I Have A Confession To Make

My soul longs for you.

My soul longs for you.

Nothing else will do.

Nothing else will do.

Anytime I'm getting ready to paint, to soak, to hang out with my Daddy, I put this song on.  Every painting I ever painted began with this song.  That's my confession.  :) 

He loves on me, heals my heart, catches my tears, makes my soul sing and inspires me to paint.

He sits there with His daughter, His hand on mine, paint to canvas, music playing in the background.

Let it rain.

Let it rain.

Let it rain.

Jesus, lover of my soul, the sweetest name I know.

Whatever It Is It's Just Visiting. Wow

I love that!

Whatever it is it's passing.

Storms are passing over, they never last.

Whatever it is you are going through it's just something that's visiting.  

Breathe.

Be encouraged you're not the only one.

It's okay to cry, to rant, to scream at the walls, sometimes you have to do that.  It's okay to fall completely apart and go off the deep end, but get back up!  

Move on from that moment.

It's okay, but let's keep living.

Own it but don't live in it.

God has a purpose for your life and nothing can change that.  Stand up, brush yourself off, wipe the tears off your face and take a deep breath.

Just breathe.

I can see my spirit eyes closed, small smile, taking a deep breath.

Exhaling.

We all have moments.

That's exactly what it is a moment and some last longer than others.

I understand you're hurting, you can't help it, it's happening to me too.

Let's keep moving, search for the happiness and the beauty of it all and keep walking this thing out, because giving up and surrendering is not an option.

Breathe.

This too shall pass.

Just For Today

Just for today, the sorrow subsided.  There was no crying, no feelings of helplessness, no voice constantly chattering inside my head.  My heart was quiet, no screaming out in pain, thank God.
We all have stuff: things we don't want others knowing, secrets, shame, things we can't quite put our finger on.  Our minds want to have it all figured out, everything nice and organized, answers to every question.  There are times in life when this just isn't possible.
We hide.
We hide behind our masks, our emotions, where we think no one can see us.  We walk around with permanent grin on our face because we don't want anyone knowing the raging storm that's going on inside us.
It's too much.  It's embarrassing.  What will they think?
I don't know why God gives me all these assignments to be a voice, other than He knows I'm a willing vessel.  He and I have gone round and round about this one.
It was my only secret, mental illness.
Just for today I felt normal, whatever that is.
What is normal?

nor·mal

ˈnôrməl/

adjective

1. 1.

   conforming to a standard; usual, typical, or expected.

   synonyms:

   usual, standard, ordinary, customary, conventional, habitual, accustomed, expected,wonted; More
2. 2.

   technical

   (of a line, ray, or other linear feature) intersecting a given line or surface at right angles.

noun

1. 1.

   the usual, average, or typical state or condition.

   
   

   "her temperature was above normal"
2. 2.

   technical

   a line at right angles to a given line or surface.

It's safe to say I've never been normal.  LOL.  It's just a label we stick on things, like the labels we stick on everything else.  I can appreciate things needing description but we've gone way over the edge with the labeling of everything.

We're all uniquely, fearfully and wonderfully made.  

We're children of God, how does this happen to us?

I don't have any answers but when I do you can bet I'm going to shout them from the rooftops, I'm going to help anyone I can with what I've learned and I'm going to be well again and much longer this time.

I've reached out to someone I trust and she's coming to my house tomorrow after she gets out of class.  She's still going to school, has been going to school almost the entire time I've known her and I trust her with my heart and what we will talk about.  

Who knows?  I might end up being her thesis.  I might end up being her first success story.  I might end up finding out things about myself I don't know.

I don't know what's going to happen anymore than the next person does, but I'm not going to let this destroy my life again.  I'm not going to fall into this like I would the arms of a lover and let it embrace me.  I'm not going to deal with this the way I did in the past either.

My sister called today to check on me.  She was the first person I said it out loud to.  "I'm pretty sure I'm sick again sis."  You can't imagine how crazy that sounds to me, knowing who I am and who I belong to.  Jesus is not mentally ill, so how do I walk through as He is, so am I in this world, knowing this is something I can't ignore.  Ignoring it won't make it go away.

Its these things that don't line up with scripture, with the journey, that completely contradict our identity.

More questions, even less answers.

Grrrrrrrr.

Just for today, I'm okay.

Praise God.

