If I Were the Devil…

 

I haven’t been writing on the subject of our reality in this day and age:  the fight of GOOD against EVIL, the thinning of the veil, pure evil being brought into the light-simply because the good news comes now, at warp speed.  The Good News meaning a myriad of things, but first and always foremost it is the story of Jesus.  He was born to Joseph and Mary (a virgin) in the little town of Bethlehem.  He grew to fulfill His purpose, which was to sacrifice himself, on that wretched cross, to pay the debt for our sins.  He died, but He rose again-bringing with him the Holy Spirit.  He now sits at the right hand of our Father, in heaven-with all of the Saints and Angels.

People.  If God could save a wretch like me?  He can, and will, save the likes of your sorry butts 🙂 All you need to do is ask Him to come into your life.  If you ask Him to, he will forgive all of your trespasses-and welcome you with open arms.  In my case, as bad as my life had become for so many reasons?  I needed to hit bottom-which ended up being my husband telling the social worker in the emergency room that I had pointed a knife at him, over a bottle of wine.

And then, he burst into tears.

I was accompanied to the bathroom by a police officer, who stood suicide watch on me through the night.  They gave me meds so strong, that I slept through the next day-as my husband emptied the house of any vestiges of booze.  The next few years were the absolute worst/best of my life.  But mostly worst.  I clung to Jesus for dear life!

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I want you to know a few things, such as I was not awake myself until two years ago.  The PTSD and Lyme had taken their toll on my mind and my immune system.  My anxiety and depression left me incapable of dealing with any stress whatsoever.  Ironically, the quest for truth God put me on has added to the trauma.

But yet when I am my weakest, only then am I strong.

This sentiment in this scripture  speaks to me, speaks to my very soul.  I have lived through a life that could not have been lived by the faint of heart.  From the time I was a young, chubby girl yearning to be loved to the anorexic fright of a waif, weighing in at 73 pounds, Jesus has been with me.  Even in my isolation, there was a solace and peace-I was never truly alone.  I desperately needed Him.  A  grueling battle with alcoholism and addiction to opioids left me feeling unworthy, unloved and unwanted.  I can honestly say I despised myself, and drifted away from the church.

This isn’t the story I want to be telling, but one day during the first year of my sobriety, I fell to my knees in eight inches of snow, and cried out to Jesus.  I wept and wept and prayed that He forgive me for my transgressions-it took me awhile to believe it, but he did, and I felt it.  To this day I literally take one moment at a time, one day at a time asking the Holy Spirit to guide my endeavors.  On paper?  God waking me up at such a time as this is objectionably hilarious.  Me?  The girl that screams bloody murder when she mistakes her slippers for a rodent?  The gal who can’t read Dean Kuntz at night, even with her husband right beside her?  The girl who has to light every candle in the house for aromatherapy, just to write a check?

I have really bad issues with money.  Oy vey.

Yes.  Apparently so.  The Great Awakening is about a movement of like minded people,  who begin to realize that the life they had been living was an absolute shit show.  We just didn’t know it at the time.  The treason and evil go deeper than a hundred blogs could cover.  We are at the inception of a mass awakening, as the Trump administration (through QAnon) begins the delicate unraveling of the truth.  The corruption.  The evil on a scale that “would put 99% of America in a hospital.”

I have news for the enemy.

President Trump wants to control the drop of information, so as not to alarm and cause mass hysteria.  I want this blog to be a place where you can come to get the absolute truth, in a loving and humble manner.  All glory goes to God, thousands of people have this information-and we are okay, for the most part.  There are support groups, those who will answer questions, and those that offer the truth in a safe, timely and responsible manner, that honors God and country.

Tomorrow we’ll take it from the beginning,

AboutQResearch

I Confess…

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.
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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:

HAVING A WISH, TIME YOU WERE HERE…

I mailed it from Nantucket.

To Dwain, with love… (to be continued)

Haunted by Sheeple

 

I am mildly disturbed.  Some would say deranged with rage, and I am surrounded by Sheeple at each and every turn.  How does a girl, who suffers from PTSD, get to the bottom of it all without terrorizing herself, her dog and even, yes-even the mail lady?  Poor Tammy.  She slid into our mailbox yesterday, and I wouldn’t have even noticed if my pup hadn’t sounded the alarm.  Does that ever happen to you?  You’re in the middle of deep concentration and the dog barks you out of your stupor?  Scares the red blood cells right out of me, I swear.

The poor girl was traumatized, as her truck was hanging on the very precipice of an embankment.  As I leaned in to see if she was okay, it was clear to me that she was in shock.  Once I had her in the house, we needed to wait for my husband to arrive and pull her vehicle out.

“Did you know that President Trump is saving the world as we speak?”

“JFK, Jr. is alive and well, and I think he’s Q, and Trump is Q+.”

I stopped talking when I saw the fear mounting in her eyes.  She had absolutely no idea what I was speaking about.   I’m quite sure she went home to her husband and bitched about the “crazy lady” that bent her ear with nonsense-and that is the point of this blog:  Q is 100% real.  The Great Awakening is 100% real.  I live in a town of 300 people, and aside from my friends Sherry and Scott?  Not one of them believes a word I say.

