He is~

Ladies and gents, may I introduce the man God used to restore my sanity-Mr. Richard Gannon.  Although we’ve never met, I feel a solid closeness to this man as I’ve watched him go from traumatized and triggered to victorious and free.  I love him, adore even, and I find his videos a panacea to those of us who have been around the block a time or two with a toxic, dehumanizing relationship.

I can tell you that my husband fell into this category before he met Christ.  He was controlling and I codependent.  In some ways Dwain had to have a short reign on his wife, I was wild and addicted-prone to folly, and blackouts.  I once woke from a black out and realized I had third degree burns all over my right arm.  To this very day we don’t know how it happened, but I have an inkling it was demons-hell, I was playing with fire.

I recently wrote a blog addressing Dwain’s tendency to overreach his authority.  I deleted it as, turns out?  That happened to be the one he did read, and three times at that.  His Reader’s Digest version?

You told the world I was a satan worshipper.

No, I am not the only half of this couple who has a vivid imagination, and he does have a knack for missing entire points of conversation.

Post argument I spent my days busy, looking for apartments, and praying/sleeping.  Jesus always combines tragedies for me in a way I can’t quite describe, as if he is killing two birds with one stone.  I discovered a swollen lymph node last evening, which means I either have Lyme or I am down with the ship sick.  Almost every argument we have had?  It coincides with the absolute necessity that I slow down and heal, emotionally and physically-something my nervous energy does not allow, ever.  I also think there is a self-attached stigma to my boudoir, as through depression and illness I’ve done my time there.

4d6d1f8e25cbf9524e2c3909d39adfb545ff4235b41c3ccd011555daf31db430
If I feel as if my inner child is being attacked? It’s not going to be pretty, for anyone.

So, today I feel so punk I call it a day, and head right back up to bed after skimming the headline news.  I am drained, dehydrated and dangerously depressed.  I phone my husband, there is a small breakthrough.  Misunderstandings are corrected, words taken back for prosperity.  BUT, there is the reason I was triggered (the full moon, my period and being under the weather only added to my veracity) and that reason had years and years of build up.

I would have thought my temper would have been calmed by now, but interestingly enough?  I find that I am more ferocious, fiery that ever before.  It’s as if the Holy Spirit is fighting with me, or for me, I can’t say.  I can literally feel the Lion’s head rearing, and a force much stronger than me takes over from within.  The result is animalistic, intense and frightening.  Here’s the rub-I don’t get angry like I used to, I’ve been there and find it does nothing for one’s tendency towards migraines.  I know a thing or two, and I consider myself to be a calm and loving force of nature.

Alas, then it happens, I am T R I G G E R E D, a wound from childhood or even years ago will surface, along with a trauma memory-and Sara doesn’t live here anymore.  I have prayed about this phenomena, and it turns out it is healthy for those of us who have been abused, to feel the emotion of anger.  In other words, rage is good.  It means you respect yourself and in my case it also means I am defending the little girl who had no way of defense.

My war is not with my husband.  Nor my monster in law.  My war was with powers and principalities unseen, yes, in the spiritual realms.  However, I will not dine in the presence of mine enemies.

11428_10202438082672826_8659447189157527897_n
Jesse and Maybelline pile on the bed. I slowly succumb to the nurturing only Jesus can orchestrate.

Cried out, I did a bible dip for relief.  I say a prayer, and flip to a page to find His wisdom.

The comfort I received was read from Isaiah, a book I read from often.  My kitten snuggled close, kissing every centimeter of my face, tickling, delighting. Isaiah speaks to the reality that as Christians, we will be persecuted.  God will use these trials and heartbreaks to refine us, to strengthen us.  No, we will not be spared sorrow in this life.  Yet we can live this truth with certainty-Jesus will see us through safely, each and every step of the way.

He alone has the victory, and if you are His you will feel this in your very bones.

No one ever said that picking up your cross would be easy.  God assures us that it will be well worth the tears, and that He is carrying us-each and every step of the way.

