The Sunny Side of the Street is Dark

My stomach is in knots.  My heart is racing.  I feel panic rising from deep within.  I am paranoid in as much as I can’t blame myself, as although I take full responsibility for my part in these relationships-I have been “programmed” to respond like this.  It took me several minutes to realize why I was feeling so distraught-and I could smell a dirty narc from miles away.

 

My close friend Sinead is also semi-close with my in-laws.  She was like a daughter to them, much more so than I.  They called her every few days (I never received a phone call, for years) took her out to eat, treated her just like their own.  But lately, something has been hanging in the air between them: Sinead is as much in the dark as I am, and she was due to have lunch with them today.

We have been discussing this ad nauseum.  Not to be blunt, but I asked her today why she puts up with their mistreatment of her.  She was nervous, and  left our exercise class early, to lunch and learn with two of America’s finest.  Here’s where the torment comes in:  I have called and messaged my friend.  She has seen my message yet not returned it.  It is my belief, or fear if you will, that my mother in law has struck, again.

I found myself in literal tears, until the Holy Spirit spoke:

“You have done nothing wrong.”

No, I have not.  Sinead is very sensitive, and I fear that monster has said something random, hurtful or off the cuff.  She has tried to come between myself and others in the past, and this is pure narcissist triangulation at its best.

What if Sinead is angry with me?  I cannot apologize for what I didn’t do.  So be it.  If my heart and friendship truly matter, she will calm down and call a spade a spade.

I am at peace in the knowledge that God’s got this.

No longer will I fight, for any relationship.  I just don’t have it in me, nope.

Stay away from narcs.  They’re the Jezebel Spirit personified, and they will eat you up, and laugh as they spit you out.

 

 

My Analyst Told Me……..

About a week ago, my brother sent me an email with the information for a local therapist. I had given up therapy (God and I had this) and frankly, he was concerned. If I am going to face upheaval and pain, I call my bro, as I can emote at whim and he will not judge me. He gives great advice, so I looked so forward to meeting Nancy. The appointment was made for this morning.

I haven’t eaten in two days. I shake, from my feet on up to my hands. I have crying bouts-I cannot sleep through the night, never a problem before. This isn’t good for my Lyme recovery-let’s face it, what happened Wednesday afternoon wouldn’t be good for anyone. I drove in the wrong direction for 30 minutes, so distracted was moi. Finally, after driving miles on slick, rain drenched country roads. And I drove aggressively, fearlessly-which isn’t really me.

I spoke of the “incident” with my stepson in my last blog. How he has walked around in a state of rage for three months now, first depression-now red hot anger. He went on a verbal tirade about how I was a “blood sucking leach,” that I was a “joke” to the entire family. I was in fear of him punching me, and when I tried to go back inside, he blocked my way.

So here I am at Nancy’s pad. I fill out the paperwork and wait. An attractive and cheerful woman greets me with a hug. We sit down and I commence to lose my shit, and cry like a child. She proceeds to ask me a myriad of questions, mainly about brain fog and forgetfulness. By the time she gets to what she thinks I have? My mind is moving one hundred miles in seventy different directions.

“Dissociative Identity Disorder,” she says in a hushed tone.

She gave me the reasons behind her thinking, admitted that it was too early to be sure, gave me a tissue and rescheduled. As I drove to the pharmacy on the way home, it hit me pretty hard. I broke down and called my brother from said pharmacy. I wept through my interaction with the cashier. They know me well. They were concerned.

I have a few questions for sure. I am not going to go head over heels into this without ensuring that she can help me with my PTSD and Narcissistic Abuse syndrome. The only time lapse I remember was two weeks ago, albeit a four hour lapse. I was reading my bible on the couch in the living room, the clock read 8:00 a.m. When I traipsed into the kitchen for a glass of water (I had just received a very upsetting email from my sister)and the stove read 12:30 p.m.