You Should Know

Today, in church, Paul Lammon was talking about how we need to call folks, how we shouldn't depend on others to see what we put on facebook, when we are going through things.  How we need to connect with others and let them know what's really going on with us.
It was profound, hearing that, knowing what I've gone through this last week.
I didn't want to talk about it, but I found myself up in the middle of the night, falling to pieces, having cried for days, recognizing a ghost from my past.
For those of you who don't know, because I've never really discussed it openly, I have been mentally ill in my life, extremely, destructively, disasterously mentally ill.  Going to the doctor, laying on the couch, being doped to the gills, labeled, categorized, diagnosed, give the girl a check mentally ill.
Even now it's so painful to even mention.
There's a stigma so dark attached to it, I've only trusted certain people to know.
I spent days crying and somewhere in all of that I realized, "This is more than just getting my heart broke and being rejected.", "This is more than the usual weeping I experience.", "This is more than disappointment and being exhausted and frustration, this is something totally different."
Damn!!!!!!
I remember feeling like this another time.
Damn!  Damn!  Damn!  I thought this thing had gone away!
I thought I'd managed to get past this!
I hate the labels, the diagnosis, the categorization and the medicine.
I hate the way people tip toe around you and treat you with kid gloves and seem to be waiting for you to flip the hell out and go crazy.
It's not who I am, it's not my identity, it's not something I embrace or accept as being a part of me.
You'll hear me say things like, "They say this is what I have.", "This is what they've diagnosed me with.", "This is what they say is wrong with me."
It has to be something wrong with me right?  Not everyone is certifiable crazy.
I don't have a problem with the word crazy, it's all the scientific crap they try to blow past me that bothers me.
Extreme bi-polar disorder, manic deperssive with disassociative features.  Disassociative features, it's not a freakin movie set!
I'm deeply disturbed this is happening!  I'm even more disturbed at my urge to share it and put it out there for the whole world to see, but not nearly as disturbed as I was when a voice came along and started talking to me about ending it all.
It's such a long, horrific and tragic story, I don't want to go into the details.
It cost me everything, a marriage, my children, my freedom, and then some.
It sent me in a downward spiral that took me ten or more years to dig my way out.
It had me paying people who didn't give a crap about me or what happened to me, to listen and not help me solve my problems.  It had me taking so much of a drug I should be dead because even the psychiatrist was a quack.  It had me in a lot of deep dark places, doing really stupid and destructive stuff, it had me out of control.
Man oh man!
I keep seeing Jack Nicholson in The Shining with a hatchet busting the bathroom door, then saying "Here's Johnny."
Then comes Randy Quaid, the drunken pilot in Independence Day, flying into the space ship yelling, "Hello boys, I'm back!"
There are so many things playing out in my mind right this minute it would be impossible to describe them to you in a way that makes sense.
I don't have to accept it but I do have to own it, because I don't want to die.
I'm mentally ill.
There goes half the people I thought loved me and were my friends.  Bye.  It was nice knowing you.
I'm mentally ill.
There goes 90% of the men who may have wanted to date me.  See ya fellas, those others chicks you are chasing don't look real stable either.
I'm mentally ill.
There goes anyone else who wasn't true to start with.  What ever.  Bye Felicia.  Later.
Why am I telling you this?
I don't want to die!
I kept hearing Lamar Golden's sermon where he talked about the spirit of suicide coming on him, a great man of God, how it began to lie to him and tell him how no one would care, how easy it could be.
I don't want to waste away in this desert of emotions.
I don't want everyone being unaware of what's happening to me, because it is happening to me, it's not something I'm doing to myself.
I hate it, my heart is broken, my mind is in a million places and my emotions, they are locked in the trunk and driving at the same time, which is never ever a good thing.
No one can look at me and say, "Get your shit together Darlene.", because no one has the answers as to how that will actually be done.
I thought I did have it together!
I haven't felt this way in more than twenty years!
Why did it come back?
Did it not ever go away?
What in the heck is going on here?
I'm sure I'm not the only one.  I'm sure there are others just like me, who live in the shadows, don't want to talk with others about it, carry a certain shame about it.
Right this minute, I am the only one, the most important one and I'm telling you, I am suffering from mental illness.
There I said it!
Damn!
I'm trying to set something up so I can talk with someone, start trying to dig back into the root of the problem, find answers for something that will never be concrete and get through the next moment.
So why are you telling me this Darlene?
I don't know!
I need your help!  I need your love!  You don't have to understand me, just accept and love me!  I'm an open book, I'm not trying to hide anything from anyone and furthermore I can't afford to because this monster is so much bigger than I am to begin with.
I'm broken.
Now you know my deepest darkest secret, I don't know what I expect you to do with it, I'm just trying to get everything out in the open, release stuff I don't need and let people know what's going on with me.  I can't front and fake it anymore, it's not going to let me anyway.  You're liable to see crazy stuff that defies explanation, I hope you don't but it could happen.
I can't shut myself off, isolate from everyone and hide it, because it's there.  It's the elephant in the room and it has to be talked about.
I'm going to copy and paste some information I found, simply because people need answers, hell I need answers.  If you have information you can share with me, encouragement, stories of your own, that would be great and probably help.
I've used every ounce of courage I had, I'm completely vulnerable and at the mercy of the world right this second and that's all I'm going to say about it, for now.

Being mentally ill means:

Thinking outside of “normal” rational concepts, causing you not to participate in a normal life.

For a portion of one’s life, it is the inability to make one’s own choices based on what makes the most sense to them.

Possibly thinking self-destructive thoughts or do things that are self-destructive.

Sometimes having an inability to understand what people are saying to you and are not able to control your own behavior.

Having others be exasperated with you or treating you like a child.

Often not understanding the motivation for one’s own deeds or speech.

Constantly regretting one’s actions, but not knowing what to do about it.

Blaming others and your environment for your own feelings and difficulties because you don’t know who else to blame.

Assuming what others are thinking, and often misunderstanding other’s motives.

Being mentally ill does not mean:

That a person is irrational, but that their thinking involves a different kind of rationality.

That a person is violent, except in rare cases.

That a person has a lesser intelligence.