16649025_394528127573887_7169289271080070843_n

Hauntingly Familiar

So I wandered through my gardens today, half heartedly. I usually love my time in the garden, but today I wasn’t feeling it. My mood was great, I just wanted to be sitting on my ass.

In the worst possible way.

I watched as my sister in law drove down are rural Mountain Road, top down on the sportscar.

“HEY MICHELE!”

It didn’t bother me one bit at first. My monster in law lives directly across the street, and let me tell you honey-there is no love lost. She is a narc if there ever was a narc, but since my recovery I see right through the Jezebel spirit. I didn’t speak to her for almost a year because her behavior became so outrageous, so toxic. I wanted no part. In an effort to keep the peace, I forgave her (I am way too forgiving) because it is virtually impossible for me to hold a grudge. She apologized, I agreed to Christmas dinner…

My problem begins when I let my guard down, which, with her anyway? She is so good at the manipulation that she reels me right back in. Don’t get me wrong, she knows I’m on to her-yet she continues her war on my psyche by playing inappropriate games she thinks will bring me down. That isn’t going to happen. However, it is getting to the point that I almost went loco today in front of her “company.”

You see, she had invited my husband’s brother, and my sister in law and her husband who live two hours away. As I pulled at the roots of an old hydrangea-the bells and whistles went off like fireworks on the fourth of July.

Are you fucking serious?,” I yelled in my husband’s direction.

I went on to say how infuckingcredibly rude it was of her to once again invite the entire family sans team Dwain and Michele. Did she not think we could SEE them? Were we invisible?

What in the serious fuckwad.

And then I got mad for my husband. I knew it hurt him, and I was livid.

I grabbed the pup and went for the orchard in the back. I knew damn well they could hear me at the shindig. My Tourette’s kicked in.

WHITE TRASH, MISERABLE BITCH-MANIPULATIVE C***

I didn’t care at that point, in my mind it was far better than appearing like Medusa and hurling the bitch to the ground. I mean, could you just see it? I thought it far better to hurl insults from seven acres away, than to bludgeon her to amidst the catsup and relish.

Instead I stormed into the house. I smoked some medical weed.

Folks, I have found the cure to sobriety amidst the mayhem that is family: cannabis and a Shark vacuum cleaner.

With attachments.

He is~

Ladies and gents, may I introduce the man God used to restore my sanity-Mr. Richard Gannon.  Although we’ve never met, I feel a solid closeness to this man as I’ve watched him go from traumatized and triggered to victorious and free.  I love him, adore even, and I find his videos a panacea to those of us who have been around the block a time or two with a toxic, dehumanizing relationship.

I deleted my last writing as, turns out?  That happened to be the one he did read, and three times at that.  His Reader’s Digest version?

You told the world I was a satan worshipper.

No, I am not the only half of this couple who has a vivid imagination, and he does have a knack for missing entire points of conversation.

Post argument I spent my days busy, looking for apartments, and praying/sleeping.  Jesus always combines tragedies for me in a way I can’t quite describe, as if he is killing two birds with one stone.  I discovered a swollen lymph node last evening, which means I either have Lyme or I am down with the ship sick.  Almost every argument we have had?  It coincides with the absolute necessity that I slow down and heal, emotionally and physically-something my nervous energy does not allow, ever.  I also think there is a self-attached stigma to my boudoir, as through depression and illness I’ve done my time there.

4d6d1f8e25cbf9524e2c3909d39adfb545ff4235b41c3ccd011555daf31db430
If I feel as if my inner child is being attacked? It’s not going to be pretty, for anyone.

So, today I feel so punk I call it a day, and head right back up to bed after skimming the headline news.  I am drained, dehydrated and dangerously depressed.  I phone my husband, there is a small breakthrough.  Misunderstandings are corrected, words taken back for prosperity.  BUT, there is the reason I was triggered (the full moon, my period and being under the weather only added to my veracity) and that reason had years and years of build up.

