If I Were the Devil…

 

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

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

And then, he burst into tears.

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

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

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

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

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

I have really bad issues with money.  Oy vey.

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

I have news for the enemy.

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

Tomorrow we’ll take it from the beginning,

AboutQResearch

Destiny is Calling Me…

 

I don’t quite know where to begin, and my mind is racing in seven different directions, in seven different languages. 🙂

I am not fond of speaking of my past, in terms of the darker days. I feel a chill in the air, my mood plummets to the pits of hell-but God took me through those fires for a reason, and I know that my story is your story-you, the addict. And by addiction I don’t mean to chocolate: I’m talking drinking to the point of blackouts; stealing medications from clients; multiple “accidents” and that feeling in the pit of your gut-your guilt, coupled with the pain you are self medicating.

Nasty. Putrid. Bleak.

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“How could I possibly clean myself up? What would I do with all of my raw, searing pain? How could I cope?”

Beloveds, listen to the wise old hoot owl-learn from my mistakes. I spent years running from a traumatic childhood, turned to booze and men, then pills and cocaine. I married the man of my dreams (ok, he is seriously on my nerves today-but we made vows and stuff) and when I had life by the balls? I washed it down the kitchen drain; hook, line and sinker. Ten years of my life are missing, literally. Yet, I was just another sinner, clawing my way out of the rat race; running at warp speed to what I had no idea at the time.

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I ran into the boys from Teen Challenge, an amazing program of hope and sobriety for men of all ages and backgrounds, who have failed in all previous attempts to get sober. Every holiday we see them at our local grocery store. I listened to their stories, we laughed-and cried together. I have an innate connection to the broken-I always will. Even without their stand and wares? I could have picked out those men in a heartbeat.

Addicts have a tell, and it takes one to know one. It’s all in the eyes-which speak to me in various ways. Today it was the look of the haunted. I knew immediately that they were just beginning their journey; the look of sheer panic, yes. But something about them stood out, as if they were old souls or friends I hadn’t seen in some time.

“I just got out of prison, was there for two years. Lost my family, home and job. I tried every program out there, and I relapsed every time-it is an absolute miracle that God found me when He did. It’s Jesus that makes all of the difference! I have my family back, ma’am. And you know who the glory goes to, now, don’t ya?”

Do not be afraid or discouraged, for the Lord will personally go ahead of you. He will be with you; he will neither fail you nor abandon you. -Deuteronomy 31:8

Every day you don’t take a drink is a miracle.

Be miraculous~

And So It Is

 

This very song had me meditating so deeply, I didn’t hear my poor husband-stranded on the roof-screaming at the top of his lungs and/or banging the hell out of our tin roof to get my attention.  I had a bad feeling when he went up to clean the chimney; I prayed and gave it to the Prince of Peace.  I was so trusting that I didn’t hear the commotion outside or upstairs.  LOL  My poor husband.

I don’t know what broke the trance, but I do know that suddenly I heard this bizarre, antagonizing and hopeless cry out into the wild.  It took me minutes to realize that it was the sound of my husband, screaming like a banshee, from the roof-directly above me.  It seems he had lost hope of survival, as he was stranded on the roof-the ladder his father had just made him did not look like a good way to get back on the ground.  His hair straight up on end (I kid you not) he hoarsely asks for the metal ladder in the garage.  As I run at warp speed to his assistance, he loudly whispers:

Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuucccccccccccck!!!!!”

Mildly alarmed, I stop in mid-run like a cartoon character and scream:

WHAT DO YOU NEED ME TO DO?????????????

I feel the nudge of hysteria in my very being.  I am close to tears, no, I am crying.  I have a cold, it’s freezing outside, and my husband has become something neither he or I recognize-his head looks freakishly large as he screams back:

Hold the m***f*** ladder my dad made!!!!”

And phew!  He is down, and life returns to normal

The funniest part of this is that I am on top of everything around here.  Like my Irish mother, God bless her soul, I am prone to making a bit of a big deal about the little stuff.  You know, you’re in a mood and the frig door won’t shut, the jeans won’t zip, the scales of justice can be maddening.  But in the event of a real Kleinfeltersville 911?  I am always the last person to be upset, and always the last to know there is an emergency.

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While I’m in Twitter jail, I may as well make fun of Acosta in my blog.

