The Choice to Know is Yours

We attended church this morning, and as usual?  The pastor threw me off of my game by the title of his sermon A Heart Full of Hate.  Before I wax poetic, I want you to know that I am including myself in this equation.  This isn’t a lecture or even a directive, but what the Holy Spirit is conveying to me at this space in time.

As a citizen journalist and Twitter addict, I can tell you that there have been many occasions where I have felt pure disgust and, dare I say it?  Contempt for those who are not yet awakened, not yet fully informed.  Like I was born with the knowledge myself.  No, there have been beacons of hope leading the search for the truth, Bill Smith, Bill Cooper, John F. Kennedy-I just fell into it at the exact moment that God would have me fall.

This isn’t political.  Nope.  Let’s just do away with the left and right paradigm this very minute.  Not in my blog, at least, not any longer.  This is not to say I don’t enjoy the occasional meme or political parody-no, I’m not giving that up.  Heck, I’m not a hypocrite.

I am just a child of God who sins, asks for forgiveness, and tries to repent to the best of my ability.  I fail, I fall, but He picks me right back up-time after time.  That being said, I have sought the truth and nothing but for the past three years.

The fact is that if the full news came out now, 99% of the population would be in hospital.  That is a fact.  I remember the days when I was first coming out of the fog-the things I learned or set my eyes upon could break a person, for sure.  But if we put things in perspective, and seek the voice of God in all we do?  We can handle this awakening, one day at a time.

The powers that be (I refuse to call them elite, because they are nothing but pure satanic trash) want us divided.  All of the political rhetoric in the world can not hide the fact that this had nothing, zero, nada to do with Democrats and Republicans-and everything to do with satan’s time upon this earth coming to an end:  a messy end at that.

Do you have any idea how many Republicans have left office under suspicious and disconcerting circumstances?  Do you know that you can go to usa.gov and get most of this information yourselves?  I understand that you are being fed a huge crock of bullshit on a daily basis by a media that is given its talking points at 4 a.m. by the Illuminati goons who decide what kind of Psy-op they are dishing out on any particular day.

Let’s talk about the puppet masters creating full blown hysteria in children over the issue of global warming.

Look, I would never lie to you.  GLOBAL WARMING DOES NOT EXIST.  I find it infuriating that they are robbing young boys and girls of not only their childhoods, but the hope of a future, for nothing but evil.  You want to talk about the New Green Deal?  Don’t say one effing word unless you have read it and digested the implications.

Have you any clue of the Noahide laws?

Do you know that 9/11 was perpetrated by an unholy union between Islam and this nation’s leaders?  Do you also know that this hideous day was used for satanic sacrifice on a massive scale?  Was GW on Airforce one when the first (plane) hit the twin towers?  Or was he reading to children in an outlying suburb?

Plane.  Metal.  Hit.  Kite.

Those are the very words he had an entire classroom of children repeating-over and over again.  Hmm.  Sounds like a spell, wouldn’t you say?

I spent the last hour looking for this video, which I will eventually find.

The point is that we must lay our burdens at His feet and lay our differences at the altar.  Together we are so much stronger, and love for one another is how we are known to the secular world.

All of this information is public, albeit not easy to find.

That too will change.

Tick.  Tock.  Tick.  Tock.  Tick.   Tock.

 

 

Untouchable

 

We are back from the beach, and safe.  I thank and praise God as I feed my cat community (sixteen fixed and beautiful babies, three are crippled but please don’t tell them that) and comfort my newest adoptee-Miss Maybelline.

Maybel.

I did not ask for these kittens, they asked for me.  Some drop offs, some rescues, and all loved beyond comprehension.  I rush to the kitten, make her purr soft and thick.   The deal was that Dwain would leave the garage door up a foot, and we would place the cat food in said space.

When my husband is going on vacation?  He is in such a mad rush, all besides himself.  Poor guy literally trips over himself in excitement.  I’ll never forget my grandmother’s funeral, and one of the reasons I won’t is because of Dwain’s utter joy at arriving in his first ever hotel room.

“Look, honey!  We have a sitting room!  Wow, look how big that bed is?.” he yelped.  It touched a place in my heart, you know?

light landscape sky sunset
Fall is just around the bend-my favorite time of year. And no, I don’t allow satan to ruin my Halloween. I absolutely refuse!

So, as it turned out?  Dwain left the garage door open alright, but about 4 inches at best.  Meaning that the skinny ones may have had a chance, but our big old farmhouse cats?

I didn’t see this until I jumped out of the truck upon arrival, and noticed my entire cat population was giving me the hairy eyeball.  I mean, I never felt so bad for an animal in my entire life, and I’m the idiot who always feels sorry for animals.  See: crazy cat lady.  Actually, my brother gave me the greatest gift before he moved to LA and broke our collective hearts.

