Mwah ha ha ha…

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The cost of Freedom is buried in the ground

Special thanks to all the courageous men and women who made the ultimate sacrifice so that future generations could enjoy freedom here in this great United States of America.

Thank you to all who have given service to our great country.

God bless you all.


The God Sessions

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When I was a little girl, I used to say my prayers every night before I went to bed.  I was raised Catholic and so I started my prayers by making the sign of the cross, “ In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit, Amen.“

I would then recite the Lord’s Prayer also known as an “Our Father” then move to a “Hail Mary.”  It was more to help me understand each word as well as to remember the prayers.  When through with those,  I would start asking God to bless my mom and dad,  brothers and sisters, and grandparents.  Then I would start going up our street mentally and ask for blessings for all my friends and their moms and dads, their brothers and sisters  (all by names) until I went down the whole block.  Then I got to my teachers at school, pets that lived in our neighborhood, special intentions for anyone I knew that was ill.  I included the children that were starving in Africa. Every night when Mom had to scrape our dinner plate into the trash she reminded us how there were kids starving in Africa and how they gladly would eat all this food that she was scraping off.  Then I always asked God to please help the person who needed it the most.    I wanted God to help that person first as I knew someone always has it worse than another.

During the day I had an abundant prayer life as well but it was a bit more quirky.  It was magical-thinking meets superstition meets magic 8-ball.

I would stand in my driveway by myself with my basketball and talk to God. In these God sessions I’d ask him important stuff as well as the very mundane.  No question was too big or too small.   Like,”are my parents going to let me sleep over Cindy’s house?” Then I’d hurl the basketball up into the net.  Mind you my little body and hands were so small I had to throw underhand.  If the ball went in the answer was yes.  If it missed that meant God was saying no.

If I was really disappointed with God’s answer, as the case sometimes was, I would say, ”let’s do this three times and 2 our of three times will decide.”  After doing  best out of three,  I would finally have acceptance at that point.

The thing was, I truly believed that God was speaking to my 8-year-old self through that basketball net. It wasn’t hocus pocus. Only now in retrospect do I feel a bit silly.  But only for a moment.  The larger part of me feels wistful and wishes I could go back in time and recapture that time again.   My faith was strong then.  I had such a deep connection to God.

I’ve had prayer life and deep faith for most of my life.  Now,  I feel so lost and don’t know how to get that back.  I’m scared.  What if I can’t? Maybe its the evil one whispering that to me?  But if I can get my prayer life back, how do I?  how?

 

 

 


Running from myself

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Have you ever experienced so much emotional pain and misery that you feel like you are bleeding from the inside out? That you are willing to just say a silent  goodbye to your family, job, home, belongings, everything?  To take to the road and just drive away and leave it all behind?

It’s to difficult to believe these thoughts have crossed my mind.  At the same time I just want to escape the stress and pain.  It’s been so long since I’ve truly laughed or felt a sense of peace and joy.   The closest I’ve come is when I’m immersed in nature.

Nature never judges.  Nature’s beauty, it  never lets me down.   Yet, there is something missing still, even there.

There is something missing in my life.  There is a hole inside my heart from long ago, that has never mended, that needs to still heal.   All the wounds that have been layered over, have further destroyed me.

Now I just want to run.  Run until I can’t find myself anymore.

 

 


The Weeknd… is here

 

You don’t need the lonely nights, so baby I can make it right

You just got to let me try,  to give you what you want.

You’ve been scared of love and what it did to you.

You don’t have to run, I know what you’ve been through.

Just a simple touch and  it could set you free

 

 


Attention Whore

 

81B9D6F8-5A4C-4E51-AD79-CE6AE3102EF8When a person comes from a place of emotional neglect in childhood it’s beyond painful.  One’s basic needs for emotional sustenance, a sense of well-being, feeling  loved and safe were not ensured.  So that deep scar, carries over into adulthood if not addressed.

I definitely had a lot of emotional neglect in childhood.  My parents were not mean people by any stretch.  However, I unwittingly became the invisible child because one of my step-siblings was a young sociopath in the making.

As a boy, he was labeled with “conduct disorder.”  There was always some podunk police officer showing up at our house to let my parents know he was in trouble again.

The other two step-siblings of mine were “problem children” as well because of extreme learning disabilities and needed a lot of time and energy.   My mom spent hours doing educational advocacy so they could have any chance at having academic success.

I became the invisible child.    I was the kid who got straight A’s, the one my parents figured didn’t need any help because I was succeeding.  However, I was dying on the inside all the while, wishing they would stop long enough to hug me, tell me how proud they were of me, sit and help me do my homework even if I didn’t need it; hell just have my mom sit down next to me and watch me do my homework, tell me I was a cute girl ….something, anything.

Things went from bad to worse over the years.   More police involvement with my step-brother, more arrests, even prison time for him, my parents divorced, our house was sold.

Time passed.

I found myself involved in relationships throughout my adulthood searching for that attention I never got.   Ironically, from men who weren’t capable of giving it to me.  I just didn’t realize it at the time.

That was perhaps the cruelest twist.   See, I was ignorant before I went into psychotherapy years ago.  I didn’t realize that the  complex trauma I had endured as a child, primed me to seek out and replicate the very same neglect and abuse…. to be re-victimized.

I remember one of my first abusive relationships, the guy saying,”you’re a total attention whore!” At the time he had said it, I had asked for more affection from him.  I wanted to hold hands sometimes, I wanted to hug him and have it just stay being a nice warm hug.  Not have it not lead to him wanting to push my head down to make me give him a blowjob.  I wanted affection, not just a purely sexually based relationship.