I would poo poo the whole thing if it weren’t for the dichotomy between my mellow self, and my ‘I will cut a bitch” self. But doesn’t everyone have another side to them? DID happens for a few reasons, but in my case she believes that I suffered such devastating trauma from emotional abuse in my childhood, that I created another persona if you will.

Emotionally and physically exhausted, I made an appointment with Nancy for next week. I won’t let this ruin my weekend, as God has the final say on what I am suffering from, and He alone has the cure. Be blessed family.

She Killed it With Kisses

 

Tres sorry for all of the categories, but God led me to this song about five minutes ago.  I need a new pc, and I threw out my good headphones like an imbecile-thinking the headset was the problem.  Grimace.  So, I find the song, but I have no idea what it’s about and I’m trying to be quiet (Dwain hates the music when he’s watching important things, like that ultimate fighting crap) so I try to listen with my buds, on my phone.

WRONG.  I felt so compelled to hear the words, it was driving me crazy!  My phone had to be shut off and rebooted-but finally, I listened intently-out of my mind excited to see what He was saying to me.  As usual, I was floored by what I heard, and the synchronicity was unmistakable.

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The Veil is Thinning

This song speaks to me of ghosts of the past, but not in a necessarily bad way.  I was in such bad shape-my drinking, opioid addiction, marriage, career, friendships-you name it-all on the line, teetering on the tippy top of a mountain of sorrow and pain.  The hits kept coming, and when my father died, I seriously gave up what little hope I had.  I wasn’t cognizant of this at the time, but the next ten years were my worst.  I was constantly in the ER; they suspected my husband of abuse(he never laid a hand on me but for restraint, and let me tell you-I was a maniac when I drank); once worked for a doctor and had to come in before she got there, to make sure I hadn’t quit the night before on her answering machine; put a permanent dent in my forehead falling down our wooden stairs and ended up with third degree burns one evening-my husband was upstairs in bed, I screamed for him-we have no idea how it happened.  Very frightening, indeed.

Two years after getting sober (I was a dry drunk for the entire time, on a death wish) I hiked the hills of Middlecreek.  I remember it was nine years ago, on a snowy day.  I had driven with my golden in snow, so that day stood out because I never drove on icy roads.  Ever.  Not on purpose, any way.  I hiked the steep hill, punishing my muscles-murdering my lungs.  I was walking with reason, yet I knew not why.

Down on my knees, in six inches of snow, I cried out to Jesus.  I had believed in God, but a punishing God growing up.  I was a moral abyss, with suicidal ideation-an absolute anxious mess of flesh and blood.

“Jesus.  Take my life, all of it,” I wept like a child, confessed my sins, asked him to help me come home, to feel the joy and love that had to be at least a possibility, for the likes of my despicable self.  And I did, I hated myself.  You see, I was not alone in my assumption that once the drinking and drugging stopped?  Well, I felt it was a given, that my life would just fall into place.

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The above picture is of my beloved nieces, Natalie on the left, and my sweet Godchild Olivia, bottom right.  It is not easy, by any means, for me to share this picture, as I am estranged by my narcissistic sister, whom I once hung the stars and the moon.  I adore my nephew and nieces, and was incredibly hurt as the years passed and I was left out of every family vacation, even my own brother’s birthday party.  I wasn’t supposed to find out, but one of the kids always slipped up.  I thought if I quit drinking my sister would finally allow me access to the children, but day by day-as my life improved-her narcissistic hatred for me grew.  The family vacation?  It never happened, and hence my decision to go no contact last year, for the second time.   My brother (with whom I now have a renewed relationship <3) had given me the information concerning their July vacation.  I was ecstatic as we planned our week up in the Adirondack mountains; planned on spreading my father’s ashes on Lake Pleasant, day dreamed about quality time with my babies, even down to the games we would play-staying up late, getting to know one another.

