I understand this topic might churn up others own beliefs. I am here to share my beliefs not try to fit into everyone else's image. When you experience extreme tortuous treatments by the people that are suppose to protect you, it makes you start to question all that you know to be true. I was such a small child when it all started with all of my protectors falling short somehow. I could never share my belief in a higher power without including my grandmother. She is the one that introduced me to church and Sunday school. I often give her sole credit for saving me, because the Lord knows without that foundation she provided for me I would have dug my own grave a thousand times over again. It kills me she left this world not knowing the real me. I wish she could have seen me the way she taught me to look at those abstract paintings she painted. Instead the loss of her mind from dementia and the words of others guided her thoughts. This left my last words being an apology for me being me. I proclaimed trying to be who she wanted me to become, but I just could not be anything more than myself. As she lay in a hospital bed with machines keeping her alive for a few more days from her massive stroke that took her life. I cried so many tears over the relationship we had already lost years prior.
My grandmother took me on the weekends after my mother was diagnosed with Multiple Sclerosis. I was only three years old at this time. My grandmother liked to show off to her friends all that made her more exciting in life. I know this was more about her not seeing her own value. I was used as one of those objects to show off until the day I wasn't. What an eye opening painful day that was for me. I never viewed it this way as a child however, I was much too young to see all that went into others emotional reactions. My grandmother made it sound so exciting to stay with her! Everything was labeled with fancy terms to increase my enjoyment. Our dinners were always cleverly titled, "Gourmet." Every outing was called an, "Adventure." Every project we would do was the greatest accomplishment ever done! It was such an amazing world she created for me as if the world was this great big theatrical performance we starred in. She taught me about gardening and made weeding seem like so much fun. We would always find the strawberries at the end of our adventure pulling weeds. It always seemed like a treasure hunt finding those sweet strawberries. She taught me about abstract painting. I learned to appreciate the images I saw instead of what everyone else thought they saw. This was a beautiful lesson of having my own individual vision. She taught me about selfcare giving me bubble baths then patting my bum with a magical powder afterwards. She taught me about loving others despite how we initially view them by taking me with her to help serve the homeless. She taught me to value money by calling every penny we found on the ground treasure. She taught me to be a critical thinker by watching Murder She Wrote and Matt Lock who done it's. She would always make me guess five minutes into the shows who was the murderer. She would also guess making a friendly wager. The most important thing my grandmother taught me however, was to believe in something greater than myself-to believe in God.
I am positive the assumption is that I solely believe in a greater power due to my grandmother, while she did have a big influence in my belief system that is not my go to when times got rough. When I was a toddler still in a onesie sleeping in a light brown stained crib something changed my future life forever! I remember being fussy and feeling hot. I was standing up bouncing up and down on my crib mattress. My room was dark with just the light from the hallway to add a slight glow to the entrance of my room. I suddenly heard a voice come from the lamp that appeared to project out of my wall. The lamp's voice had a calming male tone I was not familiar with. I stopped crying at once! I stared intently at the lamp as I heard it speak to me the words, "You are going to be okay." Even today with an adult perspective I can not explain that event or the fact that I can remember it. I do however understand the warning. My father was horribly abusive in every way you could think of and my mother needs her own book written about her layers of manipulation. The lamp was forewarning me about the life I had ahead of me. I always knew that was a caring, loving, non-human voice. I would instantly hear those words repeat over and over again in my lifetime. The day of my death I would especially need to hear those words.
