8 Random Facts About Spiritual Diva

I think some of us are pushed to become the real version of ourselves. It’s like one day you snap and realize that if you’re ever going to be happy it’s going to have to be because you gave up on making everyone else comfortable. I know for me, I was more well liked when I wasn’t so outspoken (or verbal at all). I was compliant and easy to mold into whatever version of me suited your best interest. That time has come and gone, and here we are today. I can’t shut up.

I want this to be my most insanely real blog post, because I noticed that even in my attempts to be completely open, I leave the “realest shit” about myself out in still trying (am I crazy???) to “fit in” or belong somewhere in this world.

  1. I may or may not be on the Autism Spectrum. I’ve never been to a doctor to discuss this, but people seem to think I’m somehow really unique. And I am. I find myself struggling with day to day things more so than most adults my age. I feel lost in a world where everyone else seems to have picked up their “Adult Assignment” cards and ran with whatever they were assigned. I can sit and stare into space literally all day long, if left uninterrupted. People say “get a job” and I can think of a million other things I’d rather do (including run away), because I have worked and I’ve quit every job I ever had. I also aggravated most of my employers before doing so. I’m apparently not easy to be around. It probably doesn’t help that I find twirling around in circles and bossing the boss around, like totally fine. Is it my fault I was born to lead? I’m just plain frustrated at myself at this point in time, so just … be nice. You think you’re wondering what the hell is going on over here? Imagine how I feel. I almost envy how well others are doing in adulthood. None of that shit is easy for me. All those small tasks you do every single day? That is the struggle for me.
  2. I dropped out of high school because I didn’t like the way a teacher talked to me when I stopped following along in class one day. He yelled at me in front of everyone. My mind drifts. It … just … drifts. I guess they call that daydreaming, which is cute when you’re five. I also had trouble staying on task when the teacher seemed genuinely uninterested in his students as people and I wasn’t allowed to read ahead. As I left though, I gave the man the reading of his life. His jaw dropped. He asked me how I knew that which I knew (it was very damaging information, ugh!). I just replied, “I’m not so stupid now, am I?” Will this be a theme in my life?
  3. I hope to own a bakery one day that donates some of the proceeds to my Bella Life Non-profit, which benefits the poor. The homeless sure, but also sends students to school. And so much more. I want to give poverty a kick in the ass by sending the poorest folk on luxury travels and to buy shiny new things. I believe in the idea that to be given something beautiful is to be given the gift of the realization that you are worth it. My niece received a necklace, one that she’d never have been able to have as a child without a lot of money, and it made me think of myself as a child. And how beautiful things just weren’t a reality for a little girl like me. It’s a very disconnecting feeling to be left out of the luxuries of life. To watch your peers wear the best clothes and shoes, To see them travel and learn languages. They never knew the pain of not being able to own that book (it’s just a book!) you loved more than anyone else ever could love.
  4. I sing. My brother makes beats. He’s a natural. I expect big things out of him, actually. I really do. At the moment though he’s tied up in his own” journey”. The music making has been put to a halt. I spent last year sharing ideas with another GSE musician, and writing lyrics for music that may never be made after all. Honestly, I’m heartbroken. I should probably have more faith, but hope becomes a scary thing after a while. The realities that are born of poverty aren’t always very pretty ones. Out of respect for him I’ll skip the full confession. Anything can happen, right?
  5. As I spiral out of my spiritual enlightenment phase and come landing back to cold hard reality, I’m left with the lies I used to feed myself, scattered about the floor. And it’s different to really see yourself. It’s not so much scary as maybe disheartening. You want so badly to be a version of yourself you can gloat about. I am not who I pretended to be, but if that’s the version of me you loved, she’s still there in your mind. You can keep pretending too, until one day the mirror stops and says, “I’m not going to lie for you anymore.” All that is left of me is blood and guts. Jesus thinks this is fine. I asked him. He’s handed me a brochure to Heaven. He’s made a list of shit he wants to do when I get there. It’s kind of cute.
  6. They say life is what you make of it. They say you should never wish it had been any different, because it made you who you are. I seethe, because a child should never be held beneath the water, or raped, and then be told they should be thankful for the experiences that have given them lifelong post traumatic stress and suicidal ideation. I mean, how ignorant can you be? A little boy who starves every day or never knows the reality of having a dream or a wish come true, shouldn’t be told to smile and be a good sport while he watches his richer “brothers” have more than they need. Fuck that and fuck you if you support that bullshit.
  7. I’m not sure I’ve ever really loved a man. I have obviously really believed that I have, but energetically it would be impossible from where I once stood, to love another when I couldn’t even love myself. I feel like I’m in need of a physical healing experience. That there is nothing to take the place of actually being exposed to real development via another person’s love, you know? We can become so strong in ourselves, but we came here for connection. Nothing feeds a soul like real love. Not even self love.
  8. I once stood in front of a bathroom mirror, having just attempted suicide. I told myself I would write about that experience one day. And I have, in my blog post titled “suicide attempt”. What I didn’t know then is that taking a life isn’t ever going to be as powerful as “taking back a life.”

