Let them be roasted!!

With Valentine’s Day right around the corner, I can’t help but sort of hate everyone even more so than normal. There is such a thing as basically being single for way too long. I’ve had many opportunities to fall in love. I’m a girl. It’s what we do, and what the world asks of us, right?

I’m not your typical romantic, and my glass slippers are bunny slippers. The same bunny slippers practically, that Marlon Wayan’s wears in Don’t Be A Menace. I too am unsure of whether or not to wear my Tec-9 or my Uzi with my footwear. It’s just not an easy question to answer, no matter how many times it comes up.

The problem could be that I’m too picky, but like why? Who the Hell do I think I am exactly? I think people assume that’s an ego trip, but really it’s an innocent attempt to never end up with a broken heart and utterly humiliated again. It just seems hopeless that one would ever actually find a soulmate after all the bullshit I’ve seen.

In an attempt to have you side with me about the horror’s of dating and modern romance, I’ll share (almost) every single interaction I have with men the past six years. I’ll also do it with humor, so that you might laugh at my bad luck as well. Because I’m not really all that fucking sensitive about shit anymore. You broke that in me, world. It’s gone. I no longer have access to giving a solid fuck!

Bitter Beer Face – I should have known when his profile picture was a photo of him holding a beer in one hand and looking sly as the devil himself, that he was nothing more than an overgrown man child. You know the kind that never actually grow up, and scratch themselves in public. That kind.

He offered me a trip to Belize after one too many beers and I graciously accepted, because I was a fucking idiot back then. Still green. Still sure Prince Charming looked like a retired jock who no longer fit into his jersey or jock strap. That shrinks too after awhile, doesn’t it? Needless to say, after my girlfriend yelled at me for being a fucking idiot, and he deleted and blocked me online so his other, young, dumb girlfriend couldn’t see that he was a fucking cheater, it all ended as fact and triumphantly as it had begun. We went down in flames, baby!

Also, I no longer send semi-nudes over the internet.

Corny Jokester – I blush when I remember liking this one. At first his jokes were impish and cute, like a dumb child’s would be. Then something in him changed, like the way gremlins do when you feed them after midnight. I watched helplessly, in full blown disgust as the baited and hooked a naive woman in her very early 20’s. Good thing she ended up being as egotistical and shallow as he was, because then though it was so very fucking gross to see, I didn’t have to feel too bad about his bragging about her bedroom skills online.

I think I just threw up in my mouth a little bit.

Anyway, six months later when it ended dramatically and publicly, it was really hard to stop smiling from ear to ear. Like, really hard.

Old Flame – The Devil himself manifested in this whack job. Apparently his father wasn’t dead after all. I saw his facebook profile and he actually looked pretty damn good for being killed off by the mafia twenty years earlier.

We had written love letters back and forth for a year. I remember swooning over every word at one point in time. It’s amazing how charming people can be, but it’s even more amazing how silly 18 year old women can be. They really do trust ANYBODY. As I’m writing this, I’m realizing that I’m actually still upset by it. Like, there’s being a shitty person. And then there’s being a potential psychopath who could cover up a murder, no problem.

I guess he still reminds me a little bit of Scott Peterson.

Backyard Bully – This one isn’t really a romance gone wrong, so much as more proof that some men are bad, very, very bad. This idiot used to ride his little tricycle in my backyard, wearing a chunky helmet to protect whatever brains God had generously bestowed upon him. He was capable of taking your hand in your worst moments, and making you feel seen, and then of turning around and locking you in a closet the next. AND! And, call you pathetic as you suffered an anxiety attack because of it.

He still rides his tricycle, only it ends up in “Chumps R US” every now and then. He grew up to be a humanitarian and man does that shit look good on instagram. The reality is so insanely different, as I was rudely awakened to the fact that some people never grow up. Anyway, I don’t follow him anymore. Just seems like bullshit to me now.

I think he tried to have me run down with a truck at a race once too, but maybe I was mistaken because I’m sure no actual sane human being would do that while a woman was pushing a baby stroller, would they?


Lesser Offender’s –

Chicago – When one of the first thing’s you say to me is “you look good!” And then you follow it up with “for being in your 30’s”, it makes me think maybe you really just want to rape babies.



