Psalm 62:5

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Psalm 130:5

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Mad Men & Crazy Women

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My sisters and I, we like to love Mad Men. Seriously.
We are Crazy Women.
The Mad Men we love are always mad at the world and we spend way too much valuable time trying to make them calm and happy…
We are old-fashioned, cooking and cleaning while working full-time, loving our man all night, kinda women.
It doesn’t help very much.
Turns out Mad Men don’t want the all night loving after they get you. They are too busy being Mad at you.
But Mad Men don’t always tell you when they’re Mad…they just make you pay in a million little ways and then tell you it’s your fault.
Can you say Gaslight?
The Mad Men think everything revolves around them and I’m being brutally honest here, Crazy Women agree.
Splitting up is as common as Full Moons in our homes.
We certainly know how to leave, we just don’t know how to stay gone, so reuniting is also on our agendas just as often.
Fight. Cry. Talk. Don’t talk. Pack. Leave. Talk every night for hours. Agree on a fresh start. Pack up. Go home. Unpack. Pack. Leave.
We put up with a bunch of bullshit, but luckily the Mad Men are all different, so our phone calls and visits never get boring.
We got rid of the Mad Men who hit many years ago. I give us credit for that.
However, there are thousands of ways to hurt another human being without hitting them.
We watched our mom maneuver this same road with our dad, a truly certifiable Mad Man, and we vowed that we’d never marry a man like him.
But we did.
We are not weak women.
We are strong, intelligent, creative, loving, caring, beautiful women.
But once we fall in love, we give of ourselves until we break and we do not accept defeat gracefully.
My dad begged my mom to leave him before he killed her in a drunken stupor, which he was working on every night, the killing and the stupor.
He would try to wrap the phone cord around her neck and strangle her while my twelve-year-old sister sat on Mom’s lap and stopped him.
My mother’s most famous words were, “Go to bed. your father is not going to kill (or hurt) anyone tonight.”
Our strongest model of reality and she told us we were safe when we were not safe.
Dad even stood over our beds with his hunting rifle now and then. Pondering killing us.
Reality has been confusing for us, at best.
As young girls, we all had a turn sleeping in front of Mom’s bedroom door trying to listen under the crack to see if she was still breathing.
If dad got quiet, she would say, “Go to bed, Ray.”
You would have thought she’d stuck a hot poker in his side because those words would spur the Mad Man on for another hour.
When I write it down and then read it back, it sounds insane and it was, but that was how we lived.
My dad would rant and rave until the sun came up and then we would all try to go to school and my mom would go to work…
It wasn’t hard to find a better man than my father, but I know for myself it took me a long time to realize that on a core level, I was recreating the dynamics of my childhood home and trying to make it come out right.
Four divorces between us, one of us married the same Mad Man twice, not naming any names, baby sister. I would have married mine twice too, but I never got brave enough to divorce him.
I did leave my Mad Man five times, six if you count spending a few nights (alone) crying in a motel. I think that counts.
Serious enough about not going back to buy my own place to live, twice.
I’m in the second place I bought right now, packing to go back home, again.
My sisters and I, we like to love Mad Men. Seriously.
We are Crazy Women.

For Jodie Lynne, my daughter…

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I am God’s flower.
I am petals swaying in the wind
soaking up the dew drops
while the sunshine kisses my skin.
I am God’s flower.
Do not pick me.
Do not crush me.
God created me just as I am.
I am His flower.

Matthew 6:34

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Never tamed me…

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Fuhgedia

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I have the beginning stages of Fuhgedia or as its also called on the street, Fuhgeddaboudit.
It’s a very peculiar illness and quite common in codependent women.
We go through life blocking out our daily experiences and feelings so well that we start to fuhged who we are and what we are doing, who you are and if you are related to us.
We don’t remember who we were before someone told us who we needed to be, what the desires of our heart really are and how we would like to wear our hair.
So you might have to tell me things more than once…things like the day my newest great-grand baby is due, your birthday, my birthday, what day of the week it is…stuff like that.
Otherwise, I’ll just fuhged about it.

Jeanne Marie, 2016

No Longer The Girl…

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I am no longer the girl you first touched, held, caressed and loved.
I am much older now. I know too much to play Cinderella to your Prince Charming, although I still love you.
I am no longer a girl at all.
The girl grew weary of childish games and a woman stands in her place.
I can’t play Tinkerbell to your Peter Pan, not anymore.
I am woman who knows what she wants most of the time and I definitely know what I don’t want, all of the time.
I have grown-up. Changed.
In some ways for the better and I’ll admit this, in some ways maybe not so better.
As I fight to make my own choices and live my life inside the confines of this codependent relationship, I am often frustrated and angry.
Sometimes, I feel as if I’m walking on floors of Jello surrounded by walls of melting wax.
The rules change as soon as I learn them.
Your truths are flexible and my reality rebels.
I don’t want to be you. I want to be me.
I want to relax and I want to enjoy my life.
I want you to love me, not direct me.
I want my flowers, my gardens, my children, my grandchildren, my great-grandchildren, my sisters, my pink friend, the Sun, the Stars, the Moon, the Sky, the Rain, the Snow, the Ocean, the cool breeze that gently blows as I sit on my porch and write…and you…
I simply want to get lost in my blessings.
I am no longer the girl you first touched, held, caressed and loved.