That a person cannot function normally in life, although they may need some special assistance or allowances.

What's Wrong?

I've got issues!  Yes, big honking, make a fool of myself, over thinking, over feeling issues.

I'm not perfect, never have claimed to be, never will.

I love people so passionately my heart is broken again and again, day after day, moment after moment.

This love stuff is something serious and some of it hurts so much!

I feel like most of my life is "oh well", because I'm not perfect, I screw stuff up!

Why oh why did God give me this heart?

It mostly hurts and cries out.

Every time I try to give it away to someone I end up feeling dumb and cheated and wronged.

I'm not saying I haven't given my heart to the wrong people, because it seems to be a pattern with me.  Wrong guy, yeah give him your heart girl!

There are days when I want to drop off the face of the planet, but this voice in my head always says, "Stop being so selfish.  People are depending on you."

I understand that, but that selfish voice says in reply "When do I get to depend on someone?"

That selfish voice tells me all the wrongs I've suffered, the things that have been taken from me, the times when others didn't care anything about my heart or what they might do to it.

I've always said don't let one person ruin you for everyone else, but what if I should be saying, everyone else has already ruined you, what could you possibly offer someone else?

I get tired.  No, that's not correct, I get totally freaking exhausted, daily.

I don't live my life in comparison of others, but I'm not going to lie and say it doesn't matter to me when I look around and see everyone in love, in relationships, with lots of activity going on in their lives.

Why on why do I have to be a front runner?

Why can't I hang back in the shadows and move along with the flow?

Why do I have to have so much to say?

All my life I've been that hopeless romantic, my heart filled with longing to be loved.

I've got daddy issues too.  My daddy was a convict, a wife beater, a drunk, a thief, you name it my daddy probably did it.  He did things I won't ever discuss with another living soul.

Is this what's wrong with me, because I can't help but feel like something is wrong with me.

No I'm not having a pity party, so don't get it twisted, I'm really going through something right now and I can't get a grip on it, I can't stop crying, I can't push down the disappointment and I feel like my heart is ripped open and bleeding!

There's blood and tears everywhere!

Maybe it's grief, because so much of my life needs to be mourned and I've pushed it all away, kept marching on like a good little soldier.

That must be what it is, because if that's not what it is then I'm going to end up sitting in the offices of counselors and shrinks once again and they are going to medicate me.  I'm going to be labeled again and everyone is going to act funny around me, because you know it's not cool to be crazy, no one really wants you getting your problems on them.

So here I am, in the middle of the night, tears streaming down my face, my head wanting to explode, trying to figure it all out.

What's really wrong with you Darlene?

What's your problem?

Why can't you get it together?

It's not the chatter box either, it's a voice of concern, a voice I haven't heard in a very long time.

Were it not for the fact I have one of my children's babies I would have totally checked myself into a mental hospital yesterday.

Yes, you heard me correctly, a mental hospital.

I used to get a check, I was on so much medication I should be dead, it sent me down a spiraling staircase that landed me in prison the last go around.

Prison taught me one thing, I never want to go there again.

Maybe this is just my cry for help.

Psycho, that's the word I keep hearing, but it's a lie.  I'm not, never was, and I thought this was a ghost in my past.

I thought it was all gone and I would be fine, because I've been okay for a very long time.  I thought when I quit doing drugs all the crazy would go away.

Just keeping it real, I absolutely hate having to front sometimes, to put on that cheery little Jesus loves me face and be so positive and encouraging to everyone.

It sucks, when your heart is screaming out in pain and you don't really want anyone to see just how deep that well really is.

I'm vulnerable every minute of every day.

I'm really hurting in a way I don't know how to fix.

I keep talking to God about it and my heart just hurts more and more.

How long can you love everyone else and not feel totally loved back?

How long can a heart feel this way without killing someone?

I have so many questions and frustrations and masks I feel like I've been wearing and not only that you would think the tears would run out at some point.

Don't ask me what's wrong, because even I don't know!

When I was going through that time of darkness they called mental illness, the only people who didn't make me feel weird were my children and my boyfriend.  He quickly broke my heart afterwards, but his understanding and patience with me has stayed long past the heart ache of being betrayed.

I'm not good at hiding things, I can't lie, I have a hard time pulling off surprises and I hold so many people's secrets, the world would be amazed at just how much of my life they don't ever get to see or hear about, even though they think I tell all.

I've never had a nervous breakdown, so I don't know what that looks like or feels like, but if I had to guess I'm pretty sure I'm standing on that thresh hold right now.

I keep looking at the good, the blessings, the people in my life, all the wonderful things that happen to me but it isn't helping.  It's not healing me the way I expected it to.

I feel like God isn't listening to me right now, although I know how foolish it is, that He's there all the time, inside me.  I feel on the outside looking in on every single thing in life.  I feel like I'm in a prison and the door is never going to open so I can get out.

I never really stop talking to Him, it's a constant part of my being.

What's wrong?

I don't know.

I didn't want to tell anyone, because geez!  No one wants to hear "I'm miserable,", or "I think I'm losing my mind", they want happy and wonderful and nothing could ever go wrong in life.

They don't know how to deal with, I used to be mentally ill and I think it's come back.  They want their pretty little package with the paper and the bow and everything is perfect.

