I took what I wish I could tell you was my last drink in the beginning of October, 2007. I ended up in the hospital after a suicide attempt, which is another story for another day. What sobered me up was a combination of my husband’s frailty, my will to live and a gift-the blessing of clarity that comes from Jesus. I won’t even try to tell you that this road has been easy. We addicts push down the truth, and push our loved ones away-fact-and until we achieve sobriety? Well, there will be no healing, no peace, no end to the pain that holds us in bondage.
Months afterwards, I was hiking in two feet of snow with my golden retriever, Dylan. A shining star and beloved pet, it hurts my heart that I wasn’t with him for the first 5 years of his time on this earth. I was here, but I wasn’t present, and I have no memory of what could have been the best years of my life, had I not succumbed to the melodic pull of oblivion.
So I am trudging up this hill, and I am overcome with love. I feel forgiveness surround me. I cry out to God and confess the absurd backslide I have taken with alcohol and pain medication. I cry out to Jesus and I tell him to take my life, it isn’t mine to begin with, take it Jesus, mold me Jesus, cry with me and then I’ll get tough, I promise…….
“I have been here with you from the very beginning of time. I have cried your tears, tasted the salt of your remorse, and I will deliver you from this travesty……”
I apologize for not writing more often these days, but the truth of the matter is this: conservatives are being attacked and censored on every level. I have spoken of this in previous blogs, but now the Cabal is desperate, unhinged you might say. They are desperate to keep you brainwashed, terrified that the truth will have a domino effect on evil players, demons if you must know.
Perhaps 10 to 25 percent of you are woke to the truth, maybe not. I can tell you that my awakening came after years and years of drinking, drugging and messing around with the New Age. My story is not unique, not by a long stretch. Sadly, there is a population of vulnerable, impressionable peeps out there-they have been abused their entire life, be it physical, emotional, sexual or circumstantial. They fly to the “answers” they have searched for their entire lives, and I was one of those victims.
In 2015, I attended a funeral for a young man who happened to be my friend’s one and only son. We sat in the balcony, and when Sherry walked into the chapel? Every muscle in my body tightened. I dug my nails into my husband’s thigh, trying to stifle the scream I felt surfacing-Jason was her only son: an expert on motorcycles, a truck driver found him in a ditch, on a sunny day. Sherry received the news while grocery shopping, when a friend called to voice her sympathies. A part of my heart died that day, and my life took on a frenetic rush to prove that life on this planet had purpose.
“This can’t be it, Jesus. Why are we here? Seems a tad more like hell on earth, not life.”
During the funeral, I was startled to find the woman behind me had placed her hands on my neck. She began gently massaging my scalp, and I retreated in a not so nice way-as if to say-look lady, I don’t know you and why in the harry are you TOUCHING me?
“Honey, this is Lydia. I went to high school with her,” my husband whispered.
The very same Lydia who sold gorgeous, handsewn purses made from old wool sweaters? That Lydia? I had heard of her wares, and she was quite renown in our sleepy little town of Kleinfeltersville. Everyone loved Lydia.
As an artist, I am drawn to others in the field. I envied her, it seemed she had an idyllic life. But why was she massaging a stranger’s neck?
Lydia explained that she was studying for her Reiki Master license. All “treatments” would be free, at least for the coming month. As a victim of narcissistic abuse, I had plenty of healing to do-was this what I had been looking for? I jumped at the chance to see her home, let alone receive Reiki (I had no clue what it was, but my mind is always open) I was not disappointed on my first visit. Lydia sat down with me, I glanced at her kitchen table and noticed a deck of what I thought to be tarot cards.
Ten years prior, I had been at a superbowl party in which there was a “psychic” in attendance for the party goers. Hounded by the host to go up and be “read,” I finally caved. I had attempted to have my palm read years and years ago, in a tiny flat on South Street, in Philadelphia. She read my sister well, so I was excited (and terrified) of what she would say to me. She took my palm. The look on her face said stranger danger, and before she could scream GET OUT, we headed down the steps, taking two, three at a time. My sister laughed the entire way home, but I was tormented.
