It's been one year to the day that I found the courage to end a toxic relationship. I'd lost all sense of self and given in to the demands and terrorizing rants of a man I was living with. I had just gotten back home after being in the ER with bronchitis and pneumonia. I had lost my voice weeks before. My situation with him had made me physically ill.
It's also been a year of self discovery, learning to love myself through therapy - codependents anonymous - my art - and the book "The Secret." Looking back on that night, I see it with a new found clarity. It was a defining moment in my life that I could not be where I am now without. For that I am grateful. I may never be able to fully embrace any gratitude for him but I'm finally free of the anger of my past and fear of my future.
I have been leading my CODA meetings for four months. I adore doing service in this way. It suits me and gives me the opportunity to share my recovery story with others who struggle as I did. There are two women who my heart goes out to. Their stories and fear of the men they are with are not that different from my own. Hearing them reminds me of just how hard it is to break free. The fear of retribution and facing the world alone held me back. All relationships are different, but I was lucky. In that moment - he morned. It turned to anger in the following months, but by then I'd detached from him and was able to keep my boundaries of no contact.
I doubt it's a coincidence that I got a request to connect via Linked from him today. I'm sure he remembers the date. Throughout the year he tried many times to force interaction with me. Texts, emails, letters - all ignoring my initial request for no contact- rattled me. My reaction was different today. I was calm as I simply denied the request. He may forever driven to be in control of the people around him, but he no longer has any hold on me.
My story started again that night. Seems that’s my pattern, starting over in the middle.
I was terrified of facing myself without a human safety net. Like an addict, detox was a bitch. I had become an emotional vampire. I overwhelmed those around me. My fix was the concern I heard in their voices. I did not realize that they were only saying words to appease me. My life had become completely unmanageable. I was crazy. I was selfish. I was in agony. Of course no one could help me. I could not do what they suggested. Their frustration led them to independently tell me they could not longer talk to me. My son, daughter and sister. The emotional pain left me wondering if life was worth it. I had hit rock bottom. I was deep in a well where the sides were slippery. I could see the round patch of light above me but I had no way to get out. I cried a lot in those first months. I was so lonely. Slowly I began to "figure it out." People could see I was changing. My sister reached out to me and gave me encouragement as did my friend, Lisa. I rebuilt a relationship with my daughter, but there was still no rescue from the well.
Last week I had a revelation. I had finally reached the second step. I had let go and let god. The god of my understanding I call the "Universe." I had accepted that some power greater than myself could restore me to sanity. Over the course of the year, I could not climb out of the well, but through my intent and visualization of being free, the Universe lifted the ground up beneath me. Now I stand on solid ground in the sun.
Free of the anger of the past. Free of the fear of the future.
Breathe. Be present. Be calm. Be peaceful. Reflect. Meditate. Be grateful, Be aware. Be kind. Be happy. Share. Love. Be clear in your intentions.
I'm finally in a place where I truly believe I can have what my heart desires. It is a matter of placing orders for the Universe to fill. Thoughts become things. I have asked that I be reminded to "be" all those things I've learned. To live a life without a well.
I had a visualization board for part of the year. Many of the things on my board did manifest but without clear intent, they were incomplete and in one case, disturbing, I am grateful that they did manifest. It showed me that visualization truly works. I was going to start a new board last week but I had a dream. In it, the teacher who's currently leading my class in guided meditation was talking about visualization. She handed me little note cards and said I was write what I wanted from the Universe - one card per "order" for the Universe to fill and then mail them to myself. The next morning I bought notecards with the intention of doing just that.
They sat for a week. I did not know what I really wanted or how to say it. I knew I had to be specific after the prior mixed manifestations. I was drawing Valentines cards with flowers and hearts and rainbows for my best friend and my daughter when suddenly I knew exactly want I wanted from Universe. I got out my notecards and wrote out my "orders" in the same way I'd drawn the Valentines... with little flowers and hearts around playful, but clear words of intent. That afternoon I mailed eleven cards to myself. Each one a clear message of hope and expectation. Each one a Valentine. Each one an order sent out and each one will come back from the addressee, the Universe, as a confirmation that my request has been received and for me to expect delivery. Now all I have to do is act "as if." As if I already have all eleven of those wishes. I know they are already mine. I did not tell the Universe how to manifest them. That is not in my control. I know the Universe will move people, places and things so that my requests will be filled. My job is to hold those thoughts in my mind, to see them clearly and often. To fill myself with them. I expect my Valentines from the Universe to arrive on Valentines day. When I receive them I will tie them up with a ribbon. I will not open them, but at times look at the back of the envelopes where amid more hearts and flowers I summed up each request with a word or two as a reminder of the intent of each visualization. I will open the cards when I my orders are filled, send a thank you card back to the Universe and follow it with a 5 star review online.
One of those notes was to find ways to share myself. Today bought 6 more packs of notecards. I intend to share my dream and the Valentine cards from the Universe with my guided meditation class. I will give the teacher (who was in my dream) and each of the people in the class a set of cards and suggest they send their own desires into the Universe. I will send out my own signal that their requests will be answered. A relay signal. An amplifier. Ah OH.