You can be sick and afflicted with everything under the sun but no one really knows what to do or say about mental illness.  I mean, what do you say?  "Look here Darlene, it's because you're crazy."  "I've noticed you going out of your mind lately and wanted to know what I could do to help."

There's such a stigma attached to it.

I remember everyone saying, "They're just telling you that.", until I was standing in a Henry County courthouse hearing what I had done in a mental black out, facing charges of arson, assault on several police officers, how I'd kicked the windshield out of my husband's truck, barefoot in the middle of winter, how they couldn't even hog tie me to get me under control.

It was at that moment I knew they weren't just telling me that I became the good little mental patient, take my medicine, do what they say, don't ask too many questions, don't tell them too much so they won't lock you away and whatever you do, don't act out.

Funny now, for the moment I was at the end of a marriage because of my issues.  Him playing this really great guy, silently shutting me out in a way that everyone just saw my behavior, that I was out of control.   I'm at the end of another marriage, because of his crazy, not my own.

He never stops trying to call me.  I block every number he ever calls from and the trap just seems to be full of cellphones that are not on my block list.  We have nothing to discuss, I don't even want to be his friend.  There's no hope of restoration in that relationship, the boundaries have been drawn and crossed.

I don't even miss him.

What's to miss?  Being robbed?  Being lied to?  Being treated second best to a drug?  Stuck waiting on someone to get out of jail, knowing that didn't fix them, they don't want to do better and nothing is ever going to matter to them, only getting high.  Always feeling like you're digging yourself out of a sandy pit, like nothing you do matters, like you'll never get to the top of that hole, because you're the one that put yourself there in the first place.

I don't know who will see this and for the moment I don't care because I think it had to be said, it had to come out of my head and appear before my eyes so I could start trying to pick it apart and put the puzzle back together.

The beautiful thing about thinking everyone is watching, is half the time they really aren't and in the end who cares anyway, it's your journey, you have to make it all on your own.  People walk around in judgement all day long, without ever really even giving it any thought, so anyone who judges me for being honest with myself and those around me, didn't really love me in the first place and who gives a shit what they think?  My life is important,  I deserve to be loved, I have great purpose and this is merely a brush stroke in a painting, even though it feel like the painting itself.

There I've said it.  I'm losing it.  I'm in a deep dark place and there's no one there to hold me.

It's scary, it's painful, it's not going away and nothing I'm doing is helping it to.

With that being said, I think I'll go crawl back into my bed, with that beautiful baby that isn't mine and try to stop crying and sleep.

PG13

pg 13 what does that really look like?
If you're hearing me speak to you right this second you are getting the PG 13 message and you know why it's so important to get the PG 13 message from me?  Because I am the one person you will never get a PG 13 message from because the journey is ugly for some people and although we try, we can't protect those we love all the time and even being believers, we'd be lying to ourselves if we tried to cover up messy dirty details about the journey that brought us to victory.  PG13, that is our love for your hearts.  We are not ashamed of who we were or where God brought us from, we just would rather you not have to know some of the difficult challenges, details, and the things that hurt us so much about those times, because you have your own challenges to make.  We want to equip you with encouragement and hope rather than war stories and hear what has happened to us.  You are so amazing.  You have no idea how amazing!  You are a generation who has never heard the law, a generation rising up in love!  You are everything the Psalms say about you!  You are cherished and wonderful and beloved and this is for anyone within the sound of my voice.  Know who you are!  You are His beloved!  He loves you!  He doesn't care!  His love chases you down in the deepest and darkest places of your life!  He is the lover of your soul.
PG13, consider it all joy young people when the old folks say PG13, because it's not that they are holding out on you, they are protecting you and loving you through every step, there are just things you don't need to hear yet, things that are different parts of different testimonies and things that have not been set aside to be revealed to you at this time.
As He is so are you in this world.
Rachel Roll said it the first time and everyone else behind her just gave me more confirmation.
You are so much more than who you see in the mirror, you are so much more than being like the other kids, you are a nation set apart for such a time as this.  You are a power greater than the universe set down right here on earth to do the will of the Father.  You know love, love wins, love conquers, love does so many other things to heal the nations, but the love is wreckless and free and unexpected and we are blown away by it!  Right?  Blown away!!!!!!!!!!!  Love!!!!!!!  Yes!
We love you, the PG13 is not an "Oh my gosh they are in the room let's keep this from them."  It's an "Oh my gosh they are in the room, let's get ever detail right because what they know and love is more important than what we know and love"  Praise God!
I'm the PG13 message deliverer because even you guys know there is nothing about me PG13 but for me to tell you the meaning and the depth and the glory and honor that goes into that statement, that is the greatest honor of all, because it is honor and it's out of love and we think you are so simply amazing we would protect you for as long as God allows us to, to raise you right, to tell you loving and intimate truths, to hold you closer even on a day when you don't want that.  Give us this much because you'll know just how real the world is outside of the tribe you belong to soon enough.
We love you, we honor you, there will be things you will hear that should encourage you and raise up hope, rather than offend, because we all know being offended is a choice, but encouragement is so much better!

My Godmother

THERESA

There's so much I could say about her and so little I still never had the chance to learn.  She was amazing.