No more redpilling for this girl.  I try to understand and practice patience, but I have to say I am frustrated more than not.  And with so very much at stake, I remind myself that day by day (maybe not in the sleepy town of Kleinfeltersville)  the masses are truly awakening.

Recently, I have had a hard time keeping up with the news; an even harder time at making the distinction between truth and crapola-so, I cancelled most of my YouTube subscriptions and now get my news from the horses mouth, on 8 chan, of course. The SGT Report is real news, and Q has confirmed this.   I have to be honest, I am not quite sure what to think of the new QAnon book:  we were warned a while back-be careful who you follow.  You see, there are Patriots and Paytriots-those that are trying to profit from the Great Awakening and Q movements.  As it turns out, the people who wrote the book are the very same who helped me to make sense of it all-and I am torn between supporting and condemning. 

I suppose we all need to understand that false information is necessary-there are bad people, even our enemies, on this board.

I agree with Sean; ask those questions of God himself.  He is the author of our reality, our past and our precious future.

He is the Alpha and Omega.  Abba won’t censor, ridicule or abandon you.

This is a war that is gaining momentum, good vs. evil, a shift in consciousness, a new world-God wins in the end, and that, my friends, is all I need to know.

For now.

She Killed it With Kisses…

My cup runneth over…it is well with my soul-even after the email I just received from a member of my family.   Are you SURE you don’t have BPD???????

Jesus Mighty, Mary and Joseph.  When will this end?  When do I get to stop apologizing for breathing?  For being a modest success and overcoming alcoholism and addiction to opioids?  I am no longer the black sheep, but I am sure as Hell the Scapegoat-and that shit is over, whether or not the narc “approves.”  My poor brother is worried.  He thinks my anorexia led to Borderline Personality Disorder.  Stop the madness, step off and WHAT THE HELL YOU TALKING ABOUT, WILLIS?

I know.  It’s a holiday weekend!  We must ensure she not enjoy it, maybe terrorize her with a new diagnoses?  Yeah, that sounds good.  Not that he knows what he’s doing, but I can tell him what he’s doing wrong, and that would be talking to our sister.  He is concerned about my anger during his last trip to my home, in which he stated, flat out:

“I don’t believe you.”  Courtney, you can wipe that demonic smirk off of your face.  Are you proud of the person you have become?  Are you right with Jesus?  Why have you deemed therapy a no-no?  Why did you call me two years ago and beg me not to go no contact?  Why did you admit to keeping the children from me?  Why did you admit keeping me from family vacations?  Why do you care?

I can answer every one of the questions, but rather than do that, I will stop reading emails, taking phone calls and feeling guilty because my kin is a psychopath.

I have earned this time of relative happiness.  My husband has been through enough.

Consider this your CEASE AND DESIST.

Your opinion doesn’t matter.

Nothing you say is true.

Deep down inside?  You are a coward of epic proportions.

Step off.

You have been served.

Nothing Here Has Changed…Just the Beat

It takes two to tango……..this song was running through my head this morning, as I slipped and slid through my morning hike.  The fallen leaves, combined with the morning rain, had made the bridges treacherous, and my golden retriever waited with great anticipation-if not impatience, as I crawled along at a snail’s pace.

Jesse sees something, immediately slows down, turns around to look at me.  So accustomed to being alone at this early hour, I never considered his eyes were on a human being.  Finding myself at the slipperiest slope, wet rocks crowding the trail, I look up:  there is indeed a man at the top of the hill.  I cannot see his hair, but I do see his metal detector.  I stop dead in my tracks.  Put down my back pack, and get out my mace.  I remember, instantly, that the man  who stalked me whilst half naked last Summer had one, and that the cops told me that this was against the law at MiddleCreek.  I thought, ‘OK, here’s where I faint, fall apart, run…….’  But the real shocker was this:  I had no fear.

I had just fallen, whilst trying to pee in the woods.  It surprised me how many leaves one can pull out of their naked ass cheeks, but they kept coming, my dog mildly alarmed, came over to aid in my getting it together, so I wasn’t operating at my full potential.  I decided to walk right up to him, hiding my mace in my pocket.  If he had red hair (as my stalker did) I would shoot him straight in the face….if not?  I would tell him that he was breaking the law.

Finally able to see the  man had dark brown locks, I stepped up to the plate.

“Excuse me sir, but watch yourself, those are illegal in this park,” I gently roared.

He reaches in his pocket.  I reach into mine.

“No Englais, por favor.”

With that he pulls out his treasure of the day.  One shell casing and two pennies.

I need to get a day job.

Green Are Your Eyes…

My brother came up for a visit a few weeks ago, and as we conversed he brought up the wedding that my father spent thousands upon thousands of dollars on.

“They were devastated,” he told me, dead seriously at that.  Craig lived in California at the time.  My mother was battling ovarian cancer, although she, nor the doctors, knew.  I remember one phone call from mom, in which she told me daddy had cried for days-and to this very day I wish I had run away……because I didn’t have the strength to stop the snow ball that kept rolling, gaining momentum, until it was so big it crushed me in its wake.