Hey, Universe, thank you for today!
You biggest fan, D
Monday, February 11, 2019
Friday, July 20, 2018
What I wrote, published and why... Time to flush out the story
I have gone back through all my posts from 2008 to now and published all the ones I had hidden in drafts. They are all out of order... maybe that does not matter as I mostly wrote them stream of consciousness... which never ran straight.
So if you find this blog, forgive my rambles but not the ones who hurt me... I have... sort of... but in reality it is only now that I have woken up from 22 years of gaslighting and brainwashing.
It is only now I've been able to look back on my life and see the patterns... where they really mental illness - or codependence?
4 months ago I ended a relationship with a man who terrorized and controlled me. I was not allowed to be me, and my notes to myself during that time were so sad. I was so trapped and unhappy, but yet I had chosen to be with him. Why? Every night I went to bed wishing he were gone. I woke up every morning wondering when it was ok to get out of bed without getting his anger.
I find myself looking back on signs of codependence in my life.
How could I have missed all of it?
How could I have been convinced I could not change.
How could I think over and over I had changed only to start the cycle again and again?
It's been 4 months of starting over. Coda saved my life. My fellowship has been the boat I've sailed on over the uncertain and choppy waters. Today I am feeling OK. Busy... but lonely too. But not bi-polar. 4 months of what started as crazy, but no BP incidents .... none...
Do I have a story?
Will anyone want to read it?
Will it be a good thing to write it or will it bring me to a dark place. a compulsive place where I think of nothing else. Will it trigger a mania that I'll follow into a rabbit hole?
no idea
Maybe
So if you find this blog, forgive my rambles but not the ones who hurt me... I have... sort of... but in reality it is only now that I have woken up from 22 years of gaslighting and brainwashing.
It is only now I've been able to look back on my life and see the patterns... where they really mental illness - or codependence?
4 months ago I ended a relationship with a man who terrorized and controlled me. I was not allowed to be me, and my notes to myself during that time were so sad. I was so trapped and unhappy, but yet I had chosen to be with him. Why? Every night I went to bed wishing he were gone. I woke up every morning wondering when it was ok to get out of bed without getting his anger.
I find myself looking back on signs of codependence in my life.
How could I have missed all of it?
How could I have been convinced I could not change.
How could I think over and over I had changed only to start the cycle again and again?
It's been 4 months of starting over. Coda saved my life. My fellowship has been the boat I've sailed on over the uncertain and choppy waters. Today I am feeling OK. Busy... but lonely too. But not bi-polar. 4 months of what started as crazy, but no BP incidents .... none...
Do I have a story?
Will anyone want to read it?
Will it be a good thing to write it or will it bring me to a dark place. a compulsive place where I think of nothing else. Will it trigger a mania that I'll follow into a rabbit hole?
no idea
Maybe
Thanksgiving
I thought I was there because there must be so many things you needed to tell me you'd never said. I thought if I was there, you'd suddenly become alert, reach out for my hand and lock your eyes to mine - and you'd say everything I'd wished you would. A life's worth of wishing.
I'd heard from mom and my sis the condition you were in. I'd flown back the September before on a similar mission. I'd given you a week then. Every day I was in your room and you would wake up and say "Debbie? What are you doing here?" Every day I would tell you I was there because you were very ill. You were in the hospital. I told you I was there for you. But I was really there for me. You told me, "There is nothing you can do. I am dying. I want to die." I told you, "We love you and want you to live."
They said you got better. In October you were back home. You were waiting for a miracle - a new kidney. But age and health was not on your side. Other people got your miracle. You asked for death. Mom hid your guns. Anger and frustration were your armor. You wanted what you wanted. The women you'd loved your entire adult life, your soul mate - was at your side day after day. She never gave up hope. She was not ready to let go. Everyone one around you was as kind and gentle. Your physician insisted you needed to ride in a wheelchair to your car on that last visit with him. He pushed you himself. Out the door of his office and through the parking lot - he was on the verge of tears himself as he made sure you knew that going back to the hospital was not a loss of dignity. He wanted you there so he could make sure they did every test and gave you every opportunity for life.
He was in the room with you and mom when you begged once more for death. You told mom to get your gun. "Bring it to the hospital so I can shot myself. Let me die."
You must have signed something. I know you had a "do not revive" order on file. But they began the process of letting you go that day. Medication for the pain, but no food - no water. I was called and told to come back - to say goodbye.
I wanted to come sooner, while you were still alert, but my mom and sis said "wait."I left in the night and arrived Thanksgiving morning. My brother in law wanted to take me home and get me settled, but all I wanted was to see you. I borrowed a car. I'm sure I was speeding.
Mom was at your side, crying softly. It was morning but the curtains were drawn so the room seemed gray. You'd been in so much pain they'd increased your morphine just hours before. It looked like you were already dead except for the mumbling. "Debbie's here, Dick, Debbie came!"I remember you turning toward me and trying to talk, but your mind was so deep in medication. I could see you in there. The wheels were turning. The thoughts were trying to reach the surface, but they vanished before you could form them into words.