I hope when you read my writing you understand the importance of my words. But more than that I hope you understand how beautiful one life can be if it is here to be. Thank you for reading. I was pretty happy with my blog stats. You didn’t have to read, but you did. So, Gracias.

Namaste, A Survivor



Ghetto Superstar

I am never sure how other’s might perceive me. I’ve always been super curious about that. In recent years though, I have decided that hanging onto the hope of ever understanding myself as an “image” is rather pointless. I’m always changing, and we only ever see the world (and each other) from our own perspectives. Frankly, labels are limiting. I don’t do limited. Or, I try very hard not to.

Once upon a time, in my lifetime, existed a young woman who was quite a different version of me. I was as asleep in my life as one could ever be. I believed everything before my eyes, and I lived on autopilot. A dangerous thing considering my background and the reality of a life like mine. People who live like that can either be killed, or end up killing.

I’m triggered into this core memory of a person I used to know by a movie I watched recently, Mi Vida Loca. It’s a true to life movie about gang member’s and girls who are growing up in gang mentality related realities. Each and every character in this movie sparked recognition in my soul. They were all me, the old me. And in moments, the new me.

I have never tried to pretend I’m more innocent than I am. I’m not one to downplay my shadow side, as I understand the necessity of it too well. I have the utmost love and appreciation for ‘old Alisha’ and her use of her survival instincts. They are what kept me alive. Barely, sometimes.

I even look back and fondly recall the freedom of a life lived in whichever way I chose, with no support or guidance. I was born into a life that would eventually show me every opposite of truth I had accumulated in the first 18 years of breathing. I loved that life, but I understand the call to change.

I’ve always loved people beyond the exterior. As you can imagine that wasn’t always ideal in a seedy upbringing like “the hood”. I know the feeling of missing a man behind bars. Of loving a man who banged for a color. And of having my insides stomped on by “boys” who would almost surely never receive the same awakening as myself. To be called to change their ways so that they might serve a higher purpose.

One might say we are all ultimately serving a higher purpose, if one were a master at seeing from an enlightened point of view.

I’ve written intensely passionate love letters to strangers. I accepted anyone into my heart back then. I most strongly related to the character, Alicia – La Blue Eyes. I was also always a target for being unique, even back then! I lived between worlds, the same as I do now. Only now, the worlds are the physical vrs. spiritual, rather than my white side vrs. the brown. Or,  girl with grandiose dreams vrs. the pull of the underbelly of a world who has yet to acknowledge it’s existence with any real respect.

I’ve been at parties where gunfire broke out as soon as I left. That was an actual reality for me at one point in time. I lived for a time, with active gang members in my home. I didn’t fear them as I do now, because my life was pointless to me back then. Now, I have children. And though my heart still reaches out and loves without condition, all types of people, I protect what is mine as if it the most precious thing on this Earth. To me, my sons are that thing.