She was my mother's best friend.

Theresa Pace

Then came Linda and Wanda.

They were trouble.

Linda's middle name was Charlene but my daddy didn't like her and he didn't like Charlene, so they settled for Darlene, which is fine with me, because I only met one Charlene I ever liked and her last name was Beeler.

Linda died before I even knew her, but Wanda and Theresa I knew very well.

Both lived with my daddy at one time or another and I don't judge either one of them for it and neither did my mother.

Theresa lived four doors over from us when I was in the fifth grade and my daddy lived there with her and no one seemed to mind.

He wasn't beating anyone when he lived with either of them.

He wasn't stalking my mother or slashing tires when he lived with one of them.

He wasn't kidnapping my brother when he lived with one of them.

Had my mother lived longer this would have been a discussion we could have had, but knowing what it was like when he lived with us, I'm sure it was a relief to her, at the time.

She was still their friend, so it had to be.

They were still friends afterwards.

My name is Theresa Darlene.

Since I came out of the streets in 2004 people have called me Theresa or Miss Theresa and tribe and family has always and will always call me Darlene.

When she found Jesus everyone thought she had lost her mind, she always laughed about that too.

I loved her so much!

She was one of the funniest people I ever knew.

She hated to talk on the phone and I feel sure I hold the record for keeping her on the phone the longest at an hour and twenty minutes.  She never had call waiting either, so if it was busy someone was on it.

She married Henry Ferguson, my step dad, a friend of their's since high school.  On the day they married, there stood me and my brother and sister saying "Bye daddy."  I'll never forget that!

She told me things I didn't come to understand until now about God.

She told me things that made me laugh, she told me things that made my heart swell with pride and she told me things that made me want to cry overwhelmed with love.

She didn't even know I'd been called Theresa for many years until a year or so before she died.

She was a servant, of God and her husband and her children.  She didn't mind, she didn't feel it beneath her and she arranged her life to be in service of them.

I wish I had clearer memories of her when I was younger, but I cherish those I have from my adulthood.

My mother died when I was 20.

I remember asking her what my mother would think of the woman I'd become, a stripper, an ill equipped mother of three, staying with her daughter.  She was so gracious.  She told me my mother would have been proud of me, would loved me still no matter what and my life would be different had she lived, which is something I still know today.  

My life would have been so different had she lived.

I took her at her word, my mother's closest long time friend, the woman she loved enough to name me after her.

I was so proud the day I revealed to her I'd been Theresa for years, my heart swelling to exploding with love and pride and happiness.  She had no idea.  I feel sure it thrilled her.

I'm the oldest of all the children.  I remember her, but I wish I remembered her better from when we were all younger.

I remember Ginger, tiny and cute and glass shattering squealing.

Hunter reminds me of that sometimes.

She was probably the most grace filled, generous, loving, kind and funny person I ever knew, my godmother.

She fulfilled her promise to my mother, mothering me after she'd gone.

When she died we made the trip, all of us, and for the first time probably ever we were all together that day, sitting on the front porch, Henry sharing memories with us, such a nice day to sit outside.

I still miss her so much and there are days when her number comes to mind and I have to remind myself she's not there to answer my call, so I can meet the challenge of keeping her on the phone much longer than she wants to be.

She's the woman I'm named after, she's the woman who loved Jesus so much everyone thought she had lost her mind, she was my mother's best friend, she was a friend to me, she was a servant, she was a wife and a mother and she was loved, so very loved.

I thank God He reminded me of her tonight.

I'm so glad she was who she was and I'm so glad I'm going to see her again someday.

I'm so glad I knew her.

I Do So Miss Being In Love

Feeling a certain kind of way tonight and rolling things around in my mind, commitment, ride or die, clicks, small groups, my folks, the layers that are my life.
I'm seldom lonesome but tonight is that night.  So many people have mates they don't even appreciate, but not me.  I'm on my own again.  I so appreciate my mate when I have one.  I am a terrible caregiver, but I'm an amazing wife, mother, friend and grandmother.  Tonight it's just the baby and me and the way my heart feels.
Encountered something a friend posted that made me want to turn the clock back twenty years and do it again, not out of regret, but longing for the fun.
I'm not that girl anymore, I'm not even that woman anymore but I sure did love her when I was.
I have obligations, commitments, a job, a baby, children, grand children and a pending divorce.
How did I get here?
Like for real!
Maybe I'm just feeling sorry for myself, no that's not it.
I don't miss him, I don't miss any of them, but it sure would be nice to have that kind of hug and kiss once again.  It would be nice to have someone to cook for that looks at me in a way that makes me have lots of questions or blush and I prefer the blushing part.
I have friends who have decades and then some under their belts and here I am on the eve of my 50th birthday, single again, longing for that one thing they have that I don't.
We're created for community, we weren't designed to be alone.

Closing That Chapter

Unlike times in the past, I'm not lonely, I don't feel as if half of me is missing and I'm not jealous of others who have relationships.

He's been gone since, April, will be gone for the rest of my life and I don't even miss him.

What's to miss?

Money going to the dope man, everything that's not nailed down going to the dope man, the vehicles in the shop because they've been so abused and me digging myself out of a financial hole to fix everything that's gone down.  There's nothing to miss.