I would have thought my temper would have been calmed by now, but interestingly enough?  I find that I am more ferocious, fiery that ever before.  It’s as if the Holy Spirit is fighting with me, or for me, I can’t say.  I can literally feel the Lion’s head rearing, and a force much stronger than me takes over from within.  The result is animalistic, intense and frightening.  Here’s the rub-I don’t get angry like I used to, I’ve been there and find it does nothing for one’s tendency towards migraines.  I know a thing or two, and I consider myself to be a calm and loving force of nature.

Alas, then it happens, I am T R I G G E R E D, a wound from childhood or even years ago will surface, along with a trauma memory-and Sara doesn’t live here anymore.  I have prayed about this phenomena, and it turns out it is healthy for those of us who have been abused, to feel the emotion of anger.  In other words, rage is good.  It means you respect yourself and in my case it also means I am defending the little girl who had no way of defense.

My war is not with my husband.  Nor my monster in law.  My war was with powers and principalities unseen, yes, in the spiritual realms.  However, I will not dine in the presence of mine enemies.

11428_10202438082672826_8659447189157527897_n
Jesse and Maybelline pile on the bed. I slowly succumb to the nurturing only Jesus can orchestrate.

Cried out, I did a bible dip for relief.  I say a prayer, and flip to a page to find His wisdom.

The comfort I received was read from Isaiah, a book I read from often.  My kitten snuggled close, kissing every centimeter of my face, tickling, delighting. Isaiah speaks to the reality that as Christians, we will be persecuted.  God will use these trials and heartbreaks to refine us, to strengthen us.  No, we will not be spared sorrow in this life.  Yet we can live this truth with certainty-Jesus will see us through safely, each and every step of the way.

He alone has the victory, and if you are His you will feel this in your very bones.

No one ever said that picking up your cross would be easy.  God assures us that it will be well worth the tears, and that He is carrying us-each and every step of the way.

16649025_394528127573887_7169289271080070843_n

 

 

Tightrope

I live out in the country, way out: but that doesn’t mean I have no neighbors. I think Jesus made it perfectly clear, but I am not the one to judge. I have issues, too. Just recently? I was doing a bit of ruminating about my sin, and I came to the horrifying conclusion that all of my friends are “beautiful” people. I am actually a bit surprised at my prejudice, as I assumed that I had a big heart, for all people. I do, however it seems to me it’s a whole lot easier to love attractive people. I am deeply shamed by this, and will work on it ASAP.

About five years ago, I found myself embedded in a screaming match with my neighbor, Jeanne. I stopped walking my dog around our neighborhood after this incident, and I have her to thank. Jeanne and her family had recently moved to our tiny burb, and I never would have known if not for her dog, Cujo; who promptly scared the life force out of my golden retriever. After calling for immediate restraint, I heard this:

“Oh, for crying out loud, it’s just a German Shepherd,” came her response, loud and clear. You don’t know me, or how I get when people get in my face. I am a Gemini, through and through. I am simultaneously the nicest and meanest person you will ever meet-just depends on what you’re dishing out on that particular day.

Years later, I am standing with Jeanne.  Who, indeed, proved to be a horse’s ass.  But this particular day, back in February, she caught me while hunting sheds, in the field below her farm.  We took up talking and I told her I was going through a bout of Lyme.  She, in turn, told me to come up to the house, to hear about Essential Oils!!!  I must have been gravely ill, because I actually went, thinking that she was trying to help me.  What. On. Earth. Was I thinking?

Anyway, the neighbor who lives in between myself and Jeanne, is a 90 year old, Pennsylvania Dutch, busy body extraordinaire.  She knows all of the gossip in the neighborhood.  We don’t get involved, ever.  So, I haven’t been close to Ruth in years, as I knew she wasn’t fond of me.  How did I know this?  I have it on good authority, it came from the horse’s mouth. Apparently, Ruth said this to my in laws:

“You can say a lot of things about Michele, but she sure does take good care of her animals.”

So, there’s that.  And a whole bunch of other stuff I have already flushed down the commode.