Why would she kick me out? She told me to call her and she would explain, but that she could not be in my presence. It wasn’t until years later that I realized a very, very important fact:
Practitioners of black magic, fortune telling, Reiki, or witchcraft simply can’t deal with the children of the Most High. They know who we are, and they don’t mess around with God-even if they worship satan, they know who we are. It’s as simple as that.
My visit with the super bowl psychic proved disastrous as well.
“I don’t like tarot cards, or having my palm read,” I explained. I told her of my past experience.
“Oh, I know why she did it, but that was cruel. You must have been frantic, Nothing to fear, let’s get started.”
As my heart began to pound out of my chest, she shuffled the cards.
Long story short, I picked the death card.
“Within the week, someone will die in your home.”
Well, that made me fly up out of my seat and run to my husband.
Honey, I thought you didn’t believe in psychics, that isn’t going to happen.
Two days later? My beloved Dalmatian, Chipper, began having a series of strokes. By the third day we had to call the vet, and he lapsed into a coma in my lap. I sat there for five hours, legs numb, railing at God.
The poor dog was diagnosed with encephalitis, a brain swelling. The trauma hit us both in the face, like a bowl of ice cold water. In my grief, I had more questions than answers. I will never forget that day, the darkness, the heartache.
After a few Reiki “treatments,” I found myself becoming more depressed by the day. I would have days that were so dark? I couldn’t move, get out of bed, even feed the animals. I tried to reach out to others, but no one had a clue what I was talking about. Black crows followed me everywhere, and I mean a murder of crows. Snakes were found in my kitchen, one dead, with his head sticking up as if he were warning:
This tops any list I may have previously held for myself, in terms of the most painful things I have had to write. I don’t want to write, but I know deep down, that if I don’t-I will free fall into the dark recesses of my depression. God knows how badly I want that never to happen again.
I met John eight years ago, when I worked at their family owned kennel. My husband grew up with him, but I knew very little; only that he had suffered from the same oral cancer as my brother in law. I knew he was in remission, but his wife worried constantly about his health. What began as straight out intimidation soon turned to a quiet fondness of his gentle spirit and obvious physical strength. I could talk to John, be myself, content in the knowledge that he felt the same way. It wasn’t long before our relationship was misconstrued. We didn’t speak for two entire years.
When we did rekindle our friendship, it was with the knowledge that his cancer had returned, and he didn’t want treatment. I spoke with his wife on several occasions, stopping at the kennel to offer support.
If you asked either one of us, we would not be able to explain our bond; yet it is that of a brother and sister. No boundaries were ever broken, not even a kiss on the cheek.
I hadn’t stopped in for weeks, and my guilt was getting the better of me. I was also terrified, out of my mind. Over the weekend, I told him I would visit today; not realizing he had taken a turn of the very worst kind. As I pulled into the driveway, I caught a glimpse of him on the deck. My heart smashed to pieces, and before I had a chance to think, John whisked me away in his golf cart.
“I want to talk, let’s go for a ride,” he said.
I argued about him driving, he shushed me away. I was concerned with the dog, worried he wouldn’t turn the bend and find us. He pointed toward the weeping cherry he had planted as a reminder of his place on this earth. I was here. I mean the world to you, and I will always, always love you. Don’t, oh please, don’t forget your time with me.
It was explained in so many heartbreaking words that I wasn’t exactly welcome around the house. I was shell shocked. I thought we had worked through this and I couldn’t have felt more betrayed or misunderstood. But I couldn’t begin to imagine her pain-if I was grieving, I couldn’t imagine how she must feel. I gasped for air, shifted in my seat. I began talking and stopped, it was his illness, not mine.
We sat under the apple tree and wept, for what appeared to be hours, but was only moments in time.