I don’t want to hang out. Hey, aren’t you the ex who used to brag about our sex life to all your friends? God, that was humiliating. Nice muscles, they don’t buy you class. And are nothing in comparison to an actual apology for making me wish I were dead. A thank you for not revealing your name, so that you might still find a woman to “kick it” it with someday?


 Summer Fling – At first we had so much fun. He liked to play hot lava and share great conversation about the universe. I didn’t love the actual bragging about how great looking he knew he was, but it wasn’t the worst offense. The worst was basically being compared to a hooker. Why would you send so much shade, and scratch your head over why I want nothing to do with you? My self esteem ain’t that low, you know?

Hey, I think I’ve had this experience one too many times, not at all as nice (or sane) as you seem.


I’m sure the next asshole is waiting just around the corner, so I’m gonna’ cut you now, okay?

Oh god, the list is truly never ending. These have just been some of my worst experiences with the opposite sex, whether romantic or not.

I do not mean to sound bitter, but as you can see, my threshold for abusive and toxic influences in my life, has hit an all time low. And I really don’t want to have to pretend I’m not that fed up, because this is real life.

Thank you for reading. And not judging. Or judging, whatever. I hope somewhere out there is a sane man with a great head on his shoulder’s, who likes women who have reached maturity, as bitter as she may seem. Beneath that crusty exterior is just a woman scared to love again.

Happy Valentine’s Day.

“Fuck you! Fuck you! Fuck you! You’re cool! I’m out!”


















Heart And Soul

As an observer, and an empath, I tend to sense more than most people perhaps do. I  was born this way, and I mastered this trying to survive my childhood and life in general. I am however, sometimes, as surprised as anybody is when life does a complete 360. Like, maybe more surprised than most people too. I don’t think the point of life is always winning. Or being right.

My boys and I adopted a new television show we tune into every Thursday night religiously! It’s a music show sort of like American Idol, but with more battles and better judges. Part of the thrill of this show are the battles, where each contestant is at risk for being sung off the stage back into anonymity. A washed up “has been” after three episodes.

Life is actually just like that, isn’t it? You aren’t always going to be at the top, but you won’t stay at the bottom either. Most of it will, in fact, will be lived in between those two stages. Sigh of relief. Unless you’ve built your life on being successful, a winner, no in-between allowed.

What I’ve noticed as I started gravitating to successful people in my own mission to have my moment as a “somebody” (you attract what you focus on), is that the glory of winning can and does overtake many of them. One minute they’re a nobody, and the next everybody wants a piece of them. That can be an addictive rush, and it often does go straight to the head. These people become their own downfall, as their egos blow up and inevitably … pop! Maybe there is no staying humble when people are kissing your golden asscheeks and saying “yes” to you all of the time.

An unknown singer can become an arrogant brat sitting three weeks on the throne of a music television show. And a football player can lose enthusiasm for the game when he’s faced with the opportunity to prove himself once more. It happens to the best of us. We eat our own hype, which can poison our bloodstream. Or, an otherwise noble dream.

I predicted the outcome to the super bowl THREE years in a row (like I seriously just knew), so I assumed that without even asking my guides, or tuning in, that my arrogant ass knew who was winning this year as well. I just like, know everything now, you know? My superbowl team choice didn’t let me down, my own ego does that almost daily, actually. I’m always putting myself in check!

I wish we chose to connect more authentically to one another, instead of striving so hard for greatness. We might fuck this world up enough to fix it instead.

I think there is a better way to live life. Better than pumping our own egos up to full blown monsters. Better than needing to be a winner. Better than shouting at the roof tops how great we are. Better than screaming “look at me!”  Better than being so self-involved we lose the best moments to things that don’t really matter. Or won’t, when the time comes to meet our maker. Even he doesn’t like a bragger. I checked.

My favorite singer on The Four has been Kendyle Paige. She’s so graceful and such an artist that when it came time to compete, she just sort of blew it. Her heart wasn’t into the competitive aspect of having to prove the talent God had bestowed upon her shoulder’s. And I adore that about her. At least, that’s my perspective of her, as I actually don’t know everything. Or maybe anything …

What happened to living life with some good old fashioned grace? We buried it beneath our desire to be better than average.