My father was like a small competitive child when it came to playing any type of games. He would always get overly aggressive ending in my pain. One of those days was in our Sombrero shaped pool. Flower beds surrounded the fence line around the pool with our own tropical flowered oasis as a playground of crisp clear blue water. I was playing with my father in some way I honestly can not remember the original game due to my trauma around that day. I remember jumping on top of my father's back trying to keep him under the water. I was laughing thinking I had him with my medium framed athletic approximately eight year old body keeping him down. My over six foot tall strong surfer type bodied father finally pushed me effortlessly off of him. I had no idea I actually caused him alarm. He was very angry wanting to understand why I was laughing at him. His anger turned to revenge as his large crooked fingered hand reached for me. He took me to the deep end of the pool grabbing the side of the pool with his good hand and holding my head under water with the damaged crooked fingered hand. My father had injured his hand working at the Alaska Pipelines when a large pipe had fallen crushing his right hand. His hand healed, but his fingers remained permanently crooked. I remember struggling until I could not anymore. The day was a sunny clear sky type of day with white fluffy clouds. I remember those details, because as I lay back in the pool that is what my eyes focused on before everything went black. I could no longer hold my breath and sucked in water as my body became lifeless. I felt as if I was sinking down, but I am not fully certain of that detail. My father struggled to get my dead weight out of the pool despite his strong large frame. I did not see heaven or loved ones I just saw black. I felt the hot limestone on my skin at a certain point I was laid on my side. I abruptly started choking up what seemed like gallons of water. It felt like the water came from my stomach. I was so lethargic and exhausted I could barely get the energy to stand up. I dragged my soaked body eventually to the kitchen window that faced the pool. I spotted my mother doing the dishes occasionally looking out. She had to have seen what my father had done to me I thought. I barely was able to open the sliding door and told her what had happened. She seemed angry and went outside yelling at my father. I dragged my wet body to my bedroom and passed out on top of my bed. Again I was reminded of that lamp I heard so long ago gently telling me, "You are going to be okay." The strange part about this event as terrifying as it all was is that I finally knew what peace felt like. I honestly do not think my little self had ever experienced peace the way I had that day. I believe this is where my later suicidal ideations would stem from. I now knew peace in death so a part of me wanted to go back to it. God was not done with me yet and I strongly knew within myself I somehow had a purpose to live.
I spent so much of my early adulthood struggling to thrive. A light had dimmed within my soul when my first pregnancy almost took my life. I did not believe in abortions at that time nor did I want to give up hope on my twin pregnancy. My twin pregnancy gave up on me though when I lost one of the babies. I had almost lost the other when my body went into preterm labor one inch dilated at twenty-two weeks. This was the early two-thousands so most babies would not of made it being born that early. I was able to keep him in for ten more weeks after some medical care and bedrest. My first beautiful new baby was born sick with so many unknown health issues probably due to malnourishment. I had Hyperemesis Gravidarum, which at that time was just starting to be researched. In fact, one of my doctors had referred me to a hypnotherapists and psychiatrist! They thought I somehow was throwing up every bit of my being on my own? I was insulted and confused, but did what I was told. The hypnotherapist made my nausea so much worse! I left puking the entire drive home from the envisioning exercise we did. Then my father somehow made it into my saferoom we had established in the beginning of our session. I never went back for that treatment. I kept praying for my son until I finally got to meet him. I had rented a hospital room for as long as I could. Then we stayed in a water damaged moldy Ronald McDonald house for two weeks, but then I was left to stay in my Toyota Matrix I had at the time. I would sleep then wake up two hours later to go pump my breasts and dry breast feed my son. I did not leave that hospital until I was asked to go home to take a shower. I had exhausted all of my resources to be close with my son while he was in the NICU. He would stay there for three months. My young twenty-four year old self went from being a glowing hopeful mother to a dwindling withered shell. I had never experienced these emotions before ever! So many emotions came up for me when I realized what unconditional love truly was. All I knew in those moments is that I was going to be a better mother if I was given the opportunity. Two months in the NICU I was asked how I was doing. My sons occupational therapist knew I was not okay. The funny part is I had no idea it was obvious that I was a mess inside. I sat with my son daily while my then husband went back to work and showed up less and less. The writing was on the wall before the I do's a little over a year before I got pregnant. I had just ignored them thinking it would get better. It only got much worse! I now knew I needed to make better choices if I was going to be different from my parents so I started therapy at that time twice a week plus I soon started EMDR treatments from a newly taught therapist. My son is one of my strongest reasons I believe in a God, let me explain.