Here’s the thang:  we cannot wrap ourselves up in others’ perceptions of us.  Ninety percent of the time?  They are going on gossip, unearned reputations-not the Holy Spirit or the love of Jesus in their hearts.

So, I would like to wrap this up by saying this to anyone and everyone who delights in being in my bizness:

You people are the human version of menstrual cramps.

He is~A Reblog

Ladies and gents, may I introduce the man God used to restore my sanity-Mr. Richard Gannon.  Although we’ve never met, I feel a solid closeness to this man as I’ve watched him go from traumatized and triggered to victorious and free.  I love him, adore even, and I find his videos a panacea to those of us who have been around the block a time or two with a toxic, dehumanizing relationship.

I deleted my last writing as, turns out?  That happened to be the one he did read, and three times at that.  His Reader’s Digest version?

You told the world I was a satan worshipper.

No, I am not the only half of this couple who has a vivid imagination, and he does have a knack for missing entire points of conversation.

Post argument I spent my days busy, looking for apartments, and praying/sleeping.  Jesus always combines tragedies for me in a way I can’t quite describe, as if he is killing two birds with one stone.  I discovered a swollen lymph node last evening, which means I either have Lyme or I am down with the ship sick.  Almost every argument we have had?  It coincides with the absolute necessity that I slow down and heal, emotionally and physically-something my nervous energy does not allow, ever.  I also think there is a self-attached stigma to my boudoir, as through depression and illness I’ve done my time there.

4d6d1f8e25cbf9524e2c3909d39adfb545ff4235b41c3ccd011555daf31db430
If I feel as if my inner child is being attacked? It’s not going to be pretty, for anyone.

So, today I feel so punk I call it a day, and head right back up to bed after skimming the headline news.  I am drained, dehydrated and dangerously depressed.  I phone my husband, there is a small breakthrough.  Misunderstandings are corrected, words taken back for prosperity.  BUT, there is the reason I was triggered (the full moon, my period and being under the weather only added to my veracity) and that reason had years and years of build up.

I would have thought my temper would have been calmed by now, but interestingly enough?  I find that I am more ferocious, fiery that ever before.  It’s as if the Holy Spirit is fighting with me, or for me, I can’t say.  I can literally feel the Lion’s head rearing, and a force much stronger than me takes over from within.  The result is animalistic, intense and frightening.  Here’s the rub-I don’t get angry like I used to, I’ve been there and find it does nothing for one’s tendency towards migraines.  I know a thing or two, and I consider myself to be a calm and loving force of nature.

Alas, then it happens, I am T R I G G E R E D, a wound from childhood or even years ago will surface, along with a trauma memory-and Sara doesn’t live here anymore.  I have prayed about this phenomena, and it turns out it is healthy for those of us who have been abused, to feel the emotion of anger.  In other words, rage is good.  It means you respect yourself and in my case it also means I am defending the little girl who had no way of defense.

My war is not with my husband.  Nor my monster in law.  My war was with powers and principalities unseen, yes, in the spiritual realms.  However, I will not dine in the presence of mine enemies.

11428_10202438082672826_8659447189157527897_n
Jesse and Maybelline pile on the bed. I slowly succumb to the nurturing only Jesus can orchestrate.

Cried out, I did a bible dip for relief.  I say a prayer, and flip to a page to find His wisdom.

The comfort I received was read from Isaiah, a book I read from often.  My kitten snuggled close, kissing every centimeter of my face, tickling, delighting. Isaiah speaks to the reality that as Christians, we will be persecuted.  God will use these trials and heartbreaks to refine us, to strengthen us.  No, we will not be spared sorrow in this life.  Yet we can live this truth with certainty-Jesus will see us through safely, each and every step of the way.

He alone has the victory, and if you are His you will feel this in your very bones.

No one ever said that picking up your cross would be easy.  God assures us that it will be well worth the tears, and that He is carrying us-each and every step of the way.

16649025_394528127573887_7169289271080070843_n

 

 

I’ll Not Be a Gentleman

Yesterday was Mother’s Day, and I pray you all had a great one-mine started out precariously, and it proved that no good deed goes unpunished.  Indeed.