I’ve watched people snort coke and even tried it myself. Amongst other drugs. It’s the worst form of self medication, though I’m not in true judgement of anything anyone does to “survive” anymore either. I’ve seen too much. I know how hard it is for some, and I’ve been in their shoes at one time or another. I can’t judge another for his sins when my own are on full display. I wouldn’t dream of it, as these are my people, the ones my heart belongs to. The very lives I hope to touch one day, and gently persuade into wanting to change.

I think God gives us the tools we need when we’re ready. He bestows upon us the life we needed, rather than the one we would have preferred. The world is in desperate need of people who care. People who want to take the hands of the broken and see them, without any hatred in their hearts.

If there is one thing I’ve learned, it is never to be ashamed of who you are and where you have been. Because to meet someone face to face who sends their self hatred to you, is appalling and beyond tragic. And does nothing for the very people in the very place they themselves have traveled from.

No matter how you grew up, or what you’ve done in the name of survival, you’re here now. And now is as good a time as any, to become a different person than the one the world elected you to be before you knew you were so much more than they would ever allow.

To truly empower one’s self, one must admit who they really are first. And embrace that lost inner child as if the child itself is God.








Honeymoon Phase

The honeymoon phase of my spiritual journey is upon me. I have heard that this happens, but had been traveling the treacherous part of my journey for so long that I guess I bought into the belief that it may never actually feel any better. That I was just going to have to keep twisting everything to be more positive than it is. Which is a powerful tool, but ‘soul exhausting’ if the actual vibrations never get to a better feeling place to operate life from.

I look back at my journey and some of what I’ve written and almost want to explain myself, but that is pointless when anyone who reads my blog will only ever be reading from their own current focal point. Some will understand and be put at ease with some of my darkness, as it will make them feel less ‘fucked up’ with where they are. And others were always in a bit of judgement, because they couldn’t relate in the first place.

I am amazed every time I’m brought back to a situation and am now able to see it with more clarity. My compassion for myself and for other people is at an all time high, even if I do occasionally crack a joke or two at their expense. That may be the driving force that got me through the blackest night!!

I realize now that nothing anyone else appears to be doing to me has ever been about me. I know nothing of their personal journey’s. I am not entitled to my judgement of them. They are awakening too. Or blissfully asleep, living in the third dimensional reality as if it really is all that is real. And that isn’t wrong. It’s beautiful in a way, to never question the view before your lenses.

I have always sort of envied the simpler man and woman. Those who want only what they can have. And never feel the pain of needing a bigger life. How appropriate would a vibration like that be for someone like me? Someone who wasn’t born into a life of grandiose opportunity? I can only assume that desire is my inner calling guiding me into a life that does (or will one day) make perfect sense. If desire is what dreams are truly born of, I’m going to love being alive!

I’m working with this new energetic boost in my life to heal myself in a new way. The painful past was the foundation of my spiritual evolution. I can evolve past the person I thought I might always be, and keep surprising myself. It is possible to live a life under the radar for a very long time, then awaken to one on full blast.

It is possible to make it out of the dark night of your soul.

I’m writing all of this as the movie Twilight plays in the background. The music is very complimentary! Ha ha!

Other spiritual teachers teach the belief that one must travel through the fire of pain in order to ever really quench that fire, and be free of the Hell they have known. When we see spiritual people bypassing this, we see them staying stuck. They never do make it out of the flames, but they can act as though they aren’t engulfed in flames if that is what a set amount of followers have come to expect from them. We can do horrible things to ourselves in the name of “love”.

Closing message, if you’ve never made someone uncomfortable with your mere presence, it’s because you’ve succumbed to the idea that to be loved by those who can only love you at your best, your strongest, and your most lovable, is what love is. I assure you, it is not.