I don’t even know where to begin, so many thoughts and emotions, so little understanding until I heard this man speak earlier today, as I watched the rain pour down like buckets-God’s tears, I imagine. That or the powers that be, fucking with our safety-all in the name of depopulation.
Depopulation and rage, that is. You see, the enemy is shaking in its very boots as we speak. In one week I have witnessed the unraveling of the monster Jeffrey Epstein, discovered that M.J. is indeed alive, and a vice president going down in the flames he so richly deserves.
Mike Pence is a pedovore. Not only does he rape and murder children, he is involved in sex trafficking, satanic ritual abuse (I refuse to capitalize it) and cannibalism. That’s another fifty blogs in itself, so I’ll get to the point.
The above is over a year of QAnon information, gathered by President Trump and his team. This is not debatable, these are the hard and gruesome facts. So, added to the stress and ostracism afforded all God fearing patriots who love their president? Let’s add the targeted individual into the mix. Feeling queasy yet?
This is for those of you who have fought the good fight, stood your ground and spoken your truth for the last three or so years. We are God’s anointed, and every bit of evil will be eviscerated from the planet earth.
Take note you demons, you Jezebels and fools: we’re coming for you. And we have God Almighty on our sides.
There is a frenzy, a terrible excitement in the air. Tomorrow is Donald Trump’s 4th of July celebration-and there are some of us (okay, a ton of us) who are hoping for a big reveal, and we are hoping that John F. Kennedy, Jr. is the surprise.
Oh, you say, my God that is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard!! At least that is what my sister in law said to me last Thanksgiving, after I announced that John would be attending the Macy’s Day parade. I waited all day to throw it back in her face, but nothing came of it. Some say he was Santa in another parade, but that wouldn’t have helped.
“Look! Look at that television! I am telling you that the Santa on that float is John F. Kennedy, Jr. himself! How can you NOT see that?”
Nope. I’ve been butt hurt enough lately, no thanks.
So, I have been keeping all hope at bay, as the Q post that stated that John isn’t alive pissed me off beyond all logic and reason.
“It’s a betrayal on the largest of levels!,” I wrote to Joe M., a dude on Twitter who was calmly trying to tell me to get bent. It hurt, and it hurt much more than I thought it would or could. In the past two and a half years, the patriots have been maligned, censored and shunned; given disinformation because damnit that’s how military intel works, and and woke above and beyond the call of duty.
Why are YOU screaming, bitch? At least you can walk down the street without being assaulted, or worse. I mean, STFU ya snowflake. Can you feel me on this? If people would just calm the F down, and do their own research!!!!! there would be much less TDS, and much more healing of this country.
I felt a buzz about me throughout the day, it was electric. I had more energy than I have in years, and my man even spoke about what a great mood I was in-that never happens. I have been praying and questioning and searching my soul.
And the Holy Spirit led me to this video.
I know who won’t be sleeping tonight.
John, I pray an army of angels protect you and your family.
We will never fully know the sacrifices you made for this country.
In 1990, I married my fiancée of five years, in a Catholic ceremony. I did it with the full knowledge that I was in love with another man. I take full responsibility for the role I played, however, it still makes for good reading.
The wedding had not gone off without a hitch, no pun intended. I had an ex who had threatened to “crash” my wedding: I took care of this little inconvenience by hiring a security guard, who was given a picture of the man in question. As the limousine containing my mother, my father and myself pulled up to the church? I see said security guard frisking a friend of mine, who happened to have red hair, but looked absolutely nothing like the red head who had planned to embarrass me at my nuptials. As my father and I sat in the back, knocking back the champagne at warp speed, my friend Dan approached the stretch.
“Michele, they won’t let me in.”
After my father and I pulled our laughing carcasses off of the floor, I had a quick meet and greet with Mr. Robotto. I had asked that he not come dressed like a cop, which he did. I had asked that he come to me before throwing anyone out, which he completely ignored. Needless to say he was fired, and my nemesis never made it to Lancaster, Pennsylvania.