This did not go over well with my narc.  She seethed.  She hissed.  She sent me an email so evil, I ran from my home, from the evil.  I relapsed.  My brother and I agreed it not a good idea for my husband (a true victim in all of this, he loves those kids) to chance vacationing with my clan.  Embarrassed, I wrote to the owner of the cabin, told her the truth, and rescheduled for the Fall.  The children are old enough to reach out, all three in high school and college.  They have not.  I know they want to please their mother, as the mere idea of crossing her would be unthinkable.

The story has a happy ending!  I have come so far in Christ (after a water baptismal at my church) and I am not giving myself the credit by any means.  I wake each day, for better or worse-thanking Jesus for the life he has blessed me with.  I take an exercise class I love, two days a week, volunteer in the local soup kitchen, have a beautiful family of dog and cats.  I have a loving husband who has supported me, loved and cherished me (after years of hard work and prayer.)  My friends are the best tribe of people God could have led me to, I spend hours a day in my rose garden, and most importantly?  I am at peace with myself.

The dog days are, indeed over.

It is well, it is well with my soul.

 

Break Every Chain

 

This past week we travelled to Potter County, Pennsylvania, for my birthday, which was yesterday.  There is so very much that has changed, and frankly, for the better.  I cannot remember being this happy in my lifetime, and without Jesus?  I would never have come this far.  He broke down every wall, chain and border; he strengthened me, and I needed it, with many lessons along the last twelve months, and I have to say this:  I have taken back my life-I leave it up to the Holy Spirit to guide me, literally moment by moment.  This has taken constant work, nerves of steel (no such thing with me, but I am getting so much better) and one heck of a ton of grieving.  As Richard Gannon, an expert in the field of Narcissistic Abuse and CPTSD, says:

You must feel the feels, in order to walk through the pain.”

AwakAF

We stayed at a friends cabin, in the loveliest of spots, complete with pond, hiking trails, and all of God’s creatures-which mostly takes my breath away and scares the life force out of me, depending on the day and animal.  At first, I was hesitant to go-I have a lot of work to do, and I love my garden at this time of year.  Then there was the what the HELL are we going to do with the cats?????? issue….and then I stopped dead in my tracks.  My poor husband, with everything he has gone through, including distancing himself from his son (who is trying, indeed, to make amends, all glory and honor going to JESUS.)

I have had a few emotional days recently.  On Mother’s Day, my step son text me-our first communication in months.  Throwing all of the rules out the window, I immediately text back:

“Bud, life is short, let’s put everything in the past and just love one another, ok?”

My heart was full of forgiveness and gratitude, I completely let down my guard and realized I still had not received an apology since our “argument.”  We truly needed to hold him accountable for his actions.  Yet, how could I ignore him?  I felt the love of Jesus, flowing from every crevice of my soul.  I did something I would later regret.  I text my sister Happy Mothers Day.  Short and sweet.  She did not respond, and I thank God she did not, as I lost the sister I knew years ago.  I tried to help her, but if there is a person in your life who makes you feel bad?  That perp has got to go.  It will hurt, you will throw things, and please stock up on tissues-trust me on this.

After a while, when the toxicity is removed from your life, you will begin to bloom as never before.  The air is sweeter, your creativity swells-your posture changes and so does the reaction of your tribe; I have so much gratitude and love for the family Dwain and I have created.  Turns out?  you can choose your family, and if you give this to God, he will put the most amazing group of authentic, loving people in your life!  From treasured old friends, to the family we have at our home church Hosanna, A Fellowship of Christians: we are loved and supported in new and exciting ways.

As I dried myself off in the shower, I caught a tear or two on my tongue.  This is my first birthday without my sister, and there for a moment, my throat closed.  I let myself “feel the feels,” brought it to Jesus and came away with this:

“You are loved by many, and love many yourself.  Don’t let her take one more moment of your life.”