In seeking to be loved, or to love, we have lost love. 

It really is that simple.







The Messenger

I’ve spent the majority of my life living in fear of myself. Up until recently even, I was still trying to escape an aspect of myself. Perhaps the most important part of myself. My calling. I was born with extrasensory gifts. I grew up in the 80’s when the appearance of these types of personalities were still something new and unexplored. Nobody knew how to handle me.

As a result of people fearing me as a child for saying “outlandish” things, I grew fearful of myself. I eventually learned to lie so well that I lived a “normal” life. Ultimately fear of myself led to self hatred, because if you aren’t allowed to be yourself, there must be something wrong with you.

I struggled with mental illness (Depression, Anxiety) for the better part of my younger years. I nearly committed suicide, trying to cope as a so called “normal” part of society. There are no words for how painful self abandonment actually is. When you choose the comfort of everybody else over your own self nourishment (as so many of us are trained to do), you set yourself up for things like Suicidal Ideation.

Very recently there has been another increase in my intuitive energy, and I am now even more aware of other realities than I’ve ever been before. I followed a man who founded an organization aimed at childhood cancer funding for a year. Over the course of a year I reached out to him several times to inform him of one of his children wanting to relay a message. This happened with my simply scrolling through my news feed and taking a moment to notice a photo of a deceased child.

I never mind giving a reading, it’s always been easy for me. I however, have taken issue at times with the reply or lack of replay that might accompany a message from me to the receiver. More recently I’ve realized how important that fear is to let go of. I am a messenger, and it is no longer my business how somebody perceives me due to what my calling has become.

I feel like Elsa in Frozen when she runs away from her palace, and builds a magical land out of ice and snow. She’s so free in that, when her whole life had previously been lived in fear of her gifts, because others had been threatened by what they couldn’t possibly understand.

I understand the gravity of sharing my calling with the world, but it’s the only path I can see myself taking now that I’ve spent the last 7 years of my life preparing for my own “arrival”. That’s what this whole spiritual journey has been about all along.

I run into spirits at my gym. I see a photo of a popular celebrity and “just know” that he was another actor in his previous life. I’m tickled by these discoveries, but I’ve always longed to be able to share them with others. Without fear of how they might perceive me. Silence isn’t an answer anyone wants when they are just answering a calling.

I’ve had people reach out to me online asking for a reading. I hesitate. It’s a little uncomfortable for me. I always oblige though, as my talents aren’t supposed to be kept selfishly hidden. And I know that. I do feel like though I’m not a celebrity people recognize yet that I’ve tasted the reality of that lifestyle here and there. As in people feel sort of like because I’m open about my life they can say anything they want to me, or that I’m obligated to them in some way.

I consider someone asking me for a free reading almost like someone walking into a bakery and asking for a free cake. It’s not that I don’t want to do it, I love doing it. I would like the respect of being offered a little bit for my services now is all. This is what I offer the world. In the case of life and death, or a really great person (like the childhood cancer hero) I will always consider a reading free, one good deed done to compliment another. God’s payment for a life well lived. Meaning, if one is requesting a reading for fun it’s a little harder these days, to just oblige, when I really need to find a way to make a living.

I know that I’m not asking too much, as my guides will also always be straight with me and at times have aggressively pushed a message through me. When that happens I’m sometimes embarrassed (I’m human and this journey is still new to me), but I allow myself to be the vehicle in that moment, because that is in the end, why I’m here. To serve a higher power that had always intended for me to be a messenger.

It’s time to relinquish all fear and tread fearlessly into my new life. With the guidance of the powers that be, I’m sure I’ll figure out how to make this life one worth every struggle I’ve endured, because that’s what spiritual warrior’s do.







Fallen Soldier

I didn’t really know Justin. I met him through mutual friends who are practically family members, online. He reached out to me via messenger to tell me how funny he thought my obnoxious bullshit was, and I thought that made me somebody. We shared a heart line for two and a half months before it ended. Justin shot himself in the head. I found out about his tragic death while scrolling through my news feed on facebook. The same way I found out my cousin got married.