I stroked your arm. I took a wash cloth with cool water and wiped your cracked lips. There was no time for reconciling. There was no chance of hearing anything I'd ever needed to hear. You were going to die and we would be forever unsettled. Sleep took you and we left to meet at my sister's for our Thanksgiving meal.
If I told you I was psychic, I'm sure you passed it off as ridiculous. In your world things were black and white. You were an accountant. Things have to add up, to balance. You'd made it clear you were disappointed with the choices I'd made in my life. In fact, when I left my 3rd husband - the father of my children - and began a life with a 20 year old 22 years younger than me - you said "I feel you are doing this to hurt me." You were so embarrassed of me. My sister had married a doctor and given birth to the son you'd always wanted. My sister lived a life filled with family and tradition in Ohio while I lived a life of ever shifting devotions. I could not seem to find what I was looking for. In your mind - why was I looking at all? I finally had a husband who supported me and children and a nice home. There was nothing to be unhappy about. I'd lived my entire life with you telling me "Debbie, you've got to stop wearing your feelings on your sleeve! Toughen up!" I'd lived my entire life just wanting to know you could love me for who I really was and not who you wanted me to be. You took yourself out of my life for over a year. Was it two years? I spent it in a fog, so I don't know how long it really was. Once the my third divorce was underway and I was living with Ben and my children and struggling - you said it was too much for you. You were sick. You did not need the stress my life was putting on you. You were done. And you would no longer take my calls. Mom would talk to me from time to time, but I was set adrift so that you could be sick in peace.
My sister's children were flown to spend spring break with you and mom in AZ. You took them to baseball spring training. But this connection with my sister's children and not mine began long before I left their father. I remember when my son was born - you'd already begun to distance yourself from me and my children. Maybe you were a bit psychic? Maybe you could see the path I would take five years into the future. Maybe.
But there was no "maybe" as I drove away on that Thanksgiving morning. I knew you were dying. I knew you would die that day. I knew there would be no talking with you. I knew I needed to let you know it was ok to go. You had waited for it. You were deep inside that morphine sleep praying for me to let you go, to let you off the hook. You'd reconnected with me a year before that day. You and mom had driven to visit Ben and I and the kids. You spent a day with us in San Francisco. You told me you'd realized life was too short to stay upset with me. You recognized I was happy and the kids were happy and that Ben was indeed the life partner I'd always yearned for. With Ben, I was at peace.
It was that day in San Francisco I kept in my mind as I drove. I could barely see through my tears. I'd come too late - or maybe not. In the car - I talked with you. I felt you with me and I said everything I knew you needed to hear. I kept back all the anger and pain I'd carried - and gave you my love. I told you I knew you'd waited for me to come and I had. I told you it was OK to go now. I told you we had nothing left to talk about - all was forgiven. I understood all I'd done that left you upset with me. I told you there was nothing you needed to say to me you had not said.
Go.
We had just finished the feast. It was been a quiet, sad dinner. Your absence was filled with the memory of you lying in that small sterile room. And suddenly I knew I had to get back to the hospital, NOW. Mom knew too and she was jumping up just as I was. The family tried to calm us, to let us know there was no urgency, but there was.
Mom, my sister and I rushed back to you. You looked like you had earlier in the day, but the sound... I knew it in my gut. It was a death rattle.
We left mom there to hold your hand and spend those last moments with you alone. We sat and talked and while she is not one to believe in such things - I told her what was happening in the other room. I knew. I knew you were dying. I knew it was now. I knew you did not want us there. You only wanted mom.
I knew when it was time to go to the room. We arrived seconds after you passed. Mom was crying and stroking your cheek. She had gone to sleep at your side. She awoke just in time to see you take your last breath - and then you were gone. She said " He knew I was here. He knew you were both close...."
In the years since your passing - we've talked so often, you and I. All the things I never said to you I'd wished I had - I told you. And you heard me. And all the things you'd judged me for, you realized were nothing. You learned who I really am and learned who you really were - after you passed. In the first year - it was as if you were either with me or with mom. Back and forth. She and I could talk about things you'd said and how comforting it was for her to feel you with her. It was never something she would have believed in before, but with me as her sounding board, she could not only believe but share.
In the year after your passing - I realized it was me that held back from you. I never let you in. You were my rock and my ball and chain. I would lean on you, but never felt I could escape your judgment. In that year I shared everything with you and I became free. I would not be writing all that I do now if it were not for the talks we had. I never questioned if they were real. It could be just my mind working through all that on my own but it would not explain how it was going on with mom as well.
I asked for proof "am I really talking with you, Dad?" and the joking began. The little puns you would come up with - they were popping into my head - new puns - you were making fun and joking with me. It could just me, though, thinking what you "would" say. Until I got the package from mom that first Christmas since you'd passed. It sat under the tree unopened and somehow I knew you had given me Indian jewelry for Christmas. So many gifts from you had been Indian jewelry. You gave pieces often to my mom and I. Silver and turquoise was under that tree, in that package - and it was from my father who had passed. I told Ben and my kids that. Long before I opened it to find that mom had framed a silver and turquoise belt buckle of yours for me. I called her in tears. I asked how she came up with the idea to send me that. She said simply, "Dick told me to." Proof.