**************************************************************************

You guys are not going to believe this, buttttttt, I had to stop writing two hours ago, as I was interrupted by my golden retriever: he was flailing around to get my attention, and I, as ever, in my own Private Idaho, failed to notice that the house was full, and I mean FULL of smoke.  I ran into the kitchen, howled like a wolf, and ran aimlessly from room to room-forgetting to open windows, unable to find my phone.  I run to the front porch: my husband and son are just over the hill, in a goose blind-they will hear me scream.  If they don’t, surely my in-laws will hear!  This goes absolutely nowhere, and I am unable to be in the house-my throat is raspy, my eyes tearing at whim.  

I find my phone, pray he has it.  He answers.

“The house is full of smoke, get home,” I say, firmly.

“Seriously?,” he is folksy in the moment, “I could have sworn….”

I cut him off.

get home! 

I use my Coxswain voice, he ends the phone call.

And so it was that he got home just in the nick of time.  I looked up and thanked my Lord and Savior, checked on the felines, gave myself a talking to.

There is a lesson here for me, and perhaps for you; the very reason I wrote this blog.  We truly cannot take our eyes off of Jesus-not for even a moment too long.  When we do, heartaches  we had long ago given to God?  They have a way of creeping back up on you at the most inappropriate of times.  You begin to realize you are feeling pain and grief-the loss of a sister, the yearn for your kin, the love we never had a snowball’s chance in hell of giving.

Pain is God’s way of molding us, growing us into better followers of Christ-but we were never meant to carry the burdens alone.  Fix your eyes on Jesus, and keep the dark shadows at bay~

She’s Got No Heart

 

Fear is here to stay, love is here for a visit. –  Elvis Costello

Oh my GAWD I am going to freak the fuck out!  Clearly, my mother in law has not read and agreed to my Zero Tolerance for Bullshit of Any Kind policy.  Hormonal as it is, (yes, I am 57 years old and I still menstruate. There, I said it) I was in no freaking mood for this voicemail:

Hello, it’s your ((passive aggressive, narcissist)) mother in law.  We need to get shopping for the flowers for our anniversary party (DON’T GET ME STARTED-HER ANNIVERSARY WAS IN DECEMBER)  I’m going to have to find someone else to do the arrangements, I suppose. Love you.  (Seriously????  REALLY????)  Serenity now.

My husband tried to give them an anniversary party back in December, but it snowed and the restaurant closed-leaving him with 30 pounds of cake and a shit load of calls to make.  Now, oh I fear I may spontaneously combust-the unmitigated gall!  Air bitch slap.  Three months ago, she asked that I do the floral arrangements for her tables (yes, she rented out a fire hall-for all 7 of her friends.)  I promptly agreed.  She took me to her armoire, which was full of depression glass, porcelain vases and country crocks.  I had everything I needed, and knew I would still have flowers in my garden come October.

“These are perfect, and I’ll have flowers.  No need to go shopping,” I smiled.

But NO!!!  Why God?  Haven’t I suffered enough?  What fresh hell awaits?

It’s a bluegrass shindig.  I was a florist, and I know that her stock of containers were perfect for a bluegrass event.  I told her what I thought I would do.  I picked both of my wedding gowns within five minutes of opening the shop door.  I am not long on patience, it’s one of my imperfections, among many-needless to say, I hoped we could agree, and quickly.

“Oh, maybe we should do silk flowers, and I think we should buy blue, uniform vases…now wait, we can go to the dollar store and……yada, yada, yada, well, we’ll get right on this.

Jesus, Mary and Joseph. 

I tell her in September, we’ll go whenever you want.  The date came and she couldn’t go.  That was two, count em, two days ago.  She has done this stupid shit for 27 years, and I won’t go through one more hair pulling event.  That’s my hair that would be pulled out by the end of this train wreck.

I scream at my husband, let me at her, what the?, who does she think she’s screwing with……..scream, cry, belch.  No, he says, just call her.

Frustrated to the point of rage, I ring her up.  Straight to voicemail.