I’ve always felt sort of odd grieving the death of a man who’s funeral I found completely inappropriate to attend. I wondered how his family would view this other “secret” woman in his life in the event of his freshly split up family, and custody battle. The reason he would end up taking his life.

We had planned on grabbing a cup of coffee when he returned from his time away, a trip to his friends land down south. Only, he never made that trip. He’d never even intended to make that trip. It had been a lie. A cover up for a well thought suicide plan, which included a personal note to the family that I’ve never read. After all, I was a complete stranger and unknown of until I filled his “mother’s” inbox with emotional questions and a few cuss words upon seeing that he’d taken his life.

In the aftermath of Justin’s death, I decided to live. And to live greatly. I aimed every new experience I had at his memory, and was fond of whispering “thank you, Justin” to the sky every time I made it back home, happy to be alive. I did the opposite of Justin. I made an attempt, no matter how miserable I was, to take one more step. And then another. This doesn’t make me better or stronger than anyone. I think it just proves how stubborn I really am.

I won’t go so far as to say that Justin and I were romantically involved, or even necessarily headed in that direction, but I will say that I really liked him as a person. He wasn’t afraid to speak his truth, or to enlighten me when my ego needed it. He was full of the same beautiful anger that some of the best people in the world emit. And he thought I was funny! Beats being treated as the alternative, which is “a problem”.

I don’t know why his death has been so hard on me, but it has been. It’s such a tragic and unnatural way to cease to be any longer. I’ve heard of suicide’s haunting loved ones for over 20 years. I think he really was just my best friend, for an incredibly short  period of time. And though I didn’t meet him in person, I could feel his energy. I didn’t have to hold his hand to know who he really was. Or to become intertwined enough in him to be deeply touched by this loss.

So, begs the question, why didn’t I know he was suicidal?

I’ve beat myself up a little bit over this, because I really should have. I was having visions before his death, of someone holding a gun up to their head. I assumed this person was me, because I was very depressed at that time, and frequently daydreamed about shooting myself in the head. I didn’t know that all of my energy actually had created that truth, by lining me up with another suicidal person who would have the guts to take his life within a matter of months of our first conversation.

The information I get is always accurate in the end, but it doesn’t necessarily line up the way a story line would. It’s sometimes very much a wait and see game. A psychic wants to be known for predicting life events, but it’s not always as easy as it sounds.

I’m in a bit of a reflective mood, and the same thought I had almost three years ago after Justin passed away is surfacing again. My cat was recently hurt in some manner of which I’m not entirely privy (though I have intuitive information on that too). He’s not the same cat he was before he was nearly killed. He’s just different. And that brings me to my second to last closing thought, “Some things change you. Let them change you.”

I eventually plan on honoring this life by having a tattoo of a dog tag with the name Justin put around my neck. I want the reminder that no matter how bad life can feel (and it can be plain miserable sometimes) that nothing is that bad. And I can live another day, another month, another year.

It is in part, not because of his suicide, but because of his life, that my desire to honor a fallen soldier by continuing my own, was born. And is born again and again.







This Little Light Of Mine

I”m currently working on a book of ramblings, which I may or may not actually publish. To me they’re really funny, but my sense of humor isn’t for everyone. Especially the spiritual crowd. This book is bringing me a ton of relief from the stresses of life, as humor is a great way to sort of get over something. I literally laugh out loud and wonder what kind of asshole genius wrote that wonderful stuff.

Once you’ve reduced something to a joke, even if just for your own personal enjoyment, it’s easier to see that whatever it is that was causing you grief, really isn’t that powerful after all.

As my spiritual journey continues into the unknown, that which previously seemed like utter bullshit becomes my own truth. The darkness can only last for so long, before the light begins to peer through the cracks and you notice it. Despite your goddamn self, you notice that shit. The sunshine is back in my life in many ways, including the weather.

