Sitting here, lazy as heck-feeling the blue blahs…….and once again I am reminded of the millions of persecuted Christians around the globe.  Their plight unknown to the rest of us, and it runs chills up my spine.  Put on your big girl panties, Michele.  Yes, I am sick for most of the winter months, but that is my cross to bare.  Jesus has taken so much off of my shoulders, and yet I feel as if I am still haunted by ghosts of yesterdays past.

Battling a sinus infection since September, I am unable to do my volunteer work at the ER.  My boss won’t return my texts, so, I am rethinking the whole hospital ministry, period.  Do I really want to be subject to the viruses out there (namely MRSA and STAFF)?  Is this God’s way of telling me that this is not my ministry?

I begin the downslide that is evidenced by social withdrawal, childhood insecurities  and  feelings of worthlessness.  Turns out, it matters not that I won my SSI case, as if I cannot serve His kingdom, I am forlorn.  I am not feeling sorry for myself, this is nothing compared to what others are suffering, this I know.  I am longing for a normal life, something that has escaped me this fifty-six years.  I want to lunch with my friends, minister to others, stomp out injustice and hypocrisy, be a real asset to His Kingdom.

There are seasons in every life.  God spoke of this in Ecclesiastes, and so poignantly at that.  So, for now, I will pick up my cross and carry it to the best of my ability.  For there is a time for every season known to Heaven~



War Pigs

I have absolutely no idea where this is going, but I need to get a few things off my chest, comfort those who are weary, and now that I am back on my meds, even make a little sense.

I want to go back to the seventies.  God, it’s me, Michele.  Could you pretty, pretty, pretty please take me back to the childhood I thought so awful ?  Oh sugar Magnolias, what in the Harry was I complaining about?  We had shelter, food (my mother was a gourmet cook) fabulous vacations and each other.  Yes, there were hard times.  Yes, my mother could go a little bonkers-yes, my father drank.  But I am here to tell you that these were indeed the good old days.  Back then people weren’t called narcissists, just miserable and cranky.  Controlling.  My mother made Mother Teresa look bad when it came to caring for the sick.  My dad was always there for me, even if I had to disturb his martini hour.  And there was plenty of laughter, making merry and sometimes joy.

This world is bleak, if that’s how we want to see it.  Turn off the flipping news for a day, week or month.  Avoid social media.  Please don’t believe everything you hear or see on the news, most of it is bipartisan gibberish anyway.

Get out into nature, be with your higher power, give to those who don’t have and for crying out loud-make some joyful noise.

The Girl With the Most Cake…

So, this is a public service announcement about going off of your antidepressant medication, cold turkey.


I think it often the case that those of us with mental illness who rely on medication wish things were different.  We want to “fit in” so badly?  We take the first crumb of normality and think ourselves cured…no longer in need of care.  And sadly, due to the fact that depression, if not situational, is due to a lack of serotonin in our brain-well, taking a few pills a day is such a small price to pay for one’s sanity.  Depression is often in the genes, and there is no shame in taking medication.  As a matter of fact?  I will cling to my Zoloft from this day forward-and I regret using this forum to celebrate what I thought to be my freedom from illness, suicidal ideation, melancholy mind set.

After six days without Zoloft (simply a matter of having the flu and not wanting to drive into Lititz to pick it up) I was nauseated and off  balance.  When my husband, dog and I travelled to pick out the Christmas tree?  Dwain stopped to take a picture, and like the poster girl for Tourette’s, I yelled:

“I swear to God I will shove that f***ing phone down your throat.” 

By the afternoon it hurt when others spoke to me.  I was so edgy that the sound of my cat purring sent me into a hissy fit.  On the seventh day I saw an octopus crawling on my bathroom floor.  I hooted and hollered and jumped a foot in the air.  This turned out to be a cat toy, and I ran for my medication like a cartoon character on crystal meth.

Thus endeth the GREAT ZOLOFT EXPERIMENT OF 2017.

In lieu of becoming a serial killer, I have decided to pick up my cross, take my meds and dance like nobody’s watching.  And here I will sing the song of my people,  Cumbia my Lord, Cumbia…….. 


O Come Let Us Adore Him

This is my virtual Christmas card this year.  I wish all of you a blessed holiday, filled with wonder and love, light that penetrates the darkness, and hope for a future filled with His grace and mercy.


May the spirit of Christmas and the love of Jesus surround you throughout this season and the year to come.

Happy Holidays from the Hippy Chic, with love.



At the end of my rope yesterday-turns out my plague was something more serious-homo sapien affluenza.  I know, I try not to use these three words in the same sentence, but, what’s a girl to do when trying to explain her plight to the average Joe or JoeAnne?  The following is a true account of what could and would go wrong on my golden retriever’s fifth birthday, and how I survived to tell the tale.  Belch.

After becoming enslaved to the computer, the whims of my felines (I have had to change my writing spot-from grandma’s old desk, in front of a window that abets the glorious country scenery-to my broken down, flea ridden couch.  I have done this to avoid my cat Tootsie’s predilection for jumping up at said window and screaming at the top of her vocal chords-  not only does it tend to scare the life force out of me, but after 6 days with the flu and four without nicotine?  Well, it’s downright dangerous-for the cat, that is) I was so distraught that I pondered taking Jesse for a ride in the Jeep.  We had been  in the house for approximately 7 days, and our patience (and will to live) was ebbing, to say the very least. 