I did not choose this particular war.  It chose us, Dwain and myself.  I was in such angst that my mother sent my sister to baby sit, rather than sit down and discuss my strong resistance to a wedding that never, ever should have taken place.  In a therapy session, with my parents, the man with all the answers (he thought so anyway) asked my mother why she was so angry.

“The fucking whore just wanted a party.”

The therapist looked at me and then at my father.  When I looked back at him his glasses were askew and he appeared alarmed-distressed, if you will.  I had warned him.  I knew it was coming.   My father, always and forever my best friend and supporter, offered this:

“Honey, he said, looking at my mother as if she’d lost her mind-“Why don’t you let us get you an apartment, just be by yourself for awhile so you can figure things out.”

I couldn’t and didn’t consider that option.  I loathe the fact that I hurt my parents in any capacity whatsoever.   It breaks me and was a contributing factor in my rush to oblivion, alcohol, pills, cocaine………..my heart was a ball of fire, and I wept more than I smiled.

But, green were his eyes…….and their melodic and hypnotizing pull are evident this very day.  And for that, oh for that I am incredibly blessed.

Tears Dry On Their Own

 

I don’t understand, why do I stress the man? When there are  much greater things at hand?                                                                                 -Amy Winehouse

 

I had a bad hair day, and as I lick my wounds, I will do what I am wont to do when grief, of any kind, beckons. I turn to my writing, and process best I can.  I spent my former life running from anything “feeling.” As a result I suffer a backlog of grief.  I have worked through so much, the glory going to Jesus, who has shadowed my life, since childhood.  And of course, it was the Prince of Peace I turned to-after a hike and shower did nothing to shake the chill of a sadness I could not name.

I hadn’t felt this dull malaise in a long time.  The full moon always takes a toll on my psyche-I suffer a bizarre change of attitude at this time of the month, and it just happens to coincide with my period.  No, it’s not pretty-trust me!  I don’t relish having the temperament of Medusa on crack, but hey-who am I to question?

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I think we all have our codependency days.  Days when you’d be happy if your monster in law called you-just so you know you aren’t invisible.  This morning I checked my blog stats, and although I’m a big girl with a medium-thick skin?  Well, let’s just say I awoke to no texts, Facebook notifications, phone calls or fuck-yous.  As the morning went on, I had the unpleasant task of having to pick something up at my in laws home, conveniently located directly across the street.  Insert hair pulling here.

I spotted my monster, standing out on her front porch.  I told the dog to stay, and yelled my intentions, hoping she would hear me, so I wouldn’t have to knock on the door and go through the whole, sordid pretense.

OMG, WE HAVEN’T SEEN YOU IN WEEKS, LET ME TELL YOU ABOUT MY MOST RECENT PURCHASE, THIS DISH CLOTH-CLEARLY THE MOST SUPERIOR DISH CLOTH THIS SIDE OF THE PACOS, AND LOOK!  IT MATCHES MY COFFEE POT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

Nah.  I’ll pass.

But something really weird happened.  She. ran. from. me.  I knew this to be true, because I have the moves of a full out ninja when it comes to avoiding my in laws.  I know all the tricks.  As I walked down the road, she walked faster.  I approached the front door, and knocked.

No answer.

She reappeared after I had returned to my home, picking weeds in a garden that is frozen solid.

Now, on good hair days this would not have phased me.  However, as the possibility of my invisibility grew, I was actually offended.

Later in the day, I phoned a girl friend to see if she’d be going to aerobics class.  She never returned my call.

These ridiculous nonissues prevailed the entire day.  I got good and quiet with God.

“What’s wrong with me, Abba?  Where is this over sensitivity coming from?  Where’s my self esteem?  Remind me of who I am in You.”

Tears dripped down my cheeks.  I knew this feeling only too well, although I hadn’t felt it in some time.  I have found myself in the midst of pain and confusion, as I wonder aloud why I had allowed it to happen.

My best friend is a narcissist.  I have known this for months, since the day she spat venom at 45 mph, into my voicemail.  Called me a liar, told me she’d tell the girls in class what I said about my in laws.  None of it made sense, but then again-I never listened to the entire voicemail.  After this incident, she begged me to forgive her-and that’s when I made my fatal mistake.

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I couldn’t put my finger on the sense of loss, anxiety and sense of impending doom.  I began tearing at my skin, stymied by my own inertia.  Recently, she was giving me the silent treatment-a well known, passive aggressive technique of the Jezebel.  They gaslight you into thinking it is you who’s the psychopath.  Narcissistic Injury-feel free to do your research in that department, if God forbid, you too are suffering.

I listened to the entire voicemail.

My skin crawled as I heard the vitriolic rage.

The moral of the story?  Go with your gut, especially if you have been the victim of Narcissistic Abuse.  There are resources online to help you understand the disease, the symptoms of CPTSD, and begin to heal the codependency that brought you to this place of utter despair.

Kill Jezebel.