The law of attraction states that you must be a match to an experience you want, but sometimes you just have to travel the worst part of your journey alone first. Scared. Hopeless. Horrified, even. I think that’s the part of being single that sucks. Wondering if the journey really will only ever be a journey of one.

One of the easiest lessons to learn (wow, easy, that feels weird to say) is that the good in life, in people, in yourself, is literally always within reach. It’s the present moment, asking you to partake of it. It’s the people who are currently answering your call, not the ones who ignore you.

We can attract so many distasteful experiences to ourselves when we are in-between self love and finding self love. It’s those very experiences that answer our call to stumble upon a better feeling life. And so we must take them with a grain of salt, and be willing to learn from all of it. The humiliation of it all will ultimately cease to be as the ego sort of fades on it’s own.

Just like you can’t try to be anything and be successful, you can’t try to be humble without actually inviting your ego to rob you of that title in the process. It’s just that whole trying thing is exactly that, trying.

I feel like putting some good vibes out into the world with this blog post. What was once invisible to me is very apparent now. I once felt so alone, possibly like I was the only one who cared enough to want to change the world with my tiny little voice. Upon my journey I’ve met a lot of people (artists, poets, writers, superheroes) who’ve taken the time to entertain me with grace and love, and I just want to tell them publicly, “thank you.” 

It takes nothing to answer a message if you are connected enough to yourself to understand that the person asking you for your time, is you.

It is never asking too much when you understand that the only way to make the world a better place, is to be a better place for others to land in their times of need.

Thank you.

I am inspired more and more all the time, to keep going, to continue using my platform to make a difference where I can.

The world can seem so dark for so long and then all of a sudden you see them. Those little flames others have lit, and have managed to keep lit by being willing to protect that which is most important of all: LOVE.



Best Banana Bread

My sister and I banter back and forth like professional’s. While the rest of the world is asking me to perfect myself, or at least give it a good old college try, she happens to love my nasty streak. And we bring out the best (um, worst) in one another. I think this is healthy. The idea of having someone who doesn’t ask you to sugarcoat your true feelings in your life is a blessing.

Last night we went back and forth in our crude nature, about the joys of a woman’s aging body. After childbirth, you’re lucky if you ever feel raging sexy again. Average women (who can’t afford a quick nip, tuck, or lift), really struggle with self esteem at the changes carrying near 8 lb. bowling balls in their guts, can cause to even the most fit mothers.

We were joking through text about how much we miss certain parts of our younger bodies. I complained that no matter how much I lift at the gym, my rear end will never be that perky young thing I used to know. And how if I had that sweet thing back, I’d take the time to appreciate it more this time around. Like, give it a good old slap every three steps I take. In public. Like I used to. But more.

I’m half spanish/half caucasion, and for the first time ever I’m carrying around a white girl booty. Which isn’t actually even politically correct, as white girl booties tend to be the perkiest this season …

Dear God, what is happening to the world?

This got me to thinking and silently admitting to myself how much time and energy I spend either trying to perfect something I don’t like, or just plain worrying about it. Like, am I really ever going to be okay with basically being a gremlin now?

I’m having the same realization I had about fb: I’ve absolutely allowed something I see every day (perfect bodies) to taint my idea of my self worth. Legit, these bitches are everywhere. Only, I never actually see them in line at Starbucks. Or buying groceries next to me at the checkout line. Or at my kids school performances. Or …

Do they really exist? Or are they like mythical unicorns, only real on instagram or on the cover of a magazine?

More and more women are choosing to reveal their deepest darkest secrets. They’re sharing makeup free selfies, or photos of themselves with tummies hanging out, or stretchmarks hidden beneath girdles. And the ones who don’t, well they may have it worse than those of us who no longer feel the need to be boner material for every man who suggest that’s where a woman’s value lies.

