Trust the Plan, Man

Lordamighty, it has been a trying week.  I have wept so often I have a dehydration migraine going.  And the toxic people in my life aren’t helping; neither is my Irish temper.  After three days of emotional roller coasters and half assed hostessing–I did the unthinkable, had two dinner parties back to back on consecutive days–I am planted firmly on my assets, and plan on absolutely nothing for duration of today.

So, my girlfriend Lynn came to dine on Tuesday.  We have recently reunited after a not so pretty breakup, and I was just as much to blame as she.  I have few regrets in this life, but they all involve my inability to have compassion or patience with people I loved dearly.  It still kicks me in the stomach now and then.

Lynn is my friend that respects me enough to believe me when I tell her what is going on.  She takes it in stride, and I believe it to be her strong and abiding faith in Jesus.  For when we are weak, then are we strong stuff.  She is lovely, and very fragile with health problems.  I worry and pray for her, and I believe she will be healed.  She knows what it is to be trampled on, then shunned by family members.  One of these members happens to be a pastor who tapped her phone and hacked her Facebook account.  He then publicly humiliated her in a sermon, and had the entire church shun his own stepmother.

I got noting on her, for sure.

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Found these sweethearts on the side of the road, they didn’t live long-but they lived with purpose and joy.

I didn’t really trust it, at first-the friendship.  I had cared for her mother in Lynne’s home, and she had helped me during a full blown nervous breakdown-she was my angel.  She fought with my husband over allowing me to smoke, stuck up for me in church and social circles, and had the biggest heart I’d ever seen.

Familiarity breeds discontent.

I ran into her at the grocery store, and stopped to chat for a bit.  To be frank, my force field was in full operation.  I had no intentions of trusting her, or hoping it would go further.  I am so much stronger than I was then, the breakdown coming after I decided to go off of my Lexapro-cold turkey-because I believed it made me gain twenty pounds.  Sadly, I almost did the same rodeo show with my Zoloft-I came to my senses after two days.

Time to admit that you have a chemical imbalance, are prone to serious depression and anxiety after a lifetime of abuse, CPTSD.  There, that wasn’t so hard.  Don’t get me wrong, every ridiculous and harrowing ride I have ever taken in this glorious life brought me to the point of now, and praise Jesus!  I am stronger, more resistant.  I speak my truth, and as is my wont, publicly and at volume eleventy hundred.

Alas, over the last few days we have bonded due to extremely trying times, for the both of us.  I lost my best friend to cancer, she her health concerns and loneliness.  It’s not that she doesn’t have people around her, it’s just that they don’t understand her.  Not like I do.

Anyway, I brought up the Reptilian convoy.  Interestingly enough, she didn’t blink an eye ball!  How could this be, my thought cloud read.  She didn’t bat an eye, because she knew a woman who worked at Hershey Medical Center.  This woman is a nurse, and she confided in Lynne that she had cared (meaning on multiple occasions) for people with “claws for hands.”

If you are as repelled and horrified as I am, well, God bless ya.

The following video if from a man I like to call friend.  He is a respected scholar in this field.  He lectures all around the country, is an Irish Catholic like myself, and takes his work very seriously.  I caution you to not rebuke this information, because these are facts, not fiction.

May we as Christians, brothers and sisters in Christ who are privileged to live in such a time as this, where we are witnessing biblical spiritual warfare-and we are winning.  Bigly.  May we all come together, forget the political drudge that is meant to separate us.  For we are much stronger together, and now is the time to love one another.  Love out loud.  Reach out to those around you who are having a hard time with the facts.

Our biggest foe is the Mainstream media.  They are keeping those yet awakened in the dark, after years of brainwashing and demoralizing-they are lying just as they are living.

Future proves past.

Ask Jesus into your heart, ask for discernment from the Holy Spirit.  I do this each and every day, but you don’t have to.  There are no rules.  If you call on the name of Jesus, He will be at your side.  If you draw closer, and believe that He is the one and only Son of God who came in the flesh to sacrifice for our sins so that we may be forgiven?  Whisper, shout, whatever you have to do, I am telling you.  Just twelve years ago I was a hopeless addict, strung out from PTSD, sitting in the ER with a cop at my door.  Suicide watch.  I had zero self esteem, and had been an unknowing victim in my sister’s narcissism.  I was at bottom as bottom can get, my marriage in turmoil, my mind a backlog of grief.

I was terrified of feeling the pain.  Terrified.

Today I am free from the guilt, the shame and the grief.  Because of Him I am stronger.  Because of Him I am an adult, wide awake but fearless.  I trust my Abba.