If you know you’re great, great in the way your God has made you sense you are, why are you still asking the world to validate that shit?

Go home, it’s where you belong.







Boundary Violation

I don’t pay attention to the world ending. It has ended for me many times, and began again in the morning. – N.W.

I shed the skins of my past as fast as I change my clothes. I’m almost never the same person I was a week ago. Or a day ago. I choose to evolve. Part of this is, of course, my survival mode skills. In order to keep living in a world that threatens who you are, you either adapt or change the world. Since the world is harder to change, most of us just become ultra spiritual in our desperation to “feel good” about bullshit. Which leaves us very philosophical.

It’s funny how life can be going one way, and abruptly be pulled in another direction entirely. Part of this is due to my ability to fantasize rather than actually take many chances on risky people and things. I learn in a unique way. I sit back and observe the world around me, when everybody else has thrown themselves into the next thing (relationships, jobs, moves, etc) with all their hearts; Blind. Asleep. Living. Probably blissfully happy, until it all points them right back to themselves and they see that nothing has really changed after all.

I’ve become an island. That’s not what I had intended as the result for these past six years. I chased the ideal of love as ardently as any romantic does. I put myself out there via public outlets every chance I got. At some point you redefine who you are, and what you’re really about. People don’t make that shift easy.

I sense beyond and deeper than most people do. I hear what you’re not saying. Feel what you think is sacred to you. And know what you have hidden deep in your heart. I see a relationship failing before it actually does fail. I know the real reasons why “he and she” are even attracted to one another. I see the core wounds that drive them into one another’s arm, what they know as “love”.

That being said, I don’t always honor the potential of people either. I know how hard it is to change, and few actually stay true to a path of constantly redefining who they are. It’s not exactly an easy path, when everybody else is content to stay the same.

Life as an empath isn’t always charming. In fact, I brace myself for energetic boundary violations when I attend any event, including just walking in a door filled with people I love. It’s made me a little jumpy. You could live happily ever after never knowing what petty things your friends and family members think of you.

I’m also very sensitive to negative energy, and I’m actually dealing with that right now. I made a friend last summer who initially I got along with greatly. We’d stay up all night long messaging one another about every topic under the sun. For a couple of months this was a key relationship in my life. And then one day it all changed.

I’ve since tried in several different ways to discourage this person from contacting me. They don’t seem to grasp the true message of my actions, which is I no longer feel safe being in contact with them. They’ve seen me in a light that is not only unflattering, but hurtful. And they last out, not only with their words, but their energy every time they connect to me. I have literally become quite fearful of this person. I’ve finally reached out to a couple of trusted friends and family members to make sure they know about the situation. That’s how afraid I am.

I spent an hour tonight triggered by the most recent interaction. I am tired of trying to convince myself everything is fine, when it feels so bad. Maybe my gut is telling me something a facade can’t cover up, you know? This person is also known for being “such a nice person”, and my concerns have previously been brushed off as nothing  more than me being sensitive, or afraid for no real reason.

I find it ridiculous, and I am angry, that I had to spend any time at all being in an anxious state. That my boundaries are repeatedly stepped over, with no regard for my feelings at all. I do not have to be friends with or even answer a message that had made me feel uncomfortable. I choose to completely stop doing that at this point. The truth is some people expect something from you that they have no business asking for. I’ve had every type of person approach me you can imagine. The requests for my time and energy are almost demanded in some cases.

Because I write publicly and wear my heart on my sleeve, people can sometimes believe that I am obligated to them, which is not only rude, but kind of abusive.

I dream of the day I feel safe surrounded by my tribe, and by men who are willing to be warriors for the women. My tribe should be growing by leaps and bounds in the next couple of years, which is so very very very welcome. Even warriors tire of standing guard, hoping they are safe, rather than knowing.

Be respectful of one another’s space.