For the first time in fifteen years I'm whole again.  I sleep well at night, I cherish not having to hide things and being able to go to bed without worrying where my pocket book and my keys are.

It's heaven I tell you.

Your mate is supposed to be of help, comfort and support, not a never ending nightmare of the same old thing.

I stepped off the hamster wheel.

There are those who are nay sayers, who don't believe, who will say the silliest stuff to me, but I don't care, I don't have to prove anything to anyone and it's really none of their business.

He's gone, that's that, good day to you.

It's peaceful.

I don't have to spend money on anyone but the baby and me.

Unless you've been through it you can't imagine what it's like to live with an addict.  

Everyday you try to empower them, to trust them a little bit, to put things right again.  You're always working toward this goal you will never reach because they are going to do it again.  You live your life with this dark cloud over your head just waiting for the moment it releases the storm you know is coming.

It's terrible!  It's full of hurt and disappointment and being used knowing you let them do it.  There's no hope for the future in it because the future is them getting high and it costing you everything.

I stood by him, I stayed down for him, I gave him more chances than he deserved and he still did the same exact thing over and over again.

No one can say a word about me, because I gave it my all, I gave him my all, it costed me more than anyone will ever know.

It's more than a car.  I bought the car to keep him from stealing the truck and praise God it worked!  The car is a seed to something better.  Who cares about the car?

I actually took it off my insurance and changed insurance companies because they didn't even want to cover the car because he was on the policy.  I don't care about the car anymore, it served it's purpose.  I'll pay it off, I'll get something else, or maybe I won't.  Who knows what God has in store for me, but one thing is for sure, it's not that.

Someone even had the nerve to say to me I would let him come back.  Don't you know I saw blood?

No, I will not let him come back, he can't ever come back and it was his choice to leave in the first place.  I didn't run him off, he made that decision on his own.  Getting high has always been more important than me, than our marriage, than anything in the world for him, so I think it's safe to say he got what he wanted and I paid for it.

I'm not even mad.

I went to see what could be done about the car, called the police, sat with the baby screaming in the truck for over an hour, counting police cars as they drove past me.  They didn't do anything right and it didn't go down the way I needed it to, so who cares.  They were calling me when I was getting on the expressway to come back home and that's the moment it didn't matter to me anymore.

He didn't say, "Hi, how are you doing?", the first words out of his mouth were, "Did you bring my stuff?", "Have you got a cigarette?", "I need some money."

I had been talking to God for over a week about how I didn't want to see him and I needed things to go peacefully and quickly so I could return home.

When I saw him running through the yards, it scared me so bad I forgot I was on the telephone with someone until they spoke to me again.

He's a shell of a man.  He weighed 222 pounds when he left here, he probably weighs 160 now, his face is starting to cave, his arms don't have muscles anymore, his waist is probably 26 inches and had I not known his body language I never would have known it was him.  He was sweating, wearing this hideous sweater I'd come to hate, wiping his face with it again and again, his mouth twitching, his eyes darting everywhere.  He was digging around on the back of my truck, I already had it in reverse planning the moment I could escape, because the visit would only go down hill from there.

He said the craziest thing I ever heard to me.

"You left the dogs home by themselves?"

That question struck more fear in my heart than the fact he was standing there, high, dirty, looking crazy.

Apparently his mother isn't letting him live in her house anymore, because he keeps stealing from her.

I waited until he walked into her house to take my foot off the brake and leave, because I knew if I tried to back up and leave with him anywhere else he would be on the truck before I hit the street.  

It was like watching a zombie circle around the truck, then he was in the passenger window, talking to the baby, who probably no longer knows who he is because he doesn't even look like the same person.

My legs were shaking, my heart was pounding in my throat and I felt sick to my stomach.

I never looked back, I just kept going.  I drove home, forgot everyone else I was supposed to see, had to call someone who was supposed to come meet me, just kept going until the truck stopped in front of my house.

The love affair had ended the afternoon I woke up from a nap to find the car gone.  My truck was in the shop because of his shenanigans and he'd taken money out of my desk, money that belonged to the company I work for.  I forgave him the first time, but that was the boundary from then on.

I'm not sad like I've been in the past.  My heart doesn't feel sorry for him anymore and it doesn't long to have him back either.  Praise God.

I remember always being so sad that my "baby" was in the streets, poor poor Murphy.  No!

He made the choice, he always chose that over me and it's not sad any longer.  It's pathetic.  It's like choosing an old, should've been thrown out hamburger from a fast food joint, over a cooked to order steak in a nice restaurant.

It's not sad anymore and I'm not sad he made it.

It was his decision.

The car you ask?  It's not worth having, passenger mirror hanging off, bumper hanging off, trunk busted, windows busted out of the driver's side, flat tire, who knows what else.  That car will sit there just like it is until the city makes them haul it off, it will never run again.

I'm left to pay it off, along with all the other stuff and when that's over with, what a relief it will be.

I'm already free.  A divorce is inevitable and looked forward to.  The papers are already filled out, they just have to be signed, notarized and filed.  That's another $224 it never costed him.

There's no nagging fear in the back of my mind that he might show up, because he's not going anywhere, he's so stuck his feet might as well be in concrete blocks.