We finally got to leave the NICU three months later and many surgeries later. A sad truth for the regulars that sit in that part of the hospital see all the babies that never get to leave. The absolute gut wrenching cries followed by bellowing sorrow from the parents that I often grew somewhat close to. I also got to be there for their pain. A nightmare of sorts on days like those. I had let out one of these cries when my son's feeding tube came out and his soundless screams were too much for me to bear. The nurse put the tube back in wrong and caused serious internal damage requiring him to need emergency surgery. We were suppose to do a sleep over and take him home the next day, but instead we stayed another month! I cried eight hours straight until my face was so swollen and the tears were practically dry. A month after we left that hospital my son and I were driving to the first home I had ever purchased. My husband at the time demanded we leave my mother's house where we had been staying and permanently move into our home we had been fixing up. It made more sense to stay with my mother due to her proximity to the hospital. My son would go back to the hospital over eight times that first year with life-threatening issues. I did not want to argue with my then husband so I went along with his demands. It was pouring down rain that day, which in the San Diego area rarely occurred so roads were going to be slick. I was driving my packed white Toyota Matrix and my husband at the time a moving truck full of our stuff. I was ahead of my husband going roughly fifty-five miles per hour when my car hit a major pothole near Ted Williams Pkwy. Back then the road was not finished so they called the big opening over the bridge, "The Black Hole". The ambulance drivers that later came for us had lost ten cars with passengers to that spot that month. I remember hitting that pothole then thinking this was it God was taking me. I had been struggling to find joy in any aspect of my life. My postpartum depression compiled with my sons health on top of therapy on the abuse I had minimized and suppressed. It was all getting to me. Life just seemed too much to keep living for. The only thing I lived for was my son at this time! The car did a complete three-sixty during 5:00P.M. rush hour traffic. My car was hydroplaning floating above the water. My car went into the slow lane first then circled around into the fast lane and was headed straight towards the "Black Hole". This is where God comes into it. I had forgotten my son was in the car with me so I was relieved I was going to finally find that peace my father had given me that day in the pool. It was as if time had completely stopped just froze. I was given the choice to die with my son or live with my son. I heard that subtle voice I had heard as a toddler giving me the option of life or death? I knew I had to live for my son so he could live. I had fought so hard to bring him into the world after all. I slammed on the breaks hoping it would move my car and it did. The car shifted forward to the left hitting a temporary concrete retaining wall. Both my son and I had minimal bruising hitting a wall as fast as we were going. My car was totaled! A man pulled over to tell me he did not believe in God, but what he had just witnessed he could not explain. He told me a light surrounded my car like a bumper and when he saw we were okay it made him a believer. He could not understand how we did not hit one car. He told me the light blocked it all. I will never forget that day, because I too can not explain time stopping nor the light this man had witnessed. Who was this gentle man speaking to me with such love and compassion? Life was not easy after that day in fact it got increasingly harder. Until my next miracle happened.
It had been almost an entire year of almost losing my son over and over again. With chronic lung infections, aspirating fluids into his lungs, feeding tube issues, heart failure, pneumonias eight of them to be exact. I was exhausted and so depressed. I could not breast feed him so I had to dry breast feed him. I had to feed him in what looked like an IV drip to let gravity slowly drip the milk directly into his stomach while he suckled on my empty breast. My body had made hormones for triplets so I had that much milk. I would have to pump my breasts for over thirty minutes getting over twelve ounces each pump. I ended up donating fifteen gallons of milk to a milk bank. I had no friends in the area we purchased our home with the exception of the alcoholic plumber and his family that lived next door. I knew them all too well as my husband at the time decided to become an alcoholic with him while I endlessly took care of our ill infant. My insomnia was at an all time high I had not shut my eyes in three consecutive days. I had become delirious seeing things I am positive were not there and hearing voices I am positive also were not real. My depression was the worst it had ever been. I could not remember the last shower I had taken or the last time I had brushed my teeth. I was afraid to drive after the accident so I never drove far if at all. If I made food it was always microwavable, but even that seemed like too much effort. I finally knew I needed more help than I was receiving so I called my therapist to have her get me admitted into a mental hospital. This was the first time I had ever spent time away from my son he was eleven months old. A lot happened in this hospital! I colored children's pictures and played basketball. I was put on a diet to lose weight. I was assaulted by a man that slept across the hall from me. I later dated him, but again I was not in my right mind nor could I fully understand what had happened to me. My then husband visited me once in the eight days I was there. He had smelt like another woman in newly purchased clothes. He had bought those clothes with money I had earned doing grocery shopping for my mother that I was saving for our son. Eight days in a hospital and that money was all gone! Now here comes the God part. I had started meditating in a small outdoor garden area. I realized with such clarity what I was suppose to do. I was suppose to leave! I knew that I was suppose to leap trusting in that voice that spoke so softly. It felt like I had jumped off a huge building without checking to see if I would be caught. Somehow I knew this was God. He asked me to jump and take a leap of faith so I did. Shortly after I left that hospital I left my first house, my first husband, my first adult life. I took my son and went back to my mother's house. It was not an easy transition by any means. It was actually very messy and ugly at times. I finally started to find myself in it all. My son started growing and thriving more than he ever had before. I went back to college so I could take care of my son the way he deserved to be raised. I was willing to do it all on my own. Get the degree, buy the new house for just us two, and love life. I started hiking, biking, running. I was laser focused on the prize! I swore to never get married again, but my current husband happened back into my life. We grew up two houses down from each other and have known each other since we were three years old. We have a trust in each other that I cannot explain. I have more God moments in my life, but these by far stand out the most. The next one is one of the most powerful in my opinion, because it involves all of you!