This is the place where I would normally say everything to you I'd wished I said. Dad, you and I both know I've already done that. You know I love you and that I always loved you. I know you love me and always loved me.
This year, Thanksgiving was on the 27th.
The year you passed, Thanksgiving was on the 27th too.
I called mom and we shared a short cry.
We both know you are still with her.
And on every Thanksgiving, I am thankful.
I'd heard from mom and my sis the condition you were in. I'd flown back the September before on a similar mission. I'd given you a week then. Every day I was in your room and you would wake up and say "Debbie? What are you doing here?" Every day I would tell you I was there because you were very ill. You were in the hospital. I told you I was there for you. But I was really there for me. You told me, "There is nothing you can do. I am dying. I want to die." I told you, "We love you and want you to live."
They said you got better. In October you were back home. You were waiting for a miracle - a new kidney. But age and health was not on your side. Other people got your miracle. You asked for death. Mom hid your guns. Anger and frustration were your armor. You wanted what you wanted. The women you'd loved your entire adult life, your soul mate - was at your side day after day. She never gave up hope. She was not ready to let go. Everyone one around you was as kind and gentle. Your physician insisted you needed to ride in a wheelchair to your car on that last visit with him. He pushed you himself. Out the door of his office and through the parking lot - he was on the verge of tears himself as he made sure you knew that going back to the hospital was not a loss of dignity. He wanted you there so he could make sure they did every test and gave you every opportunity for life.
He was in the room with you and mom when you begged once more for death. You told mom to get your gun. "Bring it to the hospital so I can shot myself. Let me die."
You must have signed something. I know you had a "do not revive" order on file. But they began the process of letting you go that day. Medication for the pain, but no food - no water. I was called and told to come back - to say goodbye.
I wanted to come sooner, while you were still alert, but my mom and sis said "wait."I left in the night and arrived Thanksgiving morning. My brother in law wanted to take me home and get me settled, but all I wanted was to see you. I borrowed a car. I'm sure I was speeding.
Mom was at your side, crying softly. It was morning but the curtains were drawn so the room seemed gray. You'd been in so much pain they'd increased your morphine just hours before. It looked like you were already dead except for the mumbling. "Debbie's here, Dick, Debbie came!"I remember you turning toward me and trying to talk, but your mind was so deep in medication. I could see you in there. The wheels were turning. The thoughts were trying to reach the surface, but they vanished before you could form them into words.
I stroked your arm. I took a wash cloth with cool water and wiped your cracked lips. There was no time for reconciling. There was no chance of hearing anything I'd ever needed to hear. You were going to die and we would be forever unsettled. Sleep took you and we left to meet at my sister's for our Thanksgiving meal.
If I told you I was psychic, I'm sure you passed it off as ridiculous. In your world things were black and white. You were an accountant. Things have to add up, to balance. You'd made it clear you were disappointed with the choices I'd made in my life. In fact, when I left my 3rd husband - the father of my children - and began a life with a 20 year old 22 years younger than me - you said "I feel you are doing this to hurt me." You were so embarrassed of me. My sister had married a doctor and given birth to the son you'd always wanted. My sister lived a life filled with family and tradition in Ohio while I lived a life of ever shifting devotions. I could not seem to find what I was looking for. In your mind - why was I looking at all? I finally had a husband who supported me and children and a nice home. There was nothing to be unhappy about. I'd lived my entire life with you telling me "Debbie, you've got to stop wearing your feelings on your sleeve! Toughen up!" I'd lived my entire life just wanting to know you could love me for who I really was and not who you wanted me to be. You took yourself out of my life for over a year. Was it two years? I spent it in a fog, so I don't know how long it really was. Once the my third divorce was underway and I was living with Ben and my children and struggling - you said it was too much for you. You were sick. You did not need the stress my life was putting on you. You were done. And you would no longer take my calls. Mom would talk to me from time to time, but I was set adrift so that you could be sick in peace.
My sister's children were flown to spend spring break with you and mom in AZ. You took them to baseball spring training. But this connection with my sister's children and not mine began long before I left their father. I remember when my son was born - you'd already begun to distance yourself from me and my children. Maybe you were a bit psychic? Maybe you could see the path I would take five years into the future. Maybe.
But there was no "maybe" as I drove away on that Thanksgiving morning. I knew you were dying. I knew you would die that day. I knew there would be no talking with you. I knew I needed to let you know it was ok to go. You had waited for it. You were deep inside that morphine sleep praying for me to let you go, to let you off the hook. You'd reconnected with me a year before that day. You and mom had driven to visit Ben and I and the kids. You spent a day with us in San Francisco. You told me you'd realized life was too short to stay upset with me. You recognized I was happy and the kids were happy and that Ben was indeed the life partner I'd always yearned for. With Ben, I was at peace.
It was that day in San Francisco I kept in my mind as I drove. I could barely see through my tears. I'd come too late - or maybe not. In the car - I talked with you. I felt you with me and I said everything I knew you needed to hear. I kept back all the anger and pain I'd carried - and gave you my love. I told you I knew you'd waited for me to come and I had. I told you it was OK to go now. I told you we had nothing left to talk about - all was forgiven. I understood all I'd done that left you upset with me. I told you there was nothing you needed to say to me you had not said.
