the world is in.

I am doing my darndest, but let’s face it-studying the book of Revelations has given new meaning to my diagnoses of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.  Just this morning, after spending some time with the Lord and a few YouTube videos, I set out for my morning hike with Jesse, my golden retriever.  We hunt antler sheds every morning, whether we feel like it or not.  I so enjoy these adventures, but today I was so anxious heading into the woods…..hard to explain.

As we approached the creek, I saw what at first appeared to be a lamb-looking at me through the trees.  After instructing Jesse to stay (sometimes he does, and well, sometimes he does what he wants) and inched forward on my own.

“Holy Mary, mother of God it’s a bobcat!!!!!!!!!!,” I screamed at no one in particular.  “What do I do now?  He could kill my dog!  Craptastic, the sky IS falling………” on and on I went in my thought cloud, sure that neither of us would make it to tell the story.  Bravely, I crept closer still.  Our eyes locking, the white house cat gave me an irritated meow and ran for the hills.

The Rabbit Hole

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March 23, 2017

Well folks, I promised you research and that is what I have been up to for the past week.  I wish, in a way, that I could unlearn a few things…………..but I believe I was divinely led to what He needed me to know.  I am sick to my stomach, in a state of grief-paranoid to the point that the sight of a man in the grocery store parking lot sent me into a near dead faint.  What did he do?  He was getting in his car, only I didn’t see him at first.  Jesus Christmas, will I ever be the same?

I’ve decided that the only way that I can move forward is by having a strong sense of humor, a satirical view of the New Age Movement, the Illuminati, (the word gives me heart palpitations) and pedophiles in Hollyweird.  My brother, a talented artist who is a household name around these parts (Philadelphia area), has always wondered why he didn’t make it “bigger” in the music business.  After watching a multitude of various artists who are said to be in this secret, satanic society, I am praising God that he didn’t…..it’s all so sad.

I have decided that I know all that I need to at this point.  I am a strong, Irish, Christian woman-but I am very impressionable and let’s face it, the truth shall set you free-but it sure can make you crazy.  Bat shit crazy lives here, no need to stir the hornet’s nest.  And speaking of bees that sting, my in-laws are now even more afraid of me than ever.  Backstory: as a recovering alcoholic it has become clear to me that I scared the bejeepers out of them on a weekly, if not daily basis.  They saw me drive my jeep through our garage door in broad daylight.  I once sat on my windowsill naked, again-broad daylight people-and screamed “I don’t give a fuck what the neighbors think!!!!!!!!!!!”  Well, our neighbors just happen to be my in-laws and they were entertaining people from their church.  Grimace. Yeah, they have reasons to avoid me.

So, although I love them dearly, I can pretty much tell you that the last thing they wanted to hear was my battle with the demon cat who died and came back to life three, count em, three times.  They don’t know that the second time my husband had grabbed the poor thing, who was laying, dead as a doornail, next to our bathroom toilet.  He took him outside to be buried.  I heard a gunshot.  Why?  I asked him.

“Apparently the cat had one more life in him.  I put him out of his misery.”

Exactly.  No stress here.  So they were less than pleased when I cried and told them of the spiritual warfare that had happened up the road, in my very bedroom.  They said not one word.  No one wants to talk about it.  I had to laugh when I saw them hiding behind their truck earlier today.  And as I returned to my kitchen I saw one of them run for the mail box.  Poor Tom and Dolly~

Squirrels Eating Nuts….

1807:031117:20F:BROWN02   :3March 19, 2017

I have to get a hold of myself.  In the days of research for my blog The Rabbit Hole, I took my full-blown, red alert, the sky is falling mind to places I never thought I’d be.  I could tell myself that it was all in the name of investigative reporting-but you can get so sucked into some of the scariest bullshit on the internet.  Is it because I was always afraid of scary movies and I’m trying to make up for it by scaring the life force out of myself?  What the?

I live in my own little world, and anyone who knows me will tell you just that.  I now am well versed in politics (no worries, no politico hereo) for the first time in my adult life, but as for what is going on in the real world?  Jesus, Mary and Joseph have I been living under a crystal?  Smiley face….I crack myself up.  Anyhooser, I had been researching Flakka, a drug that had been imported from China back in 2014 into Florida, and created near hysteria in that state.  Bath salts.  I am always, perpetually the last one in this family to know jack shit.  So, after a week of watching the outbreak in Florida and other locations across the country.  I saw a virtual zombie apocalypse coming and I still tremble at the thought of some of the footage…….Good God!  What fresh hell is this?  So, it’s 11:00 a.m. in the morning and we are getting ready to look at used trucks with our son.  “Sweet mother of merciful Jesus!  Does Bradley know about this?” Holy inappropriate behavior, I immediately message my eldest niece, alerting her to the near epidemic, attaching a disturbing video of people becoming evil incarnate, and tell her, “Honey, if you see a naked man or woman behaving like this, it’s a new drug called Flakka and I want you to get the fuck out of dodge.  Do not show this to your mother or sister.  They will faint.”  Verbatim.  Yup.