Rainbow Child

I’m on a natural high after spending the entire afternoon outdoors, and in the company of other weirdo’s like myself. Trust used to be such a hard thing for me, but I’ve been collecting my tribe for a few years now. It’s important to surround yourself with people who give a shit about you. I still feel like a few are missing. Actually, I know they are.

My seven year old cousin tagged along on our adventurous afternoon. She brings with her all the magic of a rainbow child. I’ve sensed the absolute divine in her since before her birth, but only recently connected to her personally. I’m not saying I know her, but a piece of me feels like it is a soulmate connection.

She located rock chair after rock chair, oozing the same childlike happiness as myself when I stumble upon a piece of land nature carved out just for my ass. I even had to give up one of my finds as my ass really wasn’t the right size. It was fun to watch her frolic freely in nature. She instinctively understood what the earth was saying to her, as it does speak in it’s own language. Each new rock was a treasure, and there is nothing like being held by the land. Is there anything safer feeling in the world?

The earth does not judge. It has no standards of which we’ll never meet. It’s there for our taking, as long as we respect it and leave it as we found it. I find my inner peace in nature. You leave behind the real world for a few hours, going nowhere, ending up somewhere. I wish so badly I could run away from the real world. I feel such pain at the thought of once again having to enter the rat race. It is currently my biggest ache. It just makes no sense to someone like me. Not the money, the honors, or the successes of the people I’m supposed to emulate. The earth is the same.

It’s not that I’m so different from other people. I laugh inwardly when they try to claim they are alone in their suffering, their ideas, their thoughts, and feelings. Because they really aren’t. I feel the pain of nearly everybody I come into alignment with. Nobody is living a perfect life. The reality isn’t currently setup to see many people living the life of their dreams. There has to be an underdog, a loser, a poverty class. If there weren’t, the other side of things wouldn’t be so appealing people literally abandon themselves in favor of at least seeking it out.

That is, I suppose, the biggest tragedy of all: Everything we need is free if we ask the universe, but we throw people out like trash in order to obtain a certain idea of ourselves. In order to be better than someone. In order to matter more.

The homeless roam the streets clothed in rags, the same way Jesus once was famous for doing. He is in every face, every smile, and every heart. Even the ones we see Satan in. We are literally born of the same energy, the energy of oneness. This means, though some lives appear to be ugly, they truly are as divine as any life.

Everything has an energetic imprint. The land is no different. Nor are inatimate objects. They vibrate slower than a living, breathing, human life. That is the only difference. Once you understand that, you are ready for a calling that serves all human life as if it is all divine. The human ego is fractured by billions and billions, but within even that image is still a larger picture.

Ending’s are usually unwelcome, only because the ego can’t grasp how perfect each and every role played out on the planet really is. This blog was literally just pushed through me, as I’m nothing more than the messenger. One of many, who has gone unheard for a lifetime, but always willing to speak.



Natural Healing

I’m headed to Antelope Island tomorrow, boys and girls. For a minute I was scared of stalkers, then I remembered nobody would want to have to feed me and take care of me, so I’m probably safe to mention a travel location beforehand. And I”m not even that cute. Definitely not cute enough to be targeted for kidnapping. Unless you like dimples and smart-assery, then by all means I’m your kidnap victim.

My cousin and I are aiming to ride our hard tail bikes there later this year. It sounds like I have a lesbian lover in some of my posts, not that that actually doesn’t sound totally appealing at this stage of my life. A best friend with kick ass makeup and clothes, who likes to eat as much as I do, and won’t judge me if I get chubby? I’m interested!

My hard tail bike arrived in my life beneath the Christmas tree last year, and only just now has been given most of the parts to be built. This summer I noticed a lot of women on bikes. I sighed in impatience as I pondered when my set of wheels might be available to me, so I too might be able to join the “badass” female bikers club. I should instagram my bike (random thought bubble). I love my cruiser, don’t get me wrong, but I am needing a little more suspension in my life right now. You know how it is. Or maybe you don’t.

I’m in a much better place emotionally this afternoon than I have been in weeks! My life has been a bit unbalanced since before Christmas. When one thing slips, sometimes so does my emotional stability and happiness. Everything gets sort of out of alignment during the holiday season, and it seems no matter how hard you try there is always a readjustment phase during the month of January. Fuck you, January!