Hey Dolly, why don’t you just go ahead and find someone else.  Love you!”  🙂

Destiny is Calling Me…

I don’t quite know where to begin, and my mind is racing in seven different directions, in seven different languages. 🙂

I am not fond of speaking of my past, in terms of the darker days. I feel a chill in the air, my mood plummets to the pits of hell-but God took me through those fires for a reason, and I know that my story is your story-you, the addict. And by addiction I don’t mean to chocolate: I’m talking drinking to the point of blackouts; stealing medications from clients; multiple “accidents” and that feeling in the pit of your gut-your guilt, coupled with the pain you are self medicating.

Nasty. Putrid. Bleak.

1267807_4628772416773_914926645_o

“How could I possibly clean myself up? What would I do with all of my raw, searing pain? How could I cope?”

Beloveds, listen to the wise old hoot owl-learn from my mistakes. I spent years running from a traumatic childhood, turned to booze and men, then pills and cocaine. I married the man of my dreams (ok, he is seriously on my nerves today-but we made vows and stuff)and when I had life by the balls? I washed it down the kitchen drain; hook, line and sinker. Ten years of my life are missing, literally. Yet, I am just another sinner, clawing my way out of the rat race; running at warp speed to what I had no idea at the time.

12219571_10203651372244307_1017795936136030929_n

I ran into the boys from Teen Challenge, an amazing program of hope and sobriety for men of all ages and backgrounds, who have failed in all previous attempts to get sober. Every holiday we see them at our local grocery store. I listened to their stories, we laughed-and cried together. I have an innate connection to the broken-I always will. Even without their stand and wares? I could have picked out those men in a heartbeat.

Addicts have a tell, and it takes one to know one. It’s all in the eyes-which speak to me in various ways. Today it was the look of the haunted. I knew immediately that they were just beginning their journey; the look of sheer panic, yes. But something about them stood out, as if they were old souls or friends I hadn’t seen in some time.

“I just got out of prison, was there for two years. Lost my family, home and job. I tried every program out there, and I relapsed every time-it is an absolute miracle that God found me when He did. It’s Jesus that makes all of the difference! I have my family back, ma’am. And you know who the glory goes to, now, don’t ya?”

Do not be afraid or discouraged, for the Lord will personally go ahead of you. He will be with you; he will neither fail you nor abandon you. -Deuteronomy 31:8

Every day you don’t take a drink is a miracle.

Be miraculous~

There Was a Formula

I have been mulling over the idea for some time now: it’s time to change the format of my blog, and with what I have in mind? I think it’s going to be a necessary and positive rearrangement. 🙂

As always, the focus of my writing will be the same: Christ-centered, authentic and sassy-it’s the way I roll, so thank you all for reading my musings! It is my constant prayer that they will reach the eyes that bleed for comfort and community. Here goes nothing!

QUOTE OF THE DAY:

The really important things in life can’t be said, only shown.
– Ludwig Wittgenstein

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A while back I wrote about a friend from church who had told me God spoke to her in the early morning hours, about me, about my loneliness-as she was going down her prayer list. Unable to sleep, Lisa grabbed her Holy Bible, and asked the Holy Spirit to guide her in prayer. When she came to my name, the message was loud and clear:

She will have beautiful and meaningful relationships. She went on to try to explain just how much of a blessing this would be, but she cried with me instead.

I think of her and that moment often, even daily. Over the past few years, I have traded my sob story for one of real and true joy and reconciliation. Sadly, some of the changes did not suit a few of the people I had been holding on to; long after I knew that there was little left to grasp.

SCRIPTURE OF THIS GLORIOUS DAY

Kind people do themselves a favor, but cruel people bring trouble on themselves. -Proverbs 11:17 NCV

I quietly walked away from those who knew me as my former self. The friends who knew me to be a people pleasing, bleeding heart doormat-who allowed herself to be treated very poorly. I cannot stress the importance of one of the keys to happiness: you’ve heard this a million, zillion times before, but if you don’t love yourselfit will be impossible to gain the respect and love of others.

Although I have decided to keep the posts about Narcissistic Abuse and Complicated Post Traumatic Stress Disorder to the bare minimum (I have seen professionals who suffered at the hands of a narcissist make careers out of helping other survive the phenomena. While I respect the hell out of these people, I can not, will not allow this family tragedy define who I am. In order to survive, I am putting the past where it belongs. At the moment, the California fires are raging: these are not the usual forest fire-and they are headed oh so steadily towards my brother and his family. I have no way of knowing if they are okay. I have no way of knowing if ANY of my family is okay; so I will let go and let God.