While standing in the lot of the dealership, the unsuspecting salesperson who just happened to come out of nowhere….he didn’t know that I was about to scream at him like a freight train was coming right down 422, like a bullet with my name on it.  Oh my God, it still makes me hurt when I think/laugh out loud about it.  Meanwhile, on the way home my husband says to me, “Honey, Flakka was three years ago.  Don’t you remember the bath salts thing?”  Vaguely.  I do know that I had not seen naked, demonic, freaks of nature committing  acts of cannibalism, murder and incredible, mind-blowing strength.  I was convinced Armageddon had begun and I can laugh now, but man, I need to start checking and rechecking the dates.  I came home from church today and immediately went to check the Flakka statistics. Nothing since 2014.  Legal back then and on the rise-China stopped making the drug and dealers stopped dealing it.  I messaged my niece.  “I can’t believe all of these crazy drugs they’re coming up with Aunt Michele….”

What I didn’t say back was, there wasn’t enough weed in this entire town to calm my ass down yesterday.  Pass the Hookah, please……………….

The Rabbit Hole

wonderlandcatgfairy002_vectorizedbMarch 15, 2017

Yesterday was a train wreck……of massive proportions.  Still recovering from a cold, I was unable to accomplish much-and the fatigue had its way with my 55 -year old body, that and my nerves.  I was in bed at 4 pm, and after lying around the day of the blizzard, my restless leg syndrome had kept me up all night; I can handle having a broken bone, the flu, PTSD  among a few (cringe) but a bad case of the jimmy legs can send my husband and I into the Insomnia Zone, which makes us bitchy and prone to fighting over blankets, the cats, the fan, and even if we are or are not going to spoon.  Please, I cringed when he touched anywhere beneath my waste.  My husband gives amazing back and body massages. I would have been in heaven if I hadn’t been in hell.

Alas, being awake, I tossed and turned, unable to get a few things off of my mind.  Tomorrow’s blog will concentrate more on scripture and how God led me each step of the way.  But tonight I want to talk about my anger and disappointment at the “professional therapists” out there advising those of us who suffer from mental health issues on how to “heal,” mentally, physically and spiritually.  It boils my blood when I think of not only my Reiki Master, but my therapist’s contribution to a basic near mental health breakdown, all in the name of “growing in truth and spirituality” without first: ensuring that the proper research is done before advising very vulnerable and sensitive people, who are hanging in the balance; in an effort to somehow, after possibly years of unsuccessful therapies, ease their perpetual pain. Yes, I am speaking of myself, but you see where I am going with this.

It frightens me that there are young and older adults alike being harmed by methods or “healings” that have  not been thoroughly investigated.  How would you feel if you or your child were harmed due to the ignorance or research of social workers and reiki masters who are, more times than not, dealing with clients who have searched their entire life for peace.  Mental Illness in its many forms is the most misdiagnosed and misunderstood (especially on the part of the patients ) who have been given conflicting information, even diagnoses in their search for answers to haunting, disturbing questions we tossed about our entire lives.  We need to start being or own advocates and standing up for our rights in this community-or we’ll fall for anything.

I have not only wasted my time over the past year and a half, but I have set my progress on this journey back a peg or two.  I’ll share this little ditty that occurred in my then therapist’s office in January.  I was sitting on the couch and I asked her why she had advised me (strongly suggested) to go back to reiki treatments months before.  I took her advice seriously, and I suppose hindsight is twenty-twenty, but I had assumed she knew enough about PTSD and crippling anxiety to lead me in the right direction.

“Oh, because you said it had helped you before.”

And she will never learn how that advice sent me deeper into the depths of depression, rage and the verge of a mental breakdown.  I will never, ever seek the help of any therapist or spiritual healer again.  All of the rituals, cleansings and fear-fear that I would say something negative and be banished to the Horrible Life Kingdom-looking up the meaning of every stinking bird, bug or animal I came across for almost two years.  MASSIVE waste of time and energy.  All of that mess when Jesus was standing right beside me, with open arms as He always, always had been for me.  He is in charge of my life, period.  No amount of meditating, chakra healing or sage cleansing is going to change that fact-not for one millisecond.