I wish each and every one of you peace that surpasses all understanding.  ❤

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Pistols At Dawn

No, this is not a docudrama on the perils of standing on stage props, poor Marilyn Manson.  I loathe everything that man stands for, but I have to admit-the poor CD sales, his broken ankle on the first night of his Heaven Upside Down tour; then the attempt to climb a stage prop of two guns pointed in different directions which resulted in the whole works crushing him-well, that’s a shame, as Jerry Seinfeld would say.  I must admit I did chuckle at first, not that I am gloating, but man o’ day-what do you expect when Satan is the god you serve? It is my prayer that as he recuperates, he has a change of heart-but that’s another story and I am sidetracked.

We were up in the jaw dropping beauty of the Adirondack mountains, on lake Algonquin.  Prior to the trip, I was an anxious and traumatized mess: fake news of the September 23 Armageddon, the flea situation, the hurricanes, the fear of flying high and actually enjoying life for a change-all of this led to a reoccurrence of my PTSD symptoms.  In 25 years my husband and I had not had a “real” vacation together, and as we hit the state of New York, my nerves began to mellow, I was beginning to exhale and I cannot praise God enough for His part in getting us there.

Prior to leaving, we had ripped out carpet, vacuumed every crevice, and at 5:30 in the morning I sprayed the last of the flea killer, and closed up shop.  My “best friend” of twenty-five years was taking care of my only indoor cat, Maya Angelou.  She was to feed her in the evening-I had no problems trusting a grown woman, RN and administrator of a local veteran’s hospital-I left food and instructions on the table.  My in laws were right across the street.  What could possibly go wrong?  As it turned out?  Plenty.

On our third evening there, I turned on my cell phone.  I had planned to stay away from my phone, social media, news venues and the like.  I needed to heal, and I wanted to spare my husband the constant freak outs about the world in which we live.  For whatever reason, I felt a nudge to check to see if all was well in the state of Pennsylvania.  I was relaxed, happy and hadn’t self-harmed in days.  My body was repairing itself, and I looked forward to the next leg of our journey.  We were to spread dad’s ashes on Lake Pleasant, hike Auger Falls, dine in a lovely five star restaurant, and I hadn’t seen Dwain so happy in ages.

The text read-‘Hi sweetheart.  Just wanted you to know that I was over to feed Maya this morning (what?  My father in law was assigned the mornings, why was she even there on a Sunday morning?) and I was wearing white pants.  I was covered in fleas.   Is there anything you would like me to do?’

Holy mother Mary, mother of Jesus, and Joseph!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  She went on to say that the only room she had been in was the kitchen.  I text her back immediately, telling her to please turn on the air conditioner, asking if she wouldn’t mind setting off a bomb or two DOWNSTAIRS, as Maya the cat stays in the bedroom.  The very reason we hadn’t set off anything upstairs.  I phoned her and left a message, telling her where the vacuum cleaner was, and also reassuring her that I would make this up to her.

In less than the five minutes it took me to do this, my blood pressure sky high, my mellow harshed-I became hysterical-worried about the cat, my friend, the house………it was like being shot from a cannon, and I immediately regressed and began tearing at my skin, bawling like a child, inconsolable.  My husband was livid.  Why?  Why would she text me this news?  How could she be so cruel?  Was she not capable of figuring this out on her own.  And then it hit me.  THERE WERE NO FLEAS IN THE KITCHEN.  I KNOW THIS BECAUSE IT WAS ONE OF THE ONLY ROOMS THAT THE DOG AND CAT WERE COMFORTABLE IN.   There was nary a flea in my abode when we left for New York. My husband took me in his arms, shush honey, it’s okay, I’ll call my father, we will get through this, shhhush baby…….he was in touch with his dad immediately, and Tom was to set off a bomb in the kitchen.  Relief warmed my muscles, the blood returned to my face.

I phoned my brother and told him I would call him when we returned.  I wanted him to know that I was turning said phone off and would not even look at it until our return.  When we were unpacking, the phone must have fallen out of my purse, and there it remained for three days.  I had bought my “friend” a lovely gift for tending to my feline.  I flicked on my phone to call her to see if she was home, but was immediately stopped dead in my tracks.  She had left three voicemails and a text.  She had called each night of our stay, and then left another text:

“If you EVER get around to checking your messages, there are still a number of fleas in the kitchen.  THANK YOU.”