I’m not blaming all men for a woman’s self esteem. A woman does ultimately have to save herself in most ways, including emotional and mental health. It’s probably best that she does, because I’m still witnessing men my age trying to bait and hook women who’ve barely sprouted chests. And it is absolutely disturbing.

I recently went on a date with a man in his early 50’s. I felt uncomfortable with his age, though I tried to convince myself that I’m just being a “prude” (that’s automatically what you are when you can’t condone weird or gross behavior that crosses unnatural boundaries), but really how am I any better than the men my age who think their soulmate just has to be a near teenage girl? I’m still playing by the rules of a society who has lost any sense of integrity. I’m helping the very men I wish to see evolve, play the same old bullshit game they’ve always played.

I’m allowing them to keep searching for their self worth in something young and beautiful. Or, younger, as opposed to actually having to date someone equally mature to them.

You should have boundaries that respect a woman that much younger than you. My son is going to be a teenager this year. Every time I read another damn story about a 23 year old teacher taking advantage of boys his age, I rage a little. It’s wrong. Plain and simple. Ego has high-jacked the most basic instinct in men and women, which is to protect the young. Not exploit them for selfish desires.

And we as women, have had enough. We, as mothers have had enough. We, as human beings worthy of the utmost respect, have had enough.

You won’t find us older versions flawless. But if you take the time to look in the mirror, your own body has changed. Perhaps, your hairline has receded. And what the hell is wrong with that? What the hell is wrong with looking at an older woman with a little more respect? She is your equal now. She is the age group you belong to! That is your mirror, wrinkled and imperfect.

I find as I age, it is one of the harder parts about life as a woman. Society teaches us as girls that to be pretty means something very special. It is good and right and lovable to be beautiful.

Why would we ever strive for more than that?

I’ll end this post full of questions with a quote from my wise sister: “Old bananas make the best banana bread.”















Book Two – Higher Ground


If Book One was the first year of my blog entries, they were the hidden me. The little girl who never had a voice, who in fact drowned in her own emotional hell until she couldn’t “be positive” any longer. And it all came out. Book One was the skeletons in my closet, no shame keeping me from speaking out about my own personal journey. It was also, I guess you could say, my middle finger to everyone who had ever dared to hurt me without so much as an apology.

Book One was consumed by my traumatic and eventful younger years. And by my passion for giving a voice to others like me, or at least pretending anyone wanted to hear my story. The first book is always the solid ground upon which any other books in a series, are built.

I feel that Book Two will inevitably be a hair more positive. Much of my anger is waning. Some of my passion too. I am, in a sense, sort of relinquishing control over my journey. I’ve held tightly to the hope that by putting myself “out there” it would open a door for me that I desperately have been asking the universe to open for some time. That really hasn’t come to fruition.

I know there’s a deeper spiritual lesson to be gleaned from all of this, and I’m willing to learn it. Even if that means the life I live ends up being a lot less like my visions for myself. I’m simply tired of fighting for a place in the world. I think that’s a good thing though.

As I bump back into myself, the me I’ve always been, on occasion, I fall more in love with the idea that I didn’t come here to this planet to be a person people necessarily “love”. There is still so much unsaid about my life that most would never have the spiritual understanding to be at peace with. And honestly, I keep finding more all the time. Repressed memories of my childhood come bubbling to the surface again and again. Reminding me of who I really am.  I am not going to escape any part of myself on this journey, but why would I want to now? I’ve come so far from where I used to be.

We all have an image, or ideas, about who we wanted to be to the world. Most of wanted to grow up and be significant. We wanted to matter, more than we wanted to know the truth of who we are. I’m no exception. Though if I’m honest with myself (and I am) I’m used to being the exact opposite of what does matter to this world as it stands.

Sometimes in my darkest moments, I wonder to myself if this world even wants me. It seems to want something else, and I for the life of me, can’t figure out what.