In particular this year, there was a lot going on that was unpredictable and just plain annoying to have to work around. I’m still trying to get back into the groove of my exercise routine, though I stayed pretty loyal. I still feel lazier than normal. I took five days off as a holiday treat and I realized why some people do “netflix and chill” instead of the gym. It’s kind of nice, you guys!

Our hiking schedule took quite a few hits. With children home from school and winter vacations, we haven’t been able to be out and about as much as either one of us would have liked. My lesbian lover and I. Just so we’re clear, I’m bi-sexual so I don’t feel bad for making da jokes. Laugh, bitches. It’s funny!!

The point I was trying to make, is that it’s so very important when you’re struggling (or living quite successfully) with stress or a mental condition, like Depression, to have a great balance of everything that makes you happy. Happiness should be the number one goal, which means instead of making excuses not to do what you love, commit to the number one person in  your life: YOU.

My top three things that make my life bearable even though I have to live in an un-awakened world which insults my sensitive soul DAILY, are being outdoors, writing, and expressing myself AUTHENTICALLY. In-authentically will never do, darlings. I hope my cousin never sees this entry …

I also really like using the term “mental health” so much more than “mental illness”. It’s positive focus versus negative. I’m not so sure it’s an illness, as we are designed to feel a variety of emotions throughout our lives, which tell us if we are in or out of alignment.

It’s so strange to think that the two years I spent mourning the loss of a friend of mine who took his life, was somehow wrong at all. Yeah, that’s a long time to feel sad, but he was my homie. And before that it was my sister from another mother, who was murdered. And before that was my brother from another mother, who overdosed on heroin. I mean, why is there a limit on how long I spend grieving? It takes some balls to allow that natural response of loss to encompass you entirely and do it’s thing. The body has a natural healing process, and so do all aspects of YOU.

The enemy isn’t feeling bad, it’s feeling bad about feeling bad. Shame. Shame is the number one enemy of someone in pain. It only adds to an already suffering mindset. You do not need that shit. Nobody does.

The body, the mind, and the soul will always lead you through and then out. It will never detour straight to the end, unless you die. Then it’s like over over. But that’s a different story altogether. Even then there are levels of consciousness, believe it or not. Some people have a harder time being awakened after death than others. I met a little girl who had just passed, and the image I was given of her was still a little shaken, still a little stuck in her life as a sick child. A few weeks passed when I saw that child again, and she was sparkling. A literal picture of health.

It takes time to heal. Allow it to take all the time it needs. I promise there is a light at the end of the tunnel. In the meantime, seek connection and find yourself in a deeper place.









Hood Roots – A Calling

I was triggered by something someone said this morning in relation to single mom’s on welfare. It’s so strange to me, that even as adults who have experienced our own pain, that we still manage to judge others!

Some of THE HOOD if you will, has yet to learn that the shame they feel isn’t a reason to shove it onto a reflection of themselves. It’s amazing that people from the same background can turn their backs on their own sisters and brothers, in an attempt to save themselves from the taunting they so easily dole out. It’s embarrassing, to see this from my perspective, because I do see it so clearly. And I know that’s a reflection about your own shame due to your own not exactly glamorous upbringing. But it’s also hard to swallow.

My grandma raised five children on her own. In reflection on her life she tells the story of being overworked, tired, and poor, and having no time to spend with her children. Pretend she was on welfare, though she wasn’t, to my knowledge. So what? She comes home after a long day of work, exhausted, probably a little defeated. She’s as alone in the world as you could ever feel. She’s already struggling just to make her life work. Then she hears someone say the nastiest things about her because of her situation, a situation she never intended on finding herself in.

What was the point of trying to invalidate her? What was the point of making her feel shame on top of pain? What was the point of trying to bring someone down, who probably already feels toppled over a lot?

It takes a much stronger person to look deep within at themselves, than one who relies on old standards of righteous living.

I love where I came from. I love my roots, but it’s painful to still see others living with their eyes (and hearts) clamped tightly shut. When THE HOOD awakens, it’s a beautiful and powerful thing to witness. When we elect to support each other’s best interest, rather than elect a president who can dine on steak every night of his life, it’s a calling.