In a moment of weakness, compassion and dumbassery-I asked my MIL if she would like us to join her on Mother’s Day-at her church.  Actually, my husband brought the notion up last Sunday-and I told him I’d pray on it-only to find that he had been joking.  JOKING.  Unfortunately, it was too late.  My heart got the better of me, and I set plans for 9:30 a.m.  We would be meeting in the strip mall that held her place of worship (Dwain and I called it The Cult) thirty minutes prior to the service.

Dumbassery at its finest.11156399_828561477221503_5855406605992417646_n

Anyhooser, Dwain was none too pleased with the news, but I held my ground.

“What could POSSIBLY go wrong?  We’ll be in church, sort of,” I stammered.

You have to understand a few things before I go on.  My MIL is a narcissist with possible Sociopathic tendencies.  She can scream at volume eleventy hundred with the best of them, and at one point in fact-she locked herself in the bathroom on my husband’s 35th birthday because his WIFE was taking him out to eat.  The histrionics were impressive, but I’m no longer intimidated.  Things have become manageable between us, as I take no shit and she knows this-she knows better than to mess with the likes of this girl.   Everything turned around the day I stood up to her-any attempts to bring me under her control have failed-and with my new strength I laugh in the face of danger, daily.

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So the cult, I mean church fills up to maximum capacity.  I have to admit, between the praise music and the guest (a Christian comedian who had us in hysterics) my husband and I were truly enjoying ourselves.  We sat there for two hours, no major faux pas-I did spill my Kombucha on a stranger, but nothing major-patiently awaiting the blessing.

From the corner of my eye, I see the veneer on her face.  It has cracked, and the pieces are falling all over the place.  She was even drinking her water in an angry fashion, which made me pee myself a little, but thankfully I was wearing a carefree panty liner.

What’s wrong with my mother?

“I don’t know, why don’t you ask her?,” I reply.

Dwain, still mildly petrified of his mother, shook his head in definitive protest.

Before I could even ask, the tirade began.

Well, I’m not even going to clap for him.  (The comedian)  I wanted my pastor to be here (he was on vacation) and the real praise team (he was on vacation) to be here. And…”

I quit listening.  A seething rage began from the depths of my being:  I held it in, but I could feel the monster within, pushing and prodding at my insides-he wanted out, and in the worst way.

I stand outside in the semi-hurricane and wait for my husband to pick me up-which he does every Sunday.  The wind is blowing people’s umbrellas inside out, I think I hear a woman scream, where the HARRY is my husband?  I re-entered the church four times before I finally stormed out and to the truck.  I open the door…

“What the FUCK?????????????????????”

I scream these words at volume coxswain, and sit my ass in the seat.

“I was on the phone with your son.  Sorry.  And by the way, there may be people in upstate New York who didn’t hear you.”

“DRIVE,” the monster says.

“Just fucking DRIVE.”

ByeByeHillaryBlood

 

 

 

Ain’t Kids No More

I could listen to this song all day, all night and then some.  Lord I love these girls; their harmonies are like a symphony to the ears, and their songs are so relatable, at least for me.  I’d love to see them in person, but the chances of that happening are between slim and nada.  I have been begging my husband to PLEASE take me to see Mumford and Sons-one of my very favorite bands.  The old excuse was he didn’t want to camp at a festival for three days, which I partially agreed with.  Apparently, they have arrived, but the new excuse is financial practicality.

The feelings of melancholy have had their way with my psyche.  Probably not the best time to cut my Zoloft dosage in half to save a few bucks.  Why, why do I do it and what was I thinking?  I saw a video the other day, a man called Nubreed was preaching about demonic spirits.  I usually love his stuff, he is a righteous dude, but the subject of depression/anxiety/mental health issues being demonic possession is a pretty, pretty, pretty loathsome one for me, for the obvious reasons.  These videos are about as joyful to watch as the ones about pagan holidays, and why we must ban Christmas, Easter and every other beloved tradition known to humanity.