Dear God,

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God is…

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Hanging on to a rainbow…

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When nights are long…

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Diamonds in the Rough

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I arrived in Muskogee last night  (August 22) at the Diamonds in the Rough sober living house to visit my daughter.
I was overwhelmed by the spirit of happiness and love that abounded in spite of the fact that each girl is still overcoming her demons.
We went to a church meeting and as the music was playing, I turned to my daughter and as we hugged, I felt God flow through both of us and I realized like never before that every miracle I have ever prayed for that girl has been granted.
She is alive and she is on the road to recovery.
The road to recovery is a long twisting road with many detours and problems.
It’s not a picnic. I know, because I’ve been sober for over 30 years.
I was overcome as I held her and she held me. All that we have been through with each other in our lives with men and with our addictions almost made sense and I truly felt the spirit of God as His precious grace flowed through us.

Jodie Lynne and Me

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August 23, 2016

I sat on the front porch of a sober-living house this morning, doing morning group meditation with amens for everyone and everything.
I was surrounded by grateful, sober-living women. I am so proud of each one of these miracle walkers.
As I sat there today, I was reliving throwing my hands up to the sky in complete surrender and handing my daughter to God, so many times, but most of all of the day I started to plan her funeral as she lay unconscious in a bathtub in a dope house, 2,000 miles away, being held under the water in an attempt to either kill her or to revive her from an overdose.
That day, I wept with earth shattering grief as I felt the extreme reality of the pain that her loss would deliver.
And still…I was afraid that he would not save her anymore, because of all the miracles that he had already delivered to her and to me, but God does not give up, he does not falter, he does not say, “Oh no, my child! You blew it last time!”
My heart was so heavy and for the very first time, I was afraid to ask for yet another miracle, but I stuffed my pride and on my knees, I raised my hands to him.
“Not my daughter, not my daughter,” I sobbed.
I asked, I begged and I pleaded, sending my legions of angels to lift her from the tub.
Called my sisters so that they could send out their angels and prayers too.
God was waiting patiently for the exact moment to lift my daughter from the water, to fill her lungs with air, to stand her on her feet, to restore her life, to teach her how to walk again.
The same way I taught her to walk when she was a year old, one step at a time.
I could not save her but he could and he did.
I am extremely grateful for my daughter’s life, for the fact that she is one of these sober-living women, so very grateful for her sobriety, so very grateful that I dragged up the strength and the courage to hand it to him once more when all I wanted to do was jump on a plane and race to save her.
She would have been dead before I could have even packed a suitcase.
I am so very proud of you my daughter for grabbing on to his hands as he lifted you from the water and for holding on to his miracle with all your might.
So very grateful for the woman who obeyed God’s call to open sober-living homes and walked into the prison a few weeks later and shouted, “Where is Jodie Tiger?”
The very next day, she took my daughter’s hand (with the judge’s permission) and led Jodie to this sober-living house.
Thank you God, from the depths of this mother’s heart and God, I pray that you have a blessed day today too.
Love, Jeanne Marie

you are

for Michelle Marie…

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Love is Pink…

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Believe…

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Playmates in Pink

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for Michelle Marie and all of our Pink friends

One step at a time…

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Dream Weaver 2

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my sister and I…

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fall into me…

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Changes

 

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I don’t often write about this, but I have severe degenerative disk disease and several creative forms of arthritis including the master bone bender, rheumatoid arthritis. The reasons I don’t write about it are simple.

I believe what you think will be, so I refuse to dwell on my health issues and I refuse to be handicapped by fear of the future. I focus on what I can still do and it’s so amazing to see how much there is left that I can still do.

However, I have been on a rough journey since last summer, beginning with moving from Florida last July to New England. We have moved so many times that I didn’t realize that we were getting older and much less spry. My husband  carried boxes out to the U-Haul trailer for me and I packed every single available space in the RV. We were both exhausted by the time the trip began. We had numerous delays in the closing on the house we sold in Florida and with the house we bought in New Hampshire. The dates did not match up close together and we ended up having to camp in our RV for a month.

Although I had days and days of adventure and fun on the road trip and I loved camping in our RV on a stunning mountain for a month, the stress of learning my way around an unfamiliar area, again, was tiring. I loved the month we spent camping on the mountain but…my husband hated it.
He hated the small space and he was cramped with our two dogs on top of us, although as far as I know, our two Chihuahua’s are always on top of us no matter how much room we have available.

I think the biggest stress factor for me was finding a doctor. When we finally moved into the house, I found a doctor’s group and they refused to see me without my medical records. They would not see me without my records and they would not accept the ones I had in my hand, my complete medical records printed from my doctor’s portal. They looked through them and then handed them back to me.
“You might have forged them,” they said.

Months went by with this medical group claiming that they never got my medical records from Florida.
I began to run out of several important medications. When I called my Florida doctor’s office, they said that they had mailed my records…twice.

I went back to the medical center to request an appointment again. They went through my hand-held records and my prescription list (for the second time) at the front desk and they told me that I probably didn’t even meet their requirements to be accepted as a patient. (It was the only medical center in our little town.)

So, after a humiliating verbal dance in front of several patients and staff members, the head nurse admitted that they wouldn’t accept me as a patient because I took pain medication.

Talking about my personal history in front of anyone was a direct violation of the Hipaa Law, but I just walked away. Humiliated and so mad I couldn’t breathe. That’s how bullies win and although I wish I had turned her in, at least to her boss, I didn’t.

On the plus side, although I still had severe pain from rheumatoid arthritis and degenerative disk disease, I had by now weaned myself off a fifteen-year legal pain pill habit because I realized that I was going to end up withdrawing cold turkey if I didn’t.

It wasn’t easy, but I had a deep belief that God was in control and I gave this problem to Him. Every day. Strange things happened. My pain level went down, not up as I changed over to Tylenol.

That was last October and I immediately began