I’ll personally never understand THE HOOD turning against each other, though I know it’s shame related. How did a rich white man who has never known poverty convince these people that he was what was right for them? I can’t see how some people still think it’s the poor robbing them, people with nothing, rather than someone with an abundance stashed away while babies starve, and others die of cancer because there is no cure yet due to lack of funding. I don’t know how we live like that.

My message to my people, is love each other. Remember where you came from. Use your struggle and experience to better one another. Stand tall, your roots reaching deep into the Earth. And stand for something other than hate. Stop looking at the rich like that’s your inspiration. Haven’t they kept you, yourself, in your place an entire lifetime? You’re serving them, until the day you die. Is that not insult enough?

Jesus Christ …


Repressed Memories




I probably shouldn’t write this post, but I’m at a place in my life where I almost need to share my life with other. I never felt I was allowed to.

I shut down after my father passed away. I repressed so much about that time in my life. Have you ever shoved something do deep down inside of you, you actually blissfully forgot it ever happened? I have been very successful at lying to myself in the past. Up until recently I had the unique ability of pretending something wasn’t real, and so it ceased to be to me. This occurs when the trauma is so pervasive it threatens to destroy a person. It’s a survival instinct.

I even forgot people. And entire episodes, because I was too fragile then to handle the truth of who I was. As I found these past few years, I realized if it’s buried, it’ll eventually be dug up, with or without your permission.

I never write to make anyone feel bad, and that is not my intention now. I realize some may want to stay in the dark about certain parts of my story. It’s not easy to see the truth of someone you love, sometimes.

My dad was raised in an abusive home and he passed on every bit of his pain to me, in particular. I was the target in that home, but definitely not the only one either. I think this was because I’m the oldest daughter, and because I most resemble my father in physical appearance. And I know, it’s because of the secret life he led with me, that made him threaten my life.

One evil thing my father used to do, was to fake drown me in the bathtub or the swimming pool. He’d hold me down under the water until I dissociated from my body, and floated above myself. I could actually see me, knowing it was me. My instinct would be to play dead, which was easy when your bodies natural instinct is to escape it’s self when faced with such a horror. He’d allow me to come up for air and to catch my breath, but he’d sometimes be laughing as he did. He believed he was “playing” with me. I can’t imagine what seed was planted in him in his own upbringing, if that was his idea of a great time.

I actually have a lot of compassion for my father. He only gave me what he had to give, and so it is with all of us. We may think there are better and worse people, but there are just people. We can not ask someone to give us an experience they can’t. This is frustrating all the same, when we at least expect our parents to be good to us.

I speak up a lot now, because when I was little I was scared to. Sometimes defending someone else meant being choked until I actually thought I was dying. It’s easy to let go when you think it’s happening anyway, and I find it odd to realize I was okay with dying. I think it is that way with a lot of people when they pass on. At least, it’s the feeling I get from most who are being asked to be let go.

I never spoke up. I never told anyone. I was told my mother and my siblings would be murdered if I said a word.

My dad wasn’t a terrible person. He was an abuse victim. He never found a way out of his suffering. He spoke of often of wanting to “go home”, which meant to Heaven. I am surprised sometimes when a song, in particular an oldies song, makes me think of how much I miss him. I know that’s hard for some to understand.

We can’t give up so easily on each other. This pattern isn’t merely a personal family problem. It belongs to the entire world, to heal it.

I may miss him, but I’m still struggling to forgive him too. He handed me a platter of pain and I’ve eaten from that platter every day of my life. When the pain becomes too much to bare, my mind cracks open and I recall a distant memory before my birth, when I asked the powerful soul I know my father was, to be the version of himself that he was to me in this lifetime, so that I might use it one to help heal others.

And so it is that one day I might sing him praises, not for his abuse, but for being a part of the grander plan all along.











The entities I attract tend to be of the light. They aren’t dark or malevolent. I don’t typically feel threatened by them. There really are no words for the heavenly presence that deceased loved ones bring with them when they visit a psychic medium. I mean, I really can’t describe it beyond that cliche word, “heavenly”. That right there should tell you that our minds have yet to expand to even be able to process world’s outside of us.