I had asked my maid of honor to search the church for the man I was truly in love with, as he was my husband’s employee, and had been invited. I knew, with certainty, that one look at that man and I would make The Graduate look like Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs. A mix of high anxiety and no sleep the evening before, I was a whirling dervish of angst and punchiness. I don’t remember walking down the aisle with my father, but I DO remember this scene:
My girlfriend Gina had been given the assignment of reading scripture. And as she began to quote Corinthians, she stumbled on a word. To the normal person, this would have gone unnoticed; to an exhausted and heartbroken bride to be? The funniest thing I had ever heard. When I laugh, well, it’s with my whole body-and I am not quiet about it, no, not at all. I laughed so hard that the priest began to become unhinged, and as hard as I tried…and then, the icing on the cupcake of the service: hearing my father and best friend laugh with me, I was gone. I collapsed at the altar, thus ensuring the crowd that this would be a day that would live in infamy.
It wasn’t until the ex and I pulled away from the cozy bed and breakfast; our friends and family waving us on, headed towards Martha’s Vineyard, that this song played. And as I sat, numbed and tortured by a forbidden want, hot tears of recognition trickled down to the post card I had been writing:
I used to work as a food demonstrator for our local Dutchway Farmer’s Market. This was three years ago, but I remember well the day I met her: dressed in piety, she waxed poetic on why HER church (Catholic) took the book of Enoch out of the bible. She would run up to me, spouting her latest technique to get God’s attention. She thought she knew it all.
“I have decided not to wear makeup, you know, to look pure in front of God.”
I had my good and bad days at this particular job, but this
was not the former and I wanted to bash her skull in. There, I said it.
“Cut the sanctimonious bullshit, sister. Shut your effing mouth. Do you want a piece of me? Do you?????”
That was my thought cloud on that particular day. I didn’t calm down until she pranced her pious ass to the deli counter. Forget you.
I have always resented the self righteous. I remember in sixth grade I got in trouble for spitting my gum out at the crosswalk. Kim Fields, a more obnoxious child has not travelled the earth, and boy was I pissed.
“IT’S FUCKING BIODEGRADABLEKIMMY.”
Oh, if only I had that filter-but I don’t and I won’t. And the God’s honest truth? I believe He made me this way for a reason. Later on, that same year, I was tormented on the playground because of my purple raincoat-wings included. I was teased for being fat, and the weird thing was? The ring leader was the largest kid in our class (being kind) This did not bother me in the least (looking back, it amazes me) and I finally turned around one Fall day and let them have it. And that was the exact moment I befriended Denise, who would later be in my wedding, and who came close to having me arrested whenever we cruised the mall.
“I dare you to take that man’s hat and run like your hair is afire.”
And at that time, I was so desperate to make her laugh? I would have done anything. Well, almost anything.
As the good Lord would have it, I am not a follower, a sheeple, an NPC or a spineless doormat. I am Michele, Queen of the Absurd, the ridiculous, the this shit wouldn’t happen to anyone but me-Seriously??? But it’s AOK, because I made a covenant with God years ago.
“Dear God, I promise, I will endure the most absurd situations in exchange for the health and happiness of my family, my husband and my dog. Amen.”
He hasn’t let me down yet. Why just this morning? I opened the frig (pre-joe) looking for my creamer. A big box of batteries came hurling from above, the top of the frig is Dwain’s domain, and it looks like the Bermuda Triangle-complete with socks, important documents and said batteries that almost knocked my block off. Yet I was nonplussed (part of the drill, I’m immune to flying objects-God’s got this) as the case missed my head by mere centimeters. Hey, I’ll take it. Of course, I promptly walked into the sharp edge of the kitchen cupboard with my face, but a girl can’t have everything!
The reason the Book of Enoch was taken from the Bible? The powers that were, the elite, the Satanic bloodlines-they didn’t want us to have this powerful information.