I had a thought this morning as I opened my eyes. Almost defiantly I told myself, “when they ask you what you’ve done with your life, tell them you survived, and that is everything.” I did. I lived through things that could have, should have, taken my life. I’ve fought every battle ever thrown my way, and I’ve won. I’ve worn no shield for many of these battles, choosing authenticity and vulnerability over fraudulent (perfect) ideas of who you may have once believed me to be.

Not only did I survive, I found a way to thrive that keeps me growing past the depression, anxiety, and fear that ate me alive in my younger years.

Karma has been one of my greater teachers these past few years. The energy you put out into the world does come back like a boomarang when you least expect it. Good and bad. The negative karma of my past has come to transform my heart from a bitter selfish, blackened, grinch heart, into one that is full to the brim with compassion.

I wasn’t always aware of the hurt I was causing another, until it showed up in my own life, sometimes fifteen years later! I’ve grown humble because there is no staying any other way when the mirror reveals to you in spades, the darkness you shared with the world before you knew better.

Karma has a place and a role. It isn’t to punish one exactly. It is to renew and gift you with a new perspective. The highest reward, a new point of attraction!! Did you feel those nerd vibes just now? Hell yeah, new point of attraction. Who doesn’t want one of those? Jokes. Always with the jokes …

I’m not sure of my place in the world, but chances are if it’s where I find myself at any given moment, it’s the right place for me to be after all.







My Voice

I’m in a place in my life where the energy I surround myself has to be loving or not at all. I’ve chosen, in light of many catastrophic (maybe that’s too big of a word) happenings online (facebook specifically) to delete my facebook account. It is up to me to preserve my energy. It’s my job to keep myself sane and healthy.

Social media can be a super fun place to connect to long lost childhood friends, to stay updated on the lives of distant relatives, and to share your life with the people you love. It is no longer fun when a person becomes a target for someone’s misplaced anger, or a means to justify their own bad behavior.

I’m used to being a target. I have been the chosen one in that aspect since the beginning of time. I played the role in my dysfunctional family, in the hallways at school, and I ever since I decided I wasn’t going to play small anymore. I expect it in my career in abundance. I sense it.

I’m not sure I am able to change the seed that was successfully planted in my head so very long ago. I attract those to me who desperately need a punching bag in favor of actually having to become self aware. There is a list of roles each person in a dysfunctional family simply must play in order for generalized chaos (order in an unhealthy environment) to exist.

In order for all other lives to operate and function, one must be targeted as the perceived “problem child”.

I am and have always been that person.

I have become nauseatingly strong, and overwhelmed by my role all at the same time. The darkness is comfortable for those who grow used to it, and playing a role that requires literally no skill, is the same.

I’m not afraid of this role, because I see that some of my idols have played the very same role for society. Tupac Shakur, for example, will always only be remembered by some as a “thug”. The man who penned The Rose That Grew From Concrete and inspired an underclass with his lyrics about poverty and street life, remembered as a “nigger” who didn’t know his place!!

I’m sensing the same fear in regards to myself. How dare a seed like myself sprout and bloom? I should know my place in this world by now, beneath the feet of it’s oppressors. No real threat to anyone in her miserable silence. Afraid to speak up. Fearful of life it’s self.

I hate to break the mode, but this is my new role and I won’t be scared out of it. Do I think I inspire a nation? Not yet. Maybe it isn’t in the cards at all. Perhaps I am fooling myself, but at least I must try to be all that I believe I came to this planet to be.

All that matters is what I feel. And I’m good at feeling my way through life now. They can’t take my most prized possession away from me anymore. A silent suicidal teenage girl becomes a woman who will talk about her life, her world, her children, her thoughts, her fears, her desires, and her goddamn beliefs as if they are the very breath left in her. As if it is what propels her forward each day, because it kind of, sort of, really is just that.

Now how important is that?

My guides leave me with this wisdom to impart to you all this evening: Those who never leave the shore, drown in more ways than one.







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