I have had a few poltergeists or darker entities come through though. Once you’ve opened yourself up to it, you allow the good, the bad, and everything in between to visit you. Or use you, for their own after death purposes, whatever that may be. I’m not sure they’re always in need of leaving a message exactly, other than to let you know they made it safely to the other side.

When I lived next door to a funeral home I definitely saw more activity than normal. I tend to feel a sort of kinship with the dead, as I’m like the last person they talk to before they are silenced forever by death. And that’s a role I don’t mind playing, once I get past the worry that whomever I’m delivering a message to will attack me for it. I’ve never had that happen, but there’s a first time for everything, right?

One of the darker energies I dealt with while living near the mortuary was a young man who had committed suicide as revenge for his older lover cheating on him. He was very good looking with dark hair, dressed in a crisp light blue button up shirt. He actually insisted I get my phonebook (the yellow pages) to look up the phone number of his ex.  He desperately wanted me to deliver a message from him. I told him I wasn’t allowed to deliver messages unless they were to comfort the living. It just seemed like the right thing to say, I don’t know. I actually sat there and talked to this dead young man about his death, his pain, and why it was time to move on, the same way I would talk to a friend who was suffering. Defeated, he left his earthbound pain behind for good.

When I was 16 I lived with my mom and her boyfriend at my grandparents house, for a short while. There was a poltergeist, who bore a strong resemblance to the man in the hat in the movie Poltergeist, other people had seen there (didn’t know that at the time). I think he appeared to me that way because my mind would identify him correctly. I’m not sure if this is an entity attached to me, as I saw him on two separate situations, in two different places, at very different times in my life.

The first time I saw him I was alone in the kitchen when I became very aware of him. No matter how many times I blinked he wouldn’t disappear. I began to hyperventilate and took off running in no particular direction, looking back as I did. I somehow ended up with a black eye under the kitchen table with no recollection of having fallen and hitting myself on the edge of the table. I’d even knocked he garbage can over.

The second time was much the same. No matter how much I blinked he was still there. I walked from room to room only to run into his gloating face surrounded by crazy white hair, a black hat on his head. He laughed at me without laughing. Then he attacked me. I flew onto the living room table, screaming and clawing at thin air. I’m sure I’m like the biggest Nancy from A Nightmare On Elm Street fan, because I strongly relate to the bullshit she went through!

This past summer I discovered a man in my garage, who is very attached to the torn apart volkswagon bug. Like, he fucking wants to buy it or something. He wears a brown leather jacket, and I get the feeling he was very much into a life of crime. A real scumbug, as he seems to even maybe sort of fondly, think of himself. For a few weeks he visited my hallway and watched me in my room. I ignored him, but he gave me the creeps. It’s not worth angering someone over, you know? He’ll eventually get bored and leave, right? And he has … for now.

When ghosts come through they often do as their human selves. They do so in order to be the same person you know and loved. Someone once questioned my authenticity in this way, because they felt someone who has passed on should be angelic. I can’t help it if your dead friend delivers a message by calling you a “pussy”, they way he did when he was alive! He obviously didn’t like you. I’m just the messenger.

One of the saddest experiences I’ve had wasn’t with a dark entity, but a woman who had been murdered. She’d been robbed at knife point in a crowd of people, and initially allowed the thief to run with her purse, until she remembered her granddaughters school picture in her wallet. The thief didn’t take kindly to her suddenly trying to pull her purse away from him and stabbed her. She died instantly. She was a woman in her mid-forties with dark hair and stunning blue eyes. She had really enjoyed every aspect of her life. She was one who had a hard time leaving her earthly body behind. It sort of broke my heart. Most people seem to be pretty okay with leaving once they understand they are dead.

I don’t tend to see the darker entities, though I consider myself a darker person. I know wonderful people who do see things you couldn’t even imagine in your wildest nightmares. It’s so different for us all, and I love that. I love hearing stories that blow my mind. I’m used to the strange and unusual, but someone else’s strange and unusual is still unique to my own. I wish everyone felt comfortable saying weird shit in public. I think we’d find out we’re not so crazy after all.