Go.
We had just finished the feast. It was been a quiet, sad dinner. Your absence was filled with the memory of you lying in that small sterile room. And suddenly I knew I had to get back to the hospital, NOW. Mom knew too and she was jumping up just as I was. The family tried to calm us, to let us know there was no urgency, but there was.
Mom, my sister and I rushed back to you. You looked like you had earlier in the day, but the sound... I knew it in my gut. It was a death rattle.
We left mom there to hold your hand and spend those last moments with you alone. We sat and talked and while she is not one to believe in such things - I told her what was happening in the other room. I knew. I knew you were dying. I knew it was now. I knew you did not want us there. You only wanted mom.
I knew when it was time to go to the room. We arrived seconds after you passed. Mom was crying and stroking your cheek. She had gone to sleep at your side. She awoke just in time to see you take your last breath - and then you were gone. She said " He knew I was here. He knew you were both close...."
In the years since your passing - we've talked so often, you and I. All the things I never said to you I'd wished I had - I told you. And you heard me. And all the things you'd judged me for, you realized were nothing. You learned who I really am and learned who you really were - after you passed. In the first year - it was as if you were either with me or with mom. Back and forth. She and I could talk about things you'd said and how comforting it was for her to feel you with her. It was never something she would have believed in before, but with me as her sounding board, she could not only believe but share.
In the year after your passing - I realized it was me that held back from you. I never let you in. You were my rock and my ball and chain. I would lean on you, but never felt I could escape your judgment. In that year I shared everything with you and I became free. I would not be writing all that I do now if it were not for the talks we had. I never questioned if they were real. It could be just my mind working through all that on my own but it would not explain how it was going on with mom as well.
I asked for proof "am I really talking with you, Dad?" and the joking began. The little puns you would come up with - they were popping into my head - new puns - you were making fun and joking with me. It could just me, though, thinking what you "would" say. Until I got the package from mom that first Christmas since you'd passed. It sat under the tree unopened and somehow I knew you had given me Indian jewelry for Christmas. So many gifts from you had been Indian jewelry. You gave pieces often to my mom and I. Silver and turquoise was under that tree, in that package - and it was from my father who had passed. I told Ben and my kids that. Long before I opened it to find that mom had framed a silver and turquoise belt buckle of yours for me. I called her in tears. I asked how she came up with the idea to send me that. She said simply, "Dick told me to." Proof.
This is the place where I would normally say everything to you I'd wished I said. Dad, you and I both know I've already done that. You know I love you and that I always loved you. I know you love me and always loved me.
This year, Thanksgiving was on the 27th.
The year you passed, Thanksgiving was on the 27th too.
I called mom and we shared a short cry.
We both know you are still with her.
And on every Thanksgiving, I am thankful.
What if . problem with boundries
I had a problem with boundaries.
There was a backdoor to my sexuality that left me wondering what if...
Not everyone could see that kink in my armor (amour?). But many found that opportunity tempting. Was I encouraging them? If they felt encouraged, was I expected to follow through? I followed through - then guilt would overcome me and I would move on to the next what if...
How could I have been in that situation if there wasn't a reason?
reluctant medium at large
A long time ago, my friend Tina dragged me along to a psychic evaluation. It wasn't really for me. She wanted desperately to be psychic and bringing me gave her the courage to go inside.
Up until that day I had not realized there were actual organizations of people who believed they were not only psychic, but that they could "read" the abilities of others. I'm not saying I don't believe. I just had trouble believing them. Of course they would "read" Tina and tell her what she wanted to hear. But they didn't. They told her she had no psychic abilities. I would have left then, but she'd signed us both up and she insisted I go next. I was seated in a hard back chair in a semi lit room while three "psychics" sat at a table in front of me. They had three jobs. One laughed and laughed to keep the energy positive. One focused on the other world and the last one focused on me. Real or not, I did not want them in my head.
I told myself to block them from reading me. It didn't work, or it did, because they called me on it. I sat in that chair silently while they told me about my children. The one I had, the one I lost and the one I would give birth to. They told me about my childhood and my nightmares.They told me I was an open door and and there were blocks of spirits, good and bad, drawn to me. They told me I had to learn to shut that door. I left terrified. Tina was thrilled.
You don't have to believe me.
I probably wouldn't believe me.
If there was a door, I closed it, but not always. I talked with Gary who'd remodeled the house I owned. His boyfriend and he broke up but closed the house into two sections. Gary lived in the back which was Ben and my bedroom (his living room) and my daughter's room (his bedroom). He died of aids, or so he told me. He would not leave because it was his house. Ben's mom saw him in the kitchen one morning. We had not told her the house was haunted. I talked with my father off and on for a year after he passed and we grew closer than ever. And Tina, she was not happy when I held her wake at my house. She would show up in my car when I was driving. Ben saw her too. She was in the corner of our bedroom crying. She had not meant to kill herself, or so she said. It was exhausting. She wanted to drag me with her, so I closed the door to her.