The Crazy Cat Lady action figurine, complete with cats, a litter box and a zuit suit that cracks me up every time I see her.  Wild blond hair, I mean, it’s me, what can I say?

I always learn something new about myself, my faith, when I’m away relaxing.  Problems are solved, a new awareness of my humanness, my weaknesses and strengths.  As we drove home, I was saddened for more than one reason.  As much as I adore my man for booking my first ever house on the beach?  I can’t just do three days.  I have had a love affair with the sea since early childhood-I bloom at the beach.  I need at least a week, before I feel compelled to even think about leaving.

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And I did so love the house, the people we met along the way.

God has a way of showing his immense love for me in ways I could never had noticed when I was using.  As I strolled through the woods with my pup this morning, I thought about how much I prayed that people will turn to Jesus if they haven’t already-and know that peace and joy that surpasses all understanding.  I almost wept, thinking of the lonely, the homeless, the ostracized.   If you would just give your life over to Abba, there are no words in the English vocabulary I could use to describe the peace that a life with Christ provides.

The house was jaw drop beautiful.  On the bay, with our own private “beach.”  I thought we were on the ocean for the first two days, until a neighbor said to my husband-

“This isn’t the ocean?”  The look on his face so comical I had to change my panty liner.

But Jesus was there in a multitude of ways, blessing the crud out of us.

The rainbow the first night, confirming our faith and our love for one another on our twenty seventh wedding anniversary.

My childhood furniture in one of the bedrooms, a painting of a golden retriever above the fireplace mantel.  The perfect cloudy weather that makes me come alive.  The opportunity to help a sister awaken, and the beautiful child Aria-the granddaughter of our new friends-who absolutely flit like a butterfly, alighting on each new discovery with child like abandon.

She and her eyelashes?  Restored a part of my heart I never, ever thought would heal.

nature red girl model

On the drive home I felt troubled.  What did I learn about myself?  What new revelation about my walk with Jesus?  Was three days insufficient?  Maybe I wouldn’t have that aha moment this time.  It didn’t matter really, but it was there in the back of my mind.

When we left on Thursday I was a triggered nub of nothingness.  Between the drama involved in trying to help a friend who was dying of cancer.  His wife was not happy about me being there, and the situation was toxic for me.  One day into it he offered me a morphine pill, and I took it.

I relapsed.

He was putting me in between he and his wife, complaining about her and manipulating my emotions.  I was enabling him, buying cigarettes and feeding in to his story that his family ignored his presence, wouldn’t buy him groceries, showed him no sympathy whatsoever.  I didn’t just take a drug, I had relapsed into my old codependent ways of thinking.  I was a human punching bag, it seemed.  He was constantly telling me that his wife didn’t like it that I was there.

Hold on, his wife asked me to be there.

I dreaded coming home to this, as if I had no choice.

Last evening I contacted him, and explained the reasons why I simply could not be his hospice “nurse.”  I told him that I didn’t want to come between he and his wife, nor could my CPTSD handle the constant high drama.

As I finished the text, my Maybelline screamed outside.  She had food and water, and I shushed her mouth, with a firm I. will. see. you.  tomorrow.

It wasn’t until this morning that I realized what had happened.

God grew me a backbone.

Turns out, there was only one set of footprints on that beach-and that was because He was carrying me.

I Think it Strange You Never Knew

I took what I wish I could tell you was my last drink in the beginning of October, 2007.  I ended up in the hospital after a suicide attempt, which is another story for another day.  What sobered me up was a combination of my husband’s frailty, my will to live and a gift-the blessing of clarity that comes from Jesus.  I won’t even try to tell you that this road has been easy.  We addicts push down the truth, and push our loved ones away-fact-and until we achieve sobriety?  Well, there will be no healing, no peace, no end to the pain that holds us in bondage.

Months afterwards, I was hiking in two feet of snow with my golden retriever, Dylan.  A shining star and beloved pet, it hurts my heart that I wasn’t with him for the first 5 years of his time on this earth.   I was here, but I wasn’t present, and I have no memory of what could have been the best years of my life, had I not succumbed to the melodic pull of oblivion.

So I am trudging up this hill, and I am overcome with love.  I feel forgiveness surround me.  I cry out to God and confess the absurd backslide I have taken with alcohol and pain medication.  I cry out to Jesus and I tell him to take my life, it isn’t mine to begin with, take it Jesus, mold me Jesus, cry with me and then I’ll get tough, I promise…….

“I have been here with you from the very beginning of time.  I have cried your tears, tasted the salt of your remorse, and I will deliver you from this travesty……”

I think it strange, I never knew….