Those boys he thinks are his friends are watching him die and accepting every dollar he brings them.  He's just another j to them.

Does God still love him?  Of course He does.  He's been sparing his life all this time, he's been hit by a bus, he's been hit by a car, he almost lost his foot and his life when that happened, he's been shot four or five times and he's still here.

Do I still love him?

No.

It's over.  It probably shouldn't have happened, it was all me being a love sick girl, wanting something that wasn't good for me.

I am so relieved.

Looping Back Around

For those who don't know, I do outreach.  My homeboy cooks the food, fifty five plates this time, I take it out with water and other donations made by those whose hearts are for the people in the streets.

I try to never call them homeless, I always refer to them as my people in the streets.  Labels drive me nuts.  My friends are my friends, I've never stuck a label on any of them, not black, or white, gay, or straight, etc. etc.  I'm not a label person.  I love people, all people, we are many different walks, colors, preferences and groups.

I love them.  They are my people.

How are they my people you ask?

I used to be them.

I spent many years without a home, in the streets, strung out, trying to survive.

It's a miserable existence at best.

It's a never ending cycle of needing money for everything and finding a way to get it, or someone to get it from.

It started as an invitation from someone else, because I lost the way of my heart.

I've always gone to the streets, since I left them.

First it was Fishman, every Saturday, two blocks from the Greyhound station in Atlanta, then it was going into the trap inviting people to Hebrews 11.  I can't tell you how many time I've been pulled over, on my way to church, because I was a white girl driving around in the dope trap talking to everyone.  Back then I used to go to the places I was scared to go even when I was getting high and believe me when I tell you I've invited every drug dealer I ever bought dope from to church with me.  They thought I was just as crazy as I was when I was getting high, probably more.

Montgomery is very different from where I come from.  It's a puzzle I haven't figured out yet.

There used to be girls walking up and down the Southern Boulevard.  Where I come from prostitutes are plentiful.  Without prostitutes the drug trade suffers and the addicts suffer as well, because without that money coming in and that kind of traffic, everyone can't get high.

If you know me in my everyday life, you wouldn't think for a moment I know about these things.

Everyone has a story, mine comes out the dope trap.

Then it was Mr. Willie.  Bless his heart, I loved Mr. Willie.  Willie was a 73 year old truck driver who had a stroke, lost his job, lost his house, worked every day of his life.  It happens that quickly.  His sister was stealing his disability checks so he started having them sent to me, so I could bring them to him.  This ensued his being robbed every month, because people knew who I was and why I had come to see him.  

This discouraged me and put me in a place so dark, I quit doing street ministry.  

I was sick of it, still dealing with an addict in my husband, unable to be effective for Willie and I just fell off.

My life kept marching on and I did what I did and the streets didn't interest me anymore and I had a bad attitude about all of it.

I know the streets.

The streets are mean, everyone is trying to get money, everyone is selling something and no one cares about you.  People have no problem getting over on one another to get to what they want.  Robbing an old man is of no account.

I got a message from Willie a few years back, said he had a job, was living in tent city, a place I'm still not going, for the moment.  He's probably 83 now and who knows but I totally loved Willie.  I used to go get him and bring all his stuff to my house, wash his clothes, feed him, hang out with him. He smelled so bad, I will never forget that smell.  There were times when I thought I would never get the smell out of my truck.  I didn't care, I loved Willie.

I've literally had to put cardboard on the passenger seat of the truck, because his clothes were that bad and he'd wet himself so often his clothes were still wet and I have cloth seats.

I'm not telling you this to shame him, I'm telling you this so you can see the depth of my love for him.

I never and still don't think any less of him.  I remember days when I was dirty and stunk.  I remember walking up the street down wind of a girl who reeked of urine, after being in the same clothes for a week or more and in case you didn't know, there's no toilet paper in the streets.  You can steal it from gas stations, but there's still going to come a day when your clothes have absorbed the times you didn't have it.

Love is messy and smelly and dirty.

My heart is overflowing with love and my mind is overflowing with memories right this second and tears are threatening to course down my cheeks but I still have to tell the story.

I hug them.  I don't care if they are clean or not.  I don't care if they are wearing deodorant.  I don't care if they are sweaty.  I don't care when was the last time they had a bath.  I hug them.

Like I said, they are my people.

I don't preach to them, I tell them I love them.  There are many who tell me they love me.  I don't present to them a God who says love me or else.  Truth be told they tell me God bless you all the time.  Some of them are so thankful you just know no one has been kind to them, or they feel like no one cares.

I don't tell them you've got to do this or you've got to do that, I just go out there and be me.  I ask them if they want some lunch, are they hungry, I bet you could use some cold water right about now.  I don't try to church them at all.

I know, somewhere in the back of your mind, you're asking yourself, "well isn't that the point?".  No it isn't.  I have something they need, something more important than the food and the donations and the give me give me give me, because they want whatever it is because they lack so much.  Whether they realize it or not, I look like Jesus.  I'm being Jesus, but even greater than that I am being kind to Jesus.

I'm a very bold person, so you can't imagine how humbling that is for me, the things it does to my heart, the things I take away from the experience.