However, there is so much to be said for sticking to your guns-not allowing others to control the narrative. Guard your heart, that’s what the Lord says-and in doing so I have emerged as if a Phoenix rising: finally able to be myself. No peanut gallery comments, such as:

After years of struggling with alcoholism and depression:

“Are you on the right medication? I think you may be Bipolar.”

After hosting mon frère for lunch (last time we spoke, in August)

“Quite sure you suffer from Borderline Personality Disorder. Have a great weekend.” Sent via email. And after telling my estranged sister not to bother showing up at my funeral:

“You fucked up Michele. YOU FUCKED UP.” This, by the way, from my “best” friend who almost killed my cat while we were in upstate NY last year on vacation.

SONG OF THE DAY

I spent yesterday with two amazing women I met in exercise class. They are smart and loving and kind, and I am almost out of my mind excited to begin this new phase of my life. And I get to live it as ME!!!!

Yep. Gotta stop sobbing and get busy living.

Blessings.

Crazy For Trying…

Sweet Jesus, Mary and Joseph (AND ALL OF THE SAINTS!!!) this has been the roller coaster of ALL roller coaster days!!!! Mercy mighty, I praise God each and every day for putting weed on this great earth; and if not for the medicinal side effects? This girl would not only be drinking again, but I’m pretty sure she’d find some Flakka and end it. It is a flat out miracle that I did not pick up today. Miracle.

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I have thanked Jesus profusely: for giving me the strength to set my boundaries-let’s just say the narcissists in my life are not fond of the 2.0 version of myself, as I can’t be emotionally manipulated, codependent or disrespected for one more millisecond. Alas, I am guilty of coming off a bit harsh-but only because I was once such a people pleaser that I would actually obsess about my friends or lack thereof. If I didn’t have a certain amount of friends, I would consider myself banned to the land of no friends at all; as my mother pushed her friends away due to social anxiety, I felt I was doomed to repeat the cycle.

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So, Dwain ended up going down and picking up the eight blue vases (actually, wine glasses :()from his mother last evening, at my bequest. I had not yet spoken to her after the hang up the day before. After twenty eight years of her passive aggressive bullying-yes, indeedy do-just like my sister and my mother before her-I had tripped the light fantastic and simply ended the call. I haven’t hung up on anyone in a very, very long time. I used the hang up as a means of dealing with my rage and ineptitude at coming up with something pithy to say. Realizing that this was incredibly rude, I began suffering migraines after stressful phone conversations. Now? It takes heaven and earth to get my ass to make a phone call. I loathe talking on my cell phone, there is no comfortable way, and I hate speaker phone. I also added to my humiliation the habit of the ‘drink and dial,’ which brought grave consequences. Alcohol and the phone are forever linked-hey, add a cigarette to the mix and what we have here is a R E L A P S E.

Smell what I’m stepping in?

I arranged the flowers I harvested from my garden (my mother in law offered hers, but I would be damned if I would use even one of her flowers. Why? Because that is all I would hear at the party tomorrow-the reason for the arrangements-

“And she used MY flowers, no way she could have done this without My help.”

The woman danced with a broom at my wedding reception, people. Yeah, the struggle is real. So I finish the arrangements, and a huge argument with my husband begins; simply because I asked him to drop them off at the fire hall tomorrow morning. I hadn’t planned on going to the shin dig, as the simple task of creating a few floral arrangements had turned into Armageddon-and I wasn’t about to head back into the war zone without a few months of space between her and myself. My husband, once again, did not believe me when I told him just that. He balked:

“I will go with you to drop off the flowers, when we go to the party tomorrow.”

It’s like this: I see no reason why, on God’s green planet, that Dwain cannot understand that his mother is snarky. I do not, I repeat, I do not want to come in between he and his mother. Trust me. But when I mentioned the fact that I wish he would just stick up for his wife, once and for all, he says this:

“Michele, I have been sticking up for you for thirty years.”

Poor Dwain. He’s just like Phil on Modern Family, he never fails to say the worst possible thing at the worst POSSIBLE moment. Great, I know his parents don’t like me, but really? Nice. Good to know.

Really.

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