I trust the plan, man.

 

 

Are You a Targeted Individual?

 

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.

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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.

Move over, bitch.

An Unkindness of Ravens

When I was frolicking in the New Age movement (please DON’T) I took notice that a cacophony of ravens followed me-from state to state in fact, and it took me some time to realize that this was not a good thing.  Between a well meaning Reiki Master (please DON’T) led me to Doreen Virtue’s angel cards, spirit guides, and the pineal gland.  

I came to my senses when I went to her immediately after being stalked by a naked, wild haired, crazy man-and she told me I created the scenario, you know, by thinking about it.  Kind of like The Secret, but backwards.  Most of you know I went through absolute hell getting out of such ridiculousness and evil.  The day of my plummet back into Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, I phoned my sister.

She never got back to me.

The same thing happened the day I was thrown down on my knees in utter sorrow, for the Holy Spirit had made it clear-I needed to apologize and repent.  I didn’t really have a choice in the matter-on my knees for what seemed like hours, repeating over and over:

I have grieved your heart.

I had never, nor do I hope to ever feel that sadness and despair again.

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When my anxieties multiply, your comforting calms me down. -Psalm 94:19

I had been praying recently, about trying to make things “right” with my sibling.  Abba answered that prayer rather quickly, as He reminded me that even though I have forgiven her, it doesn’t change who she is.  How could I possibly move forward without an apology, or even an attempt to  talk things out?

And what would become of my authentic self and the tough road walked to freedom from people who did not have my best interests at heart.  I cleaned the closet of close friendships, and wound up making new friendships.  And although I love my sister, and dearly miss my nieces and nephew?

I broke the chains that bound me.  I can never go back.

Never.

 

In a New York State of Mind….

I have written, at length, about my relationship with my now disowned sister-but words will never portray the betrayal, the loss, the shock.  Back in the day, in our twenties, we did everything together.  I took her with me to Pittsburgh, my ex-husband’s home town, on several occasions, and there were great times, amazing times-but that is another story for another day.

It’s hard to explain what it’s like to find out someone as close as a sibling is a psychopath.  I look back constantly, why, why, why?  There were so many red flags, but my self esteem was in the toilet, and she used everything that was true and decent, my immense love for my family, my spirituality-she used it against me.

“Nothing matters to you more than family, does it Michele?,” she asked one rainy morning, ten or so years ago.   Of course not, I told her.  Family means everything, all we have in this world are each other, mom and dad are gone and we have to take care of the family we have left.                                      

She took this information, digested it, and used it against me for ten years straight.  My husband loved our nieces and nephew-he constantly asked why we didn’t just drive down to Exton, surprise them.  Back then, he didn’t understand the machinations of her twisted mind.  I knew she was punishing me, but where was the crime?

New York is incredibly important to me.  I was born in Utica, my grandparents and cousins, aunts and uncles-they were all in upstate New York.  My father, the only person in our family who graduated college, attended St. Lawrence University- and that is where I will spread his ashes in September, standing next to my husband, my familia, who has been hurt and victimized as well, at the hands of her insanity.

Love is patient.  Love is kind.  Love does not envy or boast.  Love, in all its messiness and madness, well, love never fails.

In gratitude and remembrance of Stephen James Elkins.   My friend, my partner in crime, my father.  It’s hell here without you daddy, see you on the other side.

The Living Waters

Those of us with mental health issues (I suffer from CPTSD) are in the spotlight right now, as violence escalates around the globe.  There is a distinct difference between mental illness and brainwashing via MK Ultra, and in that spirit I dedicate this blog to all who are stigmatized, pigeon holed, persecuted or worse-because of circumstances often beyond their control.  You are my heroes: it is through extreme adversity and gut wrenching pain that you face each and every day.  It is my prayer that you are choosing healthy coping mechanisms and that Jesus is your Lord and Savior.  If not, I encourage you to follow my blog-not for me, but for you.  I’m not in this for a huge following; I am here to be the voice of comfort, reason and truth that I believe God has called me to be-a beacon in a time of darkness.

Please understand that I have never taken credit for my writing, whether you love it or hate it, the content comes from the Holy Spirit:  he speaks to me in different ways throughout the day.  By evening, I am writing-my version of what I believe to be Spirit-led writing.  I am what they call a sensitive-Abba has given me the gift of spiritual understanding.  Only in the past three years have I been aware of this gift from above-but I can say that I have struggled through tremendous adversity (but always under His loving protection) I believe that having lived a tortured life has led me to a greater compassion and love for others.  Sadly, my CPTSD makes it incredibly difficult for me to trust others with my heart and soul.