But did I really talk to the dead? I wondered if it was just me thinking I was. It wasn't until I moved to Ohio that I learned I was bipolar. Part of the crazy brain hear's voices and sees things. Been there...
I'd been medicated for over a year when I went with my girlfriends to a hot springs nudist retreat in the hills above Napa Valley, California. The resort was full of meditation and new age spirituality. I'm not a team player when it comes to spirituality. The night we'd arrived we were walking down a set of stairs toward the garden when I felt someone brush past me and my body turned cold. I though it was one of my friends until I turned to see them both at the top of the stairs. It was April fools day. The following day I took a break from pretending to be ok naked with a hundred strangers and got a massage. The therapists name was Deanne. (d-anne) and her room overlooked the property and the garden beyond. I was quietly letting my body relax under her touch when Dee appeared in the room. Dee would not shut up. No Deanne could not see or hear her because Dee was dead, and was thrilled to have found someone who could tell Deanne she was really here. For the entire hour, Dee told me how she lived at the resort for years, and decided to stay there.
Up until that day I had not realized there were actual organizations of people who believed they were not only psychic, but that they could "read" the abilities of others. I'm not saying I don't believe. I just had trouble believing them. Of course they would "read" Tina and tell her what she wanted to hear. But they didn't. They told her she had no psychic abilities. I would have left then, but she'd signed us both up and she insisted I go next. I was seated in a hard back chair in a semi lit room while three "psychics" sat at a table in front of me. They had three jobs. One laughed and laughed to keep the energy positive. One focused on the other world and the last one focused on me. Real or not, I did not want them in my head.
I told myself to block them from reading me. It didn't work, or it did, because they called me on it. I sat in that chair silently while they told me about my children. The one I had, the one I lost and the one I would give birth to. They told me about my childhood and my nightmares.They told me I was an open door and and there were blocks of spirits, good and bad, drawn to me. They told me I had to learn to shut that door. I left terrified. Tina was thrilled.
You don't have to believe me.
I probably wouldn't believe me.
If there was a door, I closed it, but not always. I talked with Gary who'd remodeled the house I owned. His boyfriend and he broke up but closed the house into two sections. Gary lived in the back which was Ben and my bedroom (his living room) and my daughter's room (his bedroom). He died of aids, or so he told me. He would not leave because it was his house. Ben's mom saw him in the kitchen one morning. We had not told her the house was haunted. I talked with my father off and on for a year after he passed and we grew closer than ever. And Tina, she was not happy when I held her wake at my house. She would show up in my car when I was driving. Ben saw her too. She was in the corner of our bedroom crying. She had not meant to kill herself, or so she said. It was exhausting. She wanted to drag me with her, so I closed the door to her.
But did I really talk to the dead? I wondered if it was just me thinking I was. It wasn't until I moved to Ohio that I learned I was bipolar. Part of the crazy brain hear's voices and sees things. Been there...
I'd been medicated for over a year when I went with my girlfriends to a hot springs nudist retreat in the hills above Napa Valley, California. The resort was full of meditation and new age spirituality. I'm not a team player when it comes to spirituality. The night we'd arrived we were walking down a set of stairs toward the garden when I felt someone brush past me and my body turned cold. I though it was one of my friends until I turned to see them both at the top of the stairs. It was April fools day. The following day I took a break from pretending to be ok naked with a hundred strangers and got a massage. The therapists name was Deanne. (d-anne) and her room overlooked the property and the garden beyond. I was quietly letting my body relax under her touch when Dee appeared in the room. Dee would not shut up. No Deanne could not see or hear her because Dee was dead, and was thrilled to have found someone who could tell Deanne she was really here. For the entire hour, Dee told me how she lived at the resort for years, and decided to stay there.
Dee
You don't have to believe me.
I didn't really believe me till there was proof. And in that proof, I realized all the other times were real.
I don't do cold readings, or touch photos, or call on my totem spirit. I don't follow ghost hunters pretending I hear and see things. Because without tangible proof, its just ponderous. I do occasionally glance up at a house and casually say it's haunted. If you lost something you can call me and most times I can tell you exactly where to look. I see some things in a distant future, but nothing stays still so it's more of a comment about a possibility.
I was a spiritual nudist retreat at a hot springs in the hills above Napa Valley, California. I'm not religious and to me spiritual is private. I don't go in for group chanting or prayer circles. But the hot spring pools are wonderful for soaking and letting go of everything you carry around in your head. We arrived sunset on April 1st. After dropping our bags, we walked down the hill and stairs into a sprawling garden. Our destination was a hut at the bottom of the hill where there was much chanting and introspection. I was turning a corner on the stairs when someone brushed past me headed into the dark garden. I assumed it one of my friends, but they were chatting at the top of the stairs no where near me. It was unnerving, but that kind of thing happens to me all the time. I felt stalked, so I made up my mind to return via the road and not the dark path.