My current husband and I had just moved across the country from the West Coast all the way to the East Coast. We were fixing up the house we had bought when I woke up with half of my face, head, and tongue completely numb. We both thought it must be a pinched nerve so I let it go three weeks before seeking medical help. This was during the unfortunate debacle of twenty-twenty. I finally got referred to an neurologist that confirmed what I had always suspected I had a diagnosis of Multiple Sclerosis. I was devastated and hurt. I had been through so much in my lifetime already and now I felt as if my parents now gave me this! My great grandmother and mother also had been diagnosed with MS. It just seemed so unfair to me at the time. I allowed myself to be upset for a week then decided to do something about it. I knew the probability my children would be next was great. Four generation of the same disease with no answers. I was on a mission to get those answers I sought after so my children would not have to suffer. In my research and journey back to health I found God in such a different way. I saw life and its meaning right outside in my yard with the bugs around me. I saw wild animals in their natural habitat just living life. I saw all the plant life change with the seasons. I started to change with it all. Before I lived a very sterile life on the West Coast. I was afraid of bugs, most wild animals, and definitely nature. I had two thousand square feet of artificial turf back home, with some hard scaping, and succulents. I could not see the life around me back home, because I was trying to remove it. I grew as a person learning finally who I truly was as a person, as a Being. I discovered all living things are nature. We all give and take even in our death. The death that terrified me as much as it brought me peace was viewed as a recycling system now. The death of the flesh feeds back the earth and all that lives there. I was amazed at the beauty I had discovered. All those microscopic bugs around each breath we breath in. The moisture in the air in each inhale. I started to learn more and more about how it all works. All those times I felt so alone in my life, when I had always been surrounded by life. The belief that their is something there even though you can not see it, hear it, feel its touch; that is the miracle. My faith in a God or a creator grew. I have never physically read the Bible all the way through. I question the man's interpretations of its words. I do ask the question, "Why, a lot." I find value in the stories and meaning in the events that were said to have taken place, but that is not why I believe in God. I believe in God, because I can feel him every time I breath. I believe in God, because I watch life come and go right in front of my eyes with all the wild life around me. The death part of life is just as much a part of the living part of life. I do not trust easily due to all the people that have let me down that should have been more than they were capable of being. I trusted every time that gentle, subtle, soft spoken voice that spoke to me when it is in my nature to not trust. I talk to that voice everyday of my life. I understand my part of the give and take part of life. My job is to help the environment grow in love energy. I am suppose to help shift the misguided like I once was. I have no idea if others will ever be able to see through my eyes, but I can sure show them the lens I look through to help them see. If we are mostly bug, then why would we harm even one bug around us. Do you not think the bugs on us and around us do not communicate with each other? I suspect they do communicate with each other. Most wild life is harmful for survival, that is it. It is in their nature to survive. It was in my nature to survive as well. Now I will guide those that will follow to hopefully the same fate in healing that I received. When we try to remove the nature part of the human experience that is when we die. If we are able to revitalize the sleep walking, a second life is born within our human nature. Maybe my life was spared so many times before to now help save yours!
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