“Why, it wouldn’t hurt to go out and do some Christmas shopping!,” I announced to the yawning canine betwixt my feet.  His sidelong glance was one of doubt, incredulity and alarm.  He knows his mother, and he knows her well.  He jumped into the jeep despite his reservations, and let me tell you, when he jumped out of the jeep a few hours later?  He ran for the hills like his hair was on fire.

I almost fainted at the first store.  As a matter of fact?  While trying to walk a straight line (and I put everything I had into this, like, I’m talking DUI test concentration) I somehow walked, in a zig-zag fashion, straight into an elderly man and a sweet potato stand.  Pandemonium ensued, and after I picked him up off the floor?  I left my cart right there, and ran-fell out of the small grocery stand, before anything else could happen.

Next stop?  Walmart.  Yes, indeedy do, when I am out to torture myself, I go full metal jacket-why, why I laugh in the face of danger!  What could possibly go wrong in America’s favorite insane asylum?  Plenty, as it turns out.  While standing in one of two open lines (hey, it’s Christmas!  Two is better than one!) I broke a fever that sent sweat into every crevice of my five foot zero stature.  I sweat so badly I was forced to abandon my cart and run-fall all the way back to the jeep.

Merry Christmas, pass the Gas-ex, PLEASE.


My Poker Face……


Okay, I HAVE EFFING HAD IT WITH YOU FUCKER……….HAD IT….I am in the middle of some pretty powerful physical and spiritual transformation, and Satan-you are in for the fight of your LIFE.

I want my family BACK.  That is the reason I have decided to fight, and fight back HARD in the face of incredible perversion and strength.  He took my mother years ago, and her mother before her.  Caught up in the Jezebel Spirit, a foe they could not fight-generations of Jezebels behind them.  The spell was cast and our family has been subject to tragedy, division and the spirits of rage, jealousy and warfare.

Warfare?  Yes.  And that’s where I come in.  I want my brother back, home from California-I want him safely ensconced in his home territory, Philadelphia.  The fires out there have begun to unnerve him-an impossible feat I must say.  He went out there to explore, to conquer the music industry and keep his family warm.  His mission is over and it’s time to call it quits.

I hope you’re listening, you slimy snake-I want my sister back, and I will pray until the proverbial cows come home that she too is freed from the whirling dervish of heartache and strife at the hands of a principality who stands for death and destruction.  Unhand her I say!

I once had a woman in a restaurant, years ago, tell me that she knew who “I was.”  At that point?  I was a drunk who couldn’t find a job, so I was pretty confused.  I actually looked behind me in line at the register.

“No.  I am talking to you.  I know who you are.  And one day, oh one day my dear, so will you.”

The Silence is Deafening

Trying to get something done around the house, and let’s just say the couch is winning.  After feeding the felines, Jesse and I head to the couch, defeated yet eager to rest.  I flip on some Christmas music, and this song is the first I hear.

I have often wondered why I simply can not grieve in front of my husband.  I believe it is due in part that I know my tears upset him, and I want my lover to be happy, at peace.  Watching my emotions carefully-I just took myself off of a ten year addiction, albeit to Zoloft.  What began as the flu and not wanting to drive, turned into a trial run of freedom from the bondage of antidepressants.  Please don’t get me wrong, I thought I was to be on this drug forever;  I never gave this a second thought really -I am irrepressibly in agreement with anti-depressant/anti-anxiety medications for those who suffer mental illness.  I am the poster child for Ativan, yet I knew deep down that the depression had vanished.  Seven days later and I have no homicidal ideation, let alone suicidal.  But as I sat down to ponder, the haunting taunt of Bing Crosby’s vocals coming loudly from the surround sound, I wept.

Tomorrow my golden retriever turns five.  Just typing those words brings tears to my eyes, and I can’t see the computer screen.  After the loss of Jesse’s brother Dylan, four years ago, I have remained traumatized, the idea of him aging rips my heart right out of my chest, and any animal lover will understand those feelings.  Not for one millisecond do I take the blessings of this year for granted.  My husband’s new career, financial stability (kind of-my SSI check never amounted to much, and the monthly payments help tremendously-I had hoped to give my church an abundant Christmas tithing, and still do-but overhearing my husband discussing our mounting medical bills from a shoulder injury and physical therapy he suffered this Summer? Let’s just say I have devised a payment plan) and the miracles of being set free from physical and mental anguish are miracles, of this I am certain.

Yet I cannot contain the emotions this song bring about, so many memories of childhood Christmases -I would cut off my right arm to go back to those innocent days, ones I somehow knew were precious and rare, even back then.  We lost my parents years ago, and my brother is in California with his beautiful family.  There will be no Christmas phone calls, or holiday gatherings with my sister, or nieces and nephew.  No Christmas Eve conversations with the best friend who tried to ruin the first real vacation my husband and I had taken in twenty five years together, and prior to that?  I should have known her to be a vindictive and malicious narcissist years gift exchanges, no carols sung.

This makes me terribly sad, and lonely with an ache that permeates the air I breathe.

But none of this changes the fact that this is the time of year that we celebrate the birth of our King of Kings, the Prince of Peace, Lord of Lords and hope to all nations.  And the best part of the story is that He forgives us if we turn to Him with faith and sorrow for our sins.  We are a new creation in Christ and no longer need to carry our heavy burdens or past mistakes along with us!  It matters not what we have done, He will forgive us.  It is because of what He has done that we are set free~

In his great mercy God has given us new birth into a living hope through the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead.                                                                                                                        1 Peter 1:3