And She Was……

There is a well known fact in this household, rarely spoken of, but my heart beats for him continuously, and he has earned my adoration.  David Byrne, MARRY ME.  🙂  I had the pure privilege of seeing the Talking Heads at Emerald City in Philadelphia, circa 1980.  Front row.  The rolling melodies and heart thumping bass can still be heard in my head, and I am dead serious when I say that the female guitarist made a pass at me.  Ah, the good old days when rock was rock and  a spade a spade.

I had a horrible nightmare last night.  Or I should say this morning-Dwain had decided to go to work, despite the blizzard conditions-he wasn’t answering my calls, he was nowhere to be found.  I awoke in a cold sweat, extremely anxious and confused.  Moments later, while sipping hot coffee, I phoned my husband and my nerves were calmed just by the sound of his voice.  Strange way to start the day…….

As I walked down to the garage, to feed the feline community, I felt it-or, perhaps didn’t feel it is a better way to say this.  No pain.  During Lyme flares, my feet are constantly in pain.  Bone pain, muscle pain-I don’t let it slow me down, but the mere fact that I was pain free was reason enough to look up at the sky and praise Him.  My lymph node has diminished, and there is even a noticeable lift in my loafers.  Oh, how beautiful life is.  And here’s the thang-none of us are promised more than this day.  We have a choice-to be positive among the chaos and confusion, carpe diem,  or, as I did yesterday-we can pout, stomp our feet and be a miserable pain in the ass in general, bringing everyone around us on edge, walking upon proverbial eggshells.

I fail Him each and every day, by thought and deed.  I repent, ask for forgiveness, and concentrate on my future-with my main man, golden retriever and Yeshua-and between the four of us?  We have this, He is working in our lives, whether we see rainbows or coffins-the choice is ours, and I choose life-oh, my dear friends, I choose life~

Your Private Life Drama Baby…………

I LOVE Grace Jones.  I listened to her every chance I got in the eighties.  I was painting in the kitchen when WXPN played this tune, and I was shocked at how the lyrics still punch me in the gut-but for different reasons now.

I once dressed up as Miss Grace for Halloween, back in the day.  I bought a beach hat and attached Christmas balls to it, then painted my face brown.  I actually won the best costume that year, but coming home to my girlfriend’s house, wearing said costume, proved to be a bad idea, as Sally’s dog wanted me, wanted me bad for a midnight snack.  I had to go out to the back yard and strip, and my bestie got me a wash cloth…….brand new me, no rabid dog attacks.

This tune falls into the “narcissistic abuse” category, and if you listen closely there is a line about someone’s marriage being a “tragedy,” but I can offer no further details at this time as I am about 150% positive that my blog is now being hoovered: not just my sister, but other family members as well.  One of the things you learn, being the scapegoat of the family is this-if you open your mouth, for any reason, to defend or uphold your integrity, you will look ape shit crazy.  The narc has poisoned others’ minds with their vitriolic script, and if you do choose to stand up for yourself (believe me, the hardest thing that God has yet to ask of me is to turn the other cheek, realize my beloveds have been brainwashed, and-well, shut my mouth) you will only feed into their psychopathic, narcissistic rage.  You can’t play the victim card, they own victimhood.

I am no expert on matters of the karma kind; but one thing is certain:  her day will come, and though I have began praying for her once again, the spirit of the Jezebel is not of this world.  We are the peacemakers, the empaths, the lovers and sympathizers.  And one day, we know not when, we shall be redeemed.

The Girl You Want…………(ed)

If I could go back in time, I would tell myself to hold tight to the female friendships I have cultivated.  Let’s face it, when you head for your forties-well, you start to realize what is important in life and what is detrimental.  You begin to stand up for yourself, and by the time you reach menopause?  You’re a whirling dervish of angst on the road to having no female friendships because you have told off just about every friend you have, for one reason or another.

But what about the girls who don’t make the cut?  Who, as it turns out, are toxic as 5G on hormones?  The nervous breakdown you had last week?  You thought it was your dark mental health history, turns out it was your dark Jezebel worming her way into your psyche.  Is it really as simple as just walking away?  What if NO CONTACT isn’t an option, say because you go to the same gym.  Class.  Mother of God.

I knew I had to go, I had no choice.  I wasn’t sure I would go, but that strength I prayed to Jesus for?  It came the next morning-in buckets.  As I finished my makeup, I consoled myself with this thought: Maybe she won’t be there.

But that was the point of going to class: as a sufferer of PTSD, and while in the midst of a horrible episode due to this particular “friend.”  I had blocked her on all of my social media, but was still reeling from what had occurred before I ran away, like OJ on crack.

“She’s here,” my friend Sasha stated, as if she were announcing the bride of Satan.

I admit it, I panicked.

Haul ass, I’m not standing next to her, I blurted.