I mean, haven’t these dark forces taken enough from us already?  Good grief!  I’ll be the first one to tell you that, as far as I know, you will not go to hell for going to Christmas Eve mass.  Pretty sure, just don’t quote me on that.  I am not a pastor and I have no intention of having people’s souls in my hands.  Just making an observation.

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Don’t even get me started.

I can tell you, I am 99.9% sure that I do not have a demon within.  Rid myself of them years ago, and I do my best to put on the full armor of God.  Am I a sinner?  Yes.  Does Jesus love me anyway?

Yes, Yes, Yes!!!

So, we had a lovely fall day together-me, my husband and the pooch.  I repotted a gimongous succulent, and we considered picking our pumpkins from our patch, but I wanted to watch them grow for a few more days.  I know, and yes, I am as ridiculous as I sound.

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My precious niece, Esme Elkins

And yes, she does take after her Aunt Michele, God bless her.

So, if you are new to my blog, I must preface this story by telling you that I have lived across the street from the monster in law for the past 30 years.  The first words she ever spoke to me were to say that Dwain was still in love with his ex wife.  Thins went downhill after that.  I don’t want to overuse the words, but if ever there was a narcissist?  It would be Miriam Hoffman.  I’m just beginning to believe that she may not, after all, be the anti-Christ-but God knows she’s something.  Something else, as in, eleventy hundred on a scale of 10.

For years and years I thought it was me.  Au contraire mon amies!  You see, I didn’t know what a narc was three years ago; and it was quite the nausea inducing surprise to find out that I was surrounded by them.  I own my crap when it comes to my codependency-a child of an alcoholic, and emotionally abused for a time by my mother.  Mom wasn’t a narc, not even close.  I now know that her empathy and love for us would have made that misnomer impossible.

My monster has ignored, belittled, aggravated and gossiped about me since the day I married her son.  How do I know?  My friends would tell me, my husband would tell me for crying out loud.  As the years went on, she knowingly and with malice put me through freaking hell to the point I thought I’d commit Hare Kari.

And then?  It happened.

I always knew that there would come a day when she slipped her mask, reaped what she had sown.  I just didn’t know how forcefully things would proceed-I had no way of knowing that God would take a church service to put it to her good, but that’s exactly what he did.

I must have been really stoned when I had the idea that, yes, why don’t we join Dwain’s parents at their church.  Wouldn’t that be a nice surprise, a loving gesture?  Unfortunately, we liked what we saw and began attending their church regularly.  One day I decided to wear my brand new, vintage Kentucky Derby hat-polka dots and all.  Dwain had just bought it for me, and I was tickled to find a dress that matched fashionably.

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I don’t wear hats to church to show off, nor do I want the attention of others.  While I can’t say that has been true my entire life-you know.  I wear them to honor my mother, who looked like Audrey Hepburn, even on a bad day.  As we entered the church, Dwain’s parents were greeting.  I told his mother of the gift I was wearing, don’t ask me why.  God forbid I have an enthusiastic moment, for crying out loud.

It wasn’t until a few moments later, when I mentioned my animosity towards Bud’s girlfriend, that she snapped.

That’s not something you say in church!  That’s not something you say in CHURCH!!!

Coming from a woman who openly mocked an autistic child during last year’s children’s choir Christmas pageant.  A woman who said,

I know where I’m going.

when approached by an out of her mind with grief daughter in law.

Nough said.  The next day I happened to be down at her coven.  She gets this snarky look on her face, but still, I don’t see it coming.

You looked nice yesterday.  I could have done without the hat.

Well, that was the icing on the cupcake.  I have never been spoken to by such a viper, and I’ve had some vipers, let me tell you, in my life.

And so it was, when Dwain informed his mother that I would not be attending tomorrow’s “birthday celebration.”

“What did she say,?” I wondered out loud.

She’ll just have to change, honey.  She has to change.

And my heart broke just a little bit, when I saw the sadness in his face.

I thought there would be joy on the day of reckoning.  No joy, it comes at the cost of my beloved~