So, I don’t.

I have been texting my brother as of late.  We discuss political and social issues, and today I sent him a video from Abel Danger-explaining the spiritual warfare and global reset.  He has had trouble believing much of what I have written on the subject of our amazing president Trump, the Plan, or the Great Awakening.

So, my sister was one of the narcs who stopped just short of killing me.  I haven’t spoken to her in years, although I do pray for her.  One thing I’ve learned over and over through my many perpetrators is this:  if you don’t go no contact?  You are setting yourself up for greater pain, dysfunction and even severe health complications due to the constant stress of gaslighting, triangulation, projection and abject cruelty.  Even a short conversation could lead to a triggering of emotional flashbacks so severe, that it takes me weeks to come back to myself.

So, my brother lives in LA.  My sister lives in PA.

My husband called me in to see my niece Esme’s Instagram.  I looked down to see my brother on a scooter, but the voice in the video?  It haunted me.  Something is wrong with that tone, the insincerity-a false sense of excitement.

“There you go, Craig, you’re doing it!”  I insisted to my husband that it was my sister’s voice.  He balked.  He played it again and heard my brother in law’s voice at the end of the clip.  I took off into the kitchen, adrenaline pumping, anxiety rising.  I opened the frig door, and stared blankly into space, closed it, opened it again.

A few moments of despair, and it was over.

“Life is too damn good,” I said to myself.

Thus the end of the trauma.

Thank you, Jesus-for the head’s up.  And more importantly?  For walking every step of my  dark and lonely journey back to peace.

Come to the Living Waters, and drink from the cup of Life.

 

A Hard Rain Is Gonna Fall…..

I ache within every fiber of my being for the man I married some 26 years ago-he is such a good man, you have to understand that he is always thinking of other people, his heart so pure, a heart of gold.  There are so many thoughts fighting for my attention right now, a fevered frenzy of angst.  He does not deserve this.  And I wish I could take his pain away, but I can’t, so I am praying like crazy that he feels the love from above.

For 27 years, his parents and son have given me a hard time.  They disliked me intensely from the very beginning, I took some of the attention away from them and we all know how narcissists love that!  I have also been insisting, over the years, that they treat me  like dirt-alas, all the way up to Christmas, Dwain was full of hope, always veering toward the idea that I was being paranoid-which happens often, but I am almost always right.

There was an incident.  Dwain’s son, Bud, flipped out on me so successfully, that I almost had a vacation booked at the local psychiatric hospital.   Remember the therapist who diagnosed me with DID?  Well, angry over a love triangle-he acted abominably-where he wanted his original girlfriend, whom he dumped unceremoniously for her best friend-oh, and his best friend’s girl-to take him back at Christmas.  She said: No.  She is over the moon with her new man, and he treats her like a princess.  He became sullen and removed from the conversation, reality itself.  He still lived with the beatch, and he said that they were happy, but inside-he was boiling.

I won’t go into the details, but my step-son abused me mentally and emotionally. Almost physically.  He yelled that I was a freak, a gold digger, a low life for being on disability-“that he had to pay for my retirement.  He was screaming at me in my driveway, and I was broken, literally sobbing-because not a word of what he was saying was true, and he was pushing buttons, my wounds and vulnerabilities out there, for all to see.

My husband emailed him and jacked him up.  Bud replied that there will be no forthcoming apology.

We talked to his parents.  We all agreed he needed help, prayer.  We asked them to talk to him, to possibly make him accountable for his actions, as weeks before we were all on the same page.  I had very little faith that his parents would follow through, and I was correct.  Today, my step-son stopped at his grandparents (strategically placed across the street 😦   He was there for over two hours and I told my husband, who bought a 30 pound ham for the event, to stop in with them on his way home-to feel them out.

“What did your parents have to say?,” I hit him up the minute he finally walked through the door.

They said that nothing “came up.” He walked into the living room, looking older than his years, drained and exhausted.  

I    pointed out the screeching betrayal, the hypocrisy.  And then I shut my mouth, before I hurt him any more than he’d been.  He doesn’t know I saw him arguing with his father in our garage, but I did.  I saw his father stomp off in a huff.

In one year, narcissism has taken all but a handful of our families.  I am close to my brother and Dwain is close to his.  It breaks my heart that  they broke his heart.  How can people be so cruel, so selfish and vain?

“We are enough,” I whisper.

We are so much more than enough~

 

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.