Appalled, I thought back to the many times I had given her the benefit of the doubt when she belittled me.  Because of low self esteem I had clung to her advice, and many times I felt her to be intentionally cruel and callous.  One Summer I had given her a pair of earrings.  I took great care in picking them out, lovely avocado halves, expensive but worth it.  Days went by and I finally called her to ask if she liked the gift:

“Please give them to one of your nieces.  I will put them on the porch.”

Many, many times I had asked myself if it were possible that she was a narcissist.  That is not a term I use lightly, and I pushed the thoughts out of my head immediately.  I thought back to the day I called her, the day my sister sent me the email that would end our relationship.  I had told my sister my feelings, for the first time in, well, ever.  I was hysterical, crushed at the idea of losing my blood, my world upside down, I cried out to her.

“You fucked up Michele.  You fucked up.”  The harder I cried in protest, the louder and meaner her words.

Jesus has taken the scales off of my peepers.  I have learned that highly sensitive and empathetic, albeit broken people are subject to being surrounded by the Jezebel Spirit.  But I am stronger and wiser now.  She is a part of my past, and there will be no confrontation, because at the end of the day, that is exactly what she wants.

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.

My Analyst Told Me……..

About a week ago, my brother sent me an email with the information for a local therapist. I had given up therapy (God and I had this) and frankly, he was concerned. If I am going to face upheaval and pain, I call my bro, as I can emote at whim and he will not judge me. He gives great advice, so I looked so forward to meeting Nancy. The appointment was made for this morning.

I haven’t eaten in two days. I shake, from my feet on up to my hands. I have crying bouts-I cannot sleep through the night, never a problem before. This isn’t good for my Lyme recovery-let’s face it, what happened Wednesday afternoon wouldn’t be good for anyone. I drove in the wrong direction for 30 minutes, so distracted was moi. Finally, after driving miles on slick, rain drenched country roads. And I drove aggressively, fearlessly-which isn’t really me.

I spoke of the “incident” with my stepson in my last blog. How he has walked around in a state of rage for three months now, first depression-now red hot anger. He went on a verbal tirade about how I was a “blood sucking leach,” that I was a “joke” to the entire family. I was in fear of him punching me, and when I tried to go back inside, he blocked my way.

So here I am at Nancy’s pad. I fill out the paperwork and wait. An attractive and cheerful woman greets me with a hug. We sit down and I commence to lose my shit, and cry like a child. She proceeds to ask me a myriad of questions, mainly about brain fog and forgetfulness. By the time she gets to what she thinks I have? My mind is moving one hundred miles in seventy different directions.

“Dissociative Identity Disorder,” she says in a hushed tone.

She gave me the reasons behind her thinking, admitted that it was too early to be sure, gave me a tissue and rescheduled. As I drove to the pharmacy on the way home, it hit me pretty hard. I broke down and called my brother from said pharmacy. I wept through my interaction with the cashier. They know me well. They were concerned.

I have a few questions for sure. I am not going to go head over heels into this without ensuring that she can help me with my PTSD and Narcissistic Abuse syndrome. The only time lapse I remember was two weeks ago, albeit a four hour lapse. I was reading my bible on the couch in the living room, the clock read 8:00 a.m. When I traipsed into the kitchen for a glass of water (I had just received a very upsetting email from my sister)and the stove read 12:30 p.m.

I would poo poo the whole thing if it weren’t for the dichotomy between my mellow self, and my ‘I will cut a bitch” self. But doesn’t everyone have another side to them? DID happens for a few reasons, but in my case she believes that I suffered such devastating trauma from emotional abuse in my childhood, that I created another persona if you will.

Emotionally and physically exhausted, I made an appointment with Nancy for next week. I won’t let this ruin my weekend, as God has the final say on what I am suffering from, and He alone has the cure. Be blessed family.