His response? I was too intense, too needy, clingy, high-maintenance.   That I was too insecure.  That I wanted too much.  “That” guy? well that guy turned out to be the sexual-sadist-sociopath who has no conscience.

Yeah, okay but I’m too intense and needy….

You know now that I think about it? I think it’s pretty normal to want to feel loved, safe, attractive, validated. Especially after not having had enough as a child and teen.

It is unhealthy to expect one’s partner to the be the primary source of one’s emotional well being, that needs to come from within.

That said, stop going to the hardware store for milk.

 


Broken

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It’s a difficult decision whether or not  to file for bankruptcy.  Particularly in business.  When you have invested so much sweat equity, borrowed on margin at times, and given your last dime to see the thing through.

There comes a time though, when there simply is no return on your investment and you’re in the red.   It’s time to realize it’s gone belly up.  Time for Chapter 11.

So too, a relationship can go the same way.   You read the self-help books, voiced your concerns, arguments happened, distance occurred .  You moved to going to individual therapy, you voiced your concerns, arguments still happened, more distance occurred.   You did the couples counseling gig, the proverbial shit really hit the fan, distance? no…. now there was  just resentment and lots of it.

No one wants to lose such a long-term investment.  But when it becomes a daily dose of vitriol an untenable battlefield emerges, it becomes a veritable toxic environment.  It has become a relationship on life-support.

I find myself in such a position.  My logical brain tells me it’s way past the time to let go and move on and yet my emotions make me second guess my decision.

It’s tearing me up inside and I’ve become physically ill and worn thin.  I can’t sleep anymore, I’m anxious most of the time, I don’t feel joy.  All of this has been ongoing, while I was trying to my bury my mum, who was my best friend, my touch stone.

I rather feel like a gutted fish about now.  The one person who I could always turn to for direction, is with God.  Wherever that is.   I just wish they had WordPress there, so she could could read this and write me back a reply with what to do with my crazy pain-filled shit-show of a life.   She always seemed to know just what to say, from the sage advise to a self-effacing comment to keep me going.  She was always my North Star, I just never thought she’d be up in the sky.   ⭐️

 

 

 


On forgiveness

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Something has been bothering me.  I had acquired this follower on Instagram which is linked to my blog.  I only have a handful of followers so when I get a new set of eyes, it’s like Christmas morning.  It’s a gift and I feel pretty excited about it.

I look at each follower’s photographs one by one.  Carefully.  If they have a blog or webpage, I will check that out too.  I believe in making connections with people.  Or at least trying.  I believe that we were put here to love one another.   Hard-wired for connectedness.

This particular follower was a Catholic deacon who was about to be ordained as a priest in a few weeks.   He liked several of my photos.   Then, without warning he unfollowed me.   I had almost forgotten that my Instagram account is linked to this blog.  I wondered why.  My intuition told me it had to do with my blog which link is displayed at the top of the Instagram page.

At any given time I write in my blog about an array of topics that are pertinent to me.    My recovery, something I find funny, poignant, or just something I want to share.  Things can run the gammit and some can be off-color.  Everything from the childhood sexual abuse I endured,  to BDSM which I found myself led into as an adult; groomed for by the complex childhood trauma itself.

At the time the deacon stopped following my Instagram account, my blog post at that time was about a sexual strap-on fantasy.  I realized in that moment, he probably judged me as a sinner and sexually immoral.

So I wrote him this message,

”Good evening Deacon, I see that you have stopped following me on Instagram. I’m assuming it’s because you visited my blog on WordPress, read one post and judged me. You will be entering the priesthood soon. May I suggest, not moving so quick to judgment, that is for God. Last I checked you are but a man. You would do well though to live by compassion, mercy, and kindness. Teach Christ’s love by example, yes? God bless you.” 

I felt really hurt because I felt judged and assumed he sort of shamed me Scarlet letter style.  I expected better from a potential man of the cloth.  Why couldn’t he he see all the suffering I had been through? Where was his compassion? As is sometines the case, I didn’t “sit” with my emotions and fired off the text to him.

A few weeks after I sent my text I feel ashamed.  Why was I so reactive? Why didn’t I just let it go? Why did I have to let him know that he was being judgmental? Will my words even even matter to him? I’ve been holding onto this wound, this resentment towards him.   I should have prayed for him and then let it go, but I didn’t.

Someone once told me that the one thing that separates man from the animals is the ability to pray.  That deeply resonated with me.

“To err is human to forgive, divine.”-Alexander Pope

Perhaps it is “I” who needs to start on working on forgiveness.   Focus less about calling him out on his shit and trying being “right.”

 

 

 

 


Something to rely on

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Photo: (mine) – The Marina –       Brattleboro, VT    2018

 

There are so many factors in life that are out of my control.  I can’t contol people, places, or things.  On good days, I find that sometimes I can’t even control myself.  A negative thought will drift in, my temper will flare, sadness will envelope me. I don’t always know how to sort them out.

Tumultuous emotions swirl within me, morose feelings can stir and despite this blue skies can be be smiling at me.

I believe that is why I find myself more grounded in nature.  Though the winds change direction and the rain may come and go, in a world of loss and constant change, I know the sun will  rise and set everyday.


Brokeback Mountain

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I created this meme because it’s true.  There’s something about seeing two hot men being intimate that really wets my whistle.  😋

 


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