Namaste, Ghostbuster’s!

(I had to say something)





Traveling Soldier’s

This weekend I went hiking at one of my personal favorite spots in the salt lake valley. And attended a monthly art gallery stroll downtown. This weekend I was also suicidal. Before you offer any well meant advice, or recommend the nearest mental institution, what you have to understand that those feelings are quite normal and frequent for me. This has always, since the beginning of my time (nearly) been the case. I’m frequently suicidal, but without the intention of taking my life. If that makes any sense.

I value my life. I want to live. I have every intention of watching my children grow up. I would never want to instill the kind of hurt in them that taking their mother from them, would make a very painful reality. They don’t deserve that suffering. I will break the chain, and give my children a better life than was given to me. I have no intention of honoring any suicidal feelings in the future. I am safe, and so are my children.

What has happened, is that my cellular walls have become sort of a trap, filled with memories of a painful life. Memory after memory of being hurt is stored in my cells. Eckhart Tolle explains the pain body in his book, The Power Of Now. I step in and out of my pain body, like everybody else does. Only mine is concentrated with experiences like rape, and more rape.  It isn’t easy to fix something like that. I feel like I’ve tried everything,  even spirituality hasn’t healed the wounds over completely, yet.

Once I decided that I want to live no matter what, the fear of ever acting on a suicidal impulse has given way to a tolerable and dull ache for something that isn’t here. So many of us comment on wanting to find a place we call home, that we have never known. I’m no different. I envy and have trouble being friends with women who’s fathers not only loved them, but helped them create love lives that feel good. I fear that will never work with me, as the earliest seeds planted in my cellular wall are abusive.  That is what I’ve always attracted to me.

This weekend I watched lovers hold hands in public. Something inside me hated them for it. I hated seeing something I’ll never have. I hated the way I felt as I watched them together. I hated even, that I didn’t see love as a beautiful act, but as something that inevitably depletes one. As in, it steals from the lovers, leaving them hollow shells of who they were before they became so intertwined they strangled the life out of one another. And to be honest, lovers are disgusting.

I’m trying to be positive here, you guys, but I’m just at that point in my life where the cuss words flow easier, and the rawness of my pain is visible to anybody who is aware. You can only hold it all in for so long before you self righteously feel the burden shouldn’t be carried solely by you, because you’re not the only one responsible for the life you’ve lived. Try as you might to rise above yourself, you’re just … bitter.

“Real people” seem to like me just fine. In fact, I’m often a breath of fresh air to the right kind. They stifle laughter as their truth comes flying from my mouth, the things they would say if they felt they had that basic right to. Adulthood is barely bearable. We’ve made life so much fun that nobody wants to have to be grownup.

Like the birthing pains that come during labor, the pains that arise with a suicidal episode are similar. You breathe through them, knowing what awaits is relief. And you do it as often as you need to, because life is precious and you are needed in your beautiful authenticity. Canned versions need not apply, though you never feel canned to me anyway. And I like that.

Pain is funny in the way that we feel like it’s inevitably going to break us, that we’ll crack with the pressure of it. What actually happens is that is pushes us until we break open and are living a life that feels good, in moments. We become masters of our emotions. I hear, It’s a little bit like surfing. We feel a wave coming and know when to stay still and when to act. We begin to feel our way through life, and nothing really surprises us anymore. We fall and stand back up as often as we are called to. Because that’s all part of the experience of surfing. We accept that.

At one point during my hike I lost my balance and almost went sliding down an embankment because of a small patch of ice and snow.  $14 boots don’t have traction, I guess. I stood up, took off my boots and socks, and walked the rest of the way in bare feet. I hate feeling so limited in my actual life, I wasn’t going to tolerate it in my hiking. The payoff was feeling like a badass, because weird things make warriors incredibly happy. Some people will never understand small victories, but to me … that’s all there is.

I’m not sure what comes after the rain, but it seems like a rainbow is a good idea. Something with layers of colors in it, and maybe a pot of like, gold at the end of it. Wouldn’t that be cool?

Or a butterfly. Whatever.

Namaste’ traveling soldiers!




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