My friends and I spent the evening soaking and catching up. The next morning we all had scheduled massages.and a lovely white blond woman walked me up to her massage room, As we moved up the path is where the voice started talking in my head. She was telling me that this was her favorite room to get a massage and the window looks over the garden. Yes, yes it did. I was prepared to relax not play telephone for a pushy spirit, but with Dee now standing behind me in the room I could not ignore her. She was so glad she'd finally found someone who could hear her. She had a lot to say to alto of people starting with Dee Anne who was deep into my massage. She wasn't going to leave, so I let Dee, dead Dee talk. And for reference I never met Dee. I never new she worked at the retreat.
Here's what Dee told me:
My name is Dee I've lived at this retreat for years. I was a cook, but i wanted to help people like Dee Ann. Now I can help people! I can help Dee Ann by going into her clients and helping them relax their muscles. See, I'm doing that for you. Dee Ann "it's great that you can breathe into the massage." You need to tell Dee Ann I'm here. She needs to know I'll be here to help her. She won't believe me. Tell her what I look like, tell her I died recently but not here. They had a party for me last night in the garden. My favorite color is blue, beach glass blue and orange. Why didn't they have flowers with orange in them. I' wearing my wild flower print. See? It's got blue and orange. Dee Ann with know. She needs to tell every one I never left.
Ugh.. see the bizarre situation here. I have to ask this wonderful woman if she knows a woman named Dee. The reaction Dee Ann had was intense. She's here? Yes, she's right behind me in that corner by the window. This was her favorite room and now she wants to help you. She told me her favorite color is blue but your's is earth olive green, like your boots. She keeps showing me an opening lotus. What is that? She wants everyone here to know she is not going to leave. Dee Ann told me that Dee was here long before she came to work here. And when she came, her name was Dee. Dee was such a part of the group that Dee Ann had to change her name. Dee was born on April 1. Her wake was that day, in the garden. There was a fountain built for her. Dee and Dee ann did not get along. So the knowlege that she was going to be with her in that room always took a huge toll on Dee Ann. I felt awful. I'd done wahat a spirit asked me to do, but she wasn't near finished.
Having Dee attach herself to me was like my body was full of ice. I was so cold and the weather was quite warm. I tried to tune her out but she knew I could hear her so... I was stuck with her. My friends said I had to find her memorial. OK. Then I have to find it by not knowing where it is. On the way there I passed a little store and found myself buying a single lindor chocolate in an orange wrapper. And I walked until I could see a little fountain with a bench of stones around one side. On the other side were bright blue wooden chairs all facing the fountain, which I first thought was a lotus, but it was an open hand with water dripping of the fingers. In the base of the fountain were hundreds of blue glass among the rocks. I turned to the bench and I could see at the very center was a photo of Dee. No question since I'd talked to her. And around the top of the bench there were flourishes, and on one side it said Dee and the other side said Lious . Delishious
I laughed and held out the chocolate for her. "am I to eat this for you?" yes I ate it then sat the little orange wrapper over her photo. and told her I was done. I'd told Deeanne and she could tell the others.
Dee refused to let me go. I tried soaking in very hot pools but I still had ice in my viens. Everyone I saw she wanted me to talk to. Eventually I agreed to talk to Deeann again, even though I could see a man was holding her while she cried. I told her about the garden and the chocolate and it seems Dee's family owned that chocolate company.
It was just too much for me. I could not shut her out so I bored her out. I went to our tiny room and closed the windows and the shades and did nothting but read for hours I saw no on e and talked to no one till finally the ice left my body and I knew Dee was looking for another medium.
So now, yeah, I believe in what I can do. But I don't do it "for" anyone. It comes, it goes. I just try to help both sides and then push the door closed again.
And your keys are under your purse.
And that thing you thought you wanted has very bad energy.
Toss it and be done with all of it.
I didn't really believe me till there was proof. And in that proof, I realized all the other times were real.
I don't do cold readings, or touch photos, or call on my totem spirit. I don't follow ghost hunters pretending I hear and see things. Because without tangible proof, its just ponderous. I do occasionally glance up at a house and casually say it's haunted. If you lost something you can call me and most times I can tell you exactly where to look. I see some things in a distant future, but nothing stays still so it's more of a comment about a possibility.
I was a spiritual nudist retreat at a hot springs in the hills above Napa Valley, California. I'm not religious and to me spiritual is private. I don't go in for group chanting or prayer circles. But the hot spring pools are wonderful for soaking and letting go of everything you carry around in your head. We arrived sunset on April 1st. After dropping our bags, we walked down the hill and stairs into a sprawling garden. Our destination was a hut at the bottom of the hill where there was much chanting and introspection. I was turning a corner on the stairs when someone brushed past me headed into the dark garden. I assumed it one of my friends, but they were chatting at the top of the stairs no where near me. It was unnerving, but that kind of thing happens to me all the time. I felt stalked, so I made up my mind to return via the road and not the dark path.
My friends and I spent the evening soaking and catching up. The next morning we all had scheduled massages.and a lovely white blond woman walked me up to her massage room, As we moved up the path is where the voice started talking in my head. She was telling me that this was her favorite room to get a massage and the window looks over the garden. Yes, yes it did. I was prepared to relax not play telephone for a pushy spirit, but with Dee now standing behind me in the room I could not ignore her. She was so glad she'd finally found someone who could hear her. She had a lot to say to alto of people starting with Dee Anne who was deep into my massage. She wasn't going to leave, so I let Dee, dead Dee talk. And for reference I never met Dee. I never new she worked at the retreat.