Today I saw Julio, atleast that's what I think his name is, it could be Carlos, it could be Juan, the book I had his name written in left with my car.  I used to know his name, I still remember his shoe size, what size shirt he wears, what size pants he wears and that he is from Cuba and his lady likes pretty things.  I've known him since the day I hit the streets in Alabama, see him everywhere I go, wouldn't even consider hurting his feelings and insulting him by asking him his name again.  Every time I see him, I treat him like he's my oldest best friend.  I tell him I love him and I hug him and he hangs around and talks with me the entire time I'm where ever we've run into one another and I hug him good bye and tell him I love him again before I leave.  I'm not saying his name isn't important, I know him, I love him, he's been there from the start and he is my people.  What's more important?  Knowing his name?  Or knowing what his needs are?  

There are many people I see all the time, I don't know all of their names yet, doesn't affect my love for them and they probably don't even care.  They are looking for me, they are depending on me, they know I am coming to them, they know I have something for them.

I love each and every one of them.

There's a girl out there right now, I'm not going to tell you her name, but she rents a storage unit from me and I've seen her the last three times I've gone.  She knows I love her and she doesn't have to be ashamed.  She did have a car, don't know what happened to it and someone staying at my house, I won't say her name, made this big deal about how she smelled, sprayed the house down after she left, kind of pissed me off about the entire thing and this is before I knew the girl was homeless.

I'm sure she knows who I am, but I haven't spoken to her in a way where others would know we know one another and I haven't treated her any differently than anyone else and I can tell that's good with her.

It's not something to be embarrassed about, it could happen to anyone.

I don't care what she smells like and I love her even more knowing she's in the situation she is in, because I've been there.

I've been asking them for their dirty socks, so I can take them home and wash them.  They won't give them to me, they are embarrassed.

Today, I had 55 plates, toothbrushes, toothpaste, socks, sweat rags, plenty of water and a message from my pastor about people who are committed, people who volunteer, a king who is just being obedient and serving without even knowing he's a king and a mission.

I'm nobody special.  I want to be, but even then it would be empty without Jesus.

I've told you all this to tell you, after I'd gone everywhere I go today, I decided to loop back around, because I still had a cooler full of food and didn't want to waste it.  If they ask me for more than one I give it to them, because I remember being that hungry, they aren't just being greedy.  In looping back around I saw everyone I missed in the first place and my heart was so full to be told I was loved and they were glad to see me and for all the food to be gone.

I had stuff to do, a birthday party I was late for, a four year old wanting the toy I'd bought him out of the back of the truck, I had stuff going on just like everyone else does, but this one thing was so much more important.

People tell me "you're doing a good thing," all sorts of other stuff and I really don't know how to respond because I don't even want them to see it that way.  I want them to really see I'm being Jesus, it's not me it's Him, it's His heart, it's what He called me to do and it's so not about me because I didn't even want to do it to begin with, this time.  I love my Father and I want to please Him but I'm not working at doing that, I please Him all the time.

He's using me, the place I've come from, the things I know, the heart He's place in me and that heart is really His heart.  In doing that I get to be kind to Jesus as well as look like Him and love people who need His love so desperately.

I scream send me God I'll go and because He loves me so much I get to go and I get to love so many wonderful people because of that willingness.

I am Mary, choosing to sit at the feet of Jesus and I still get to have Martha's part in the effort.

The scripture portrays Martha as being worried and wanting Mary to help her and being all caught up in the effort.  I get to be both women and love the entire process, without expecting anything from anyone except God.

I don't have to work for His love but His love is so grand I just have to do something!

Motherly Guilt

I don't understand it!  I need a break, I've been through a lot, the baby has been out of control.  Why oh why do I feel this guilt?

The other day Peg came over to watch him so I could get out of the house, the entire time I was gone, I was totally rushing to get back!

When my boys were little I laid in bed many many nights crying, feeling like all I did all day long was yell at and hit people!  It was terrible, I was so ill equipped.

Now I'm back in the mother's seat, more patient, older, wiser, getting my second chance at the whole motherhood thing.

I needed a break!  So why do I feel so guilty?  Why do I miss him so much?  Why can't I feel good about letting him live his own little life?

It's crazy!

The screaming, the yelling, the dinosaur sounds, the squealing and the back talk (even though it's hilarious because he's so damned cute, with his finger pointing), it's so much some days!

Why oh why do I feel guilty?

I didn't feel this guilt with my own children!

Let's keep it real with my own children I felt like it was three against one and they were out to get me and I was exhausted, stressed to the max and didn't have any of the coping skills I have today.

There are moments I get to be in and they are so good!  Moments I know I didn't get to enjoy with my own, moments I didn't know how to enjoy with my own.  There are these funny amazing and miraculous things he does and for the life of me I can't remember that far back to those times.

He cracks me up, he makes me want to scream and he makes me count and breathe and pause because I really don't want to hit him.  I see him, his problems, his losses, his current situation and I don't want to hit him.

I hope my sons can forgive me, because I was an ass whipping, didn't matter who did or didn't do it, ask questions later kind of mother.  If I had to hit one, I hit them all and I'd given fair warning before it even got that out of hand!

Yes it's overwhelming, yes he wears me out, yes there is much screaming and drama that takes place in the course of  a day and yes I needed some quiet time, but why oh why do I feel so guilty?