She walked in on three women who appeared to be doing some odd rendition of a Shakespearean tragedy-we tripped over one another as we hustled to find new spots on the floor.

Nothing to see here, folks.

man person people emotions
What my classmates saw last Tuesday…

After the class, as I was talking to Sasha, the Jezebel interrupted me.

“Can we talk for a moment?,” we had already exchanged pleasantries, even after I had threatened to call the state police if she didn’t cease and desist.  She made the Rocky Horror Picture Show look like Bambi Has a Family.  I was delirious.

I stood up to her, spoke my peace, but not without multiple interruptions.  I told her she had ridiculed, stalked and threatened me enough.  I told her I had been self harming, as a result of our last exchange.  I explained PTSD and what it does to a person.  She, of course, already knew this, as we have been acquainted many years.  All throughout my speech, she interjected this sentence:

But Michele, I’M DEPRESSED.”

I drove away praising Jesus, for answered prayers and for taking the scales off of my eyes, as it were.  Gawd.   Good riddance.

I have lost sisters near and dear to my heart (and a few quite recently)-but the loss was temporary, as those were the women who treated me with disrespect, dishonesty or the worst sin in my book- condescension-they were not  the friends I thought they were,but it didn’t make it any easier to end the relationship.  My best friend in sixth grade (let’s just call her Shitstorm) threw a bowling ball at me because I had the highest average in the league.  Straight out, in front of our teammates. She was also responsible for bringing a picture of me (in the seventh grade) into school in my senior year; one in which I had cut my own bangs, and let’s just say she passed it on to my high school crush.  Mortifying.  I was friends with her for 30 more years, until she did the unthinkable…..that’s right, she was another narcissist, and crossing her was akin to playing hopscotch with Satan. After one too many brushes with death? I let her go, stopped all contact-to this day I have nightmares. To. This. Day.

But when you hit your fifties?  Why, you hold on to your female friends like grim death-the ones who love you no matter what state you’re in, root for you when you are up against it, speak to your husband when you’ve relapsed. Why, they are your true blue tribe, and you have earned each other’s trust.  I am not saying there won’t be disagreements (holy crap on a cracker, that’s part of the equation ladies) but you will learn that nothing is more important than women who get and cherish you, zits, nervous breakdowns and relapses be damned.

I have spent an entire lifetime trusting women I had no business trusting, not seeing the inevitable pain that came with illumination-it’s a process. Yet, as Abba works in my life? The new friendships are more stable, enduring and incredibly comforting. You teach people how to treat you, and the only way you gain respect is by being a bitch right back. As soon as I stand my ground, the bullies run for cover.

Today I am blessed beyond measure with an abundance of loving, nurturing and life sustaining women. I am thankful they feel safe calling me friend.

I Will Find the Center In You…

This is the darkest post I hope to ever write.  This is a story about how alcohol kills-everything that is good, pure, worthy, decent……..alcohol is a vampire, it sucks the life blood out of you, then leaves you in a heap of disgrace, humiliation and nothingness.  I may have been “sober” for ten years, but I have slipped on more than one occasion, each time the lull of “It will be okay, just one drink” has seduced me….and each and every time I have wallowed in despair.

I would like to tell you about the last ten years of my drinking career.  A vocation so evil, so pummeling that I literally lost those years of my life.  Sadly, I cannot, as I was so far gone that the last years were swallowed by indignity, fear, and Godlessness.   Or so I thought.  I got sober when I was 46 years old, and for the longest time I honestly thought I was ten years younger.  Ten years of our lives, gone up in smoke. 

I weep just thinking of what could have been, but there is hope and we must lean not on our own understanding.  We have to summon every ounce of courage in our souls to rise up and fight this demon.  And together, with Jesus, we can do it, one minute, one hour, one day at a time.

What I do remember is locked behind a door that can only be unlocked by God, and only when it serves His kingdom.  I am taking off the deadbolt and releasing the ghosts that have kept me silent.  We are only as sick as our secrets, and becoming sober is the most freeing, healthy and frightening place we can be.  You have to hang on for dear life, but don’t be afraid of the ride, you have nothing to fear and everything to gain by telling your truth.

My last drunken event was my husband’s sister’s wedding.  I had consumed at least a bottle of wine before the ceremony, and that was 2:00 in the afternoon.  I do not remember the wedding, or the bride…….but what information I do have came at a cost, and that was my husband’s dignity.  I know that we didn’t stay for the cutting of the cake, as I had been playing footsies under the table with an unwilling participant-my husband’s cousin.  I also told a dear friend that I had enlightened my family with the news that he and I were having an affair-which led to some heavy duty amend making on his part, and I have never, to this day, as much a held his hand.  We are friends again, but that took ten years, 200 or so AA meetings, and the good Lord above-only now am I at peace.