Here's what Dee told me:
My name is Dee I've lived at this retreat for years. I was a cook, but i wanted to help people like Dee Ann. Now I can help people! I can help Dee Ann by going into her clients and helping them relax their muscles. See, I'm doing that for you. Dee Ann "it's great that you can breathe into the massage." You need to tell Dee Ann I'm here. She needs to know I'll be here to help her. She won't believe me. Tell her what I look like, tell her I died recently but not here. They had a party for me last night in the garden. My favorite color is blue, beach glass blue and orange. Why didn't they have flowers with orange in them. I' wearing my wild flower print. See? It's got blue and orange. Dee Ann with know. She needs to tell every one I never left.
Ugh.. see the bizarre situation here. I have to ask this wonderful woman if she knows a woman named Dee. The reaction Dee Ann had was intense. She's here? Yes, she's right behind me in that corner by the window. This was her favorite room and now she wants to help you. She told me her favorite color is blue but your's is earth olive green, like your boots. She keeps showing me an opening lotus. What is that? She wants everyone here to know she is not going to leave. Dee Ann told me that Dee was here long before she came to work here. And when she came, her name was Dee. Dee was such a part of the group that Dee Ann had to change her name. Dee was born on April 1. Her wake was that day, in the garden. There was a fountain built for her. Dee and Dee ann did not get along. So the knowlege that she was going to be with her in that room always took a huge toll on Dee Ann. I felt awful. I'd done wahat a spirit asked me to do, but she wasn't near finished.
Having Dee attach herself to me was like my body was full of ice. I was so cold and the weather was quite warm. I tried to tune her out but she knew I could hear her so... I was stuck with her. My friends said I had to find her memorial. OK. Then I have to find it by not knowing where it is. On the way there I passed a little store and found myself buying a single lindor chocolate in an orange wrapper. And I walked until I could see a little fountain with a bench of stones around one side. On the other side were bright blue wooden chairs all facing the fountain, which I first thought was a lotus, but it was an open hand with water dripping of the fingers. In the base of the fountain were hundreds of blue glass among the rocks. I turned to the bench and I could see at the very center was a photo of Dee. No question since I'd talked to her. And around the top of the bench there were flourishes, and on one side it said Dee and the other side said Lious . Delishious
I laughed and held out the chocolate for her. "am I to eat this for you?" yes I ate it then sat the little orange wrapper over her photo. and told her I was done. I'd told Deeanne and she could tell the others.
Dee refused to let me go. I tried soaking in very hot pools but I still had ice in my viens. Everyone I saw she wanted me to talk to. Eventually I agreed to talk to Deeann again, even though I could see a man was holding her while she cried. I told her about the garden and the chocolate and it seems Dee's family owned that chocolate company.
It was just too much for me. I could not shut her out so I bored her out. I went to our tiny room and closed the windows and the shades and did nothting but read for hours I saw no on e and talked to no one till finally the ice left my body and I knew Dee was looking for another medium.
So now, yeah, I believe in what I can do. But I don't do it "for" anyone. It comes, it goes. I just try to help both sides and then push the door closed again.
And your keys are under your purse.
And that thing you thought you wanted has very bad energy.
Toss it and be done with all of it.
The tag line of this blog is about telling someone what I wanted to tell them but never did till now. Looking back over my posts it's obvious that the person I am really talking to - is me.
It's not the only place I talk to myself. Whenever I am not in direct contact with another person, I have a constant dialogue in my head. Ben can be in the next room, and I'll still be talking to myself. When I'm doing something that requires concentration, like watching TV or playing games, the chatter is no more than a whisper. Being online is a bit more problematic because my mind interacts with that I see and my self-directed dialogue might be a pleasant "this makes me smile" or a more destructive "this upsets me." When I am completely alone, especially in my car, I literally talk to myself. Any topic at the top of my mind will do and I'll go over and over it endlessly. And if there is a BIG topic rolling around up there, while it seems to me I am working though it, I think I am mostly just making it bigger and justifying why I am talking about it in the first place.
So if I talk to myself, and I write this blog for myself, why are there some stories (conversations) I am terrified to write down?
It's not the only place I talk to myself. Whenever I am not in direct contact with another person, I have a constant dialogue in my head. Ben can be in the next room, and I'll still be talking to myself. When I'm doing something that requires concentration, like watching TV or playing games, the chatter is no more than a whisper. Being online is a bit more problematic because my mind interacts with that I see and my self-directed dialogue might be a pleasant "this makes me smile" or a more destructive "this upsets me." When I am completely alone, especially in my car, I literally talk to myself. Any topic at the top of my mind will do and I'll go over and over it endlessly. And if there is a BIG topic rolling around up there, while it seems to me I am working though it, I think I am mostly just making it bigger and justifying why I am talking about it in the first place.
So if I talk to myself, and I write this blog for myself, why are there some stories (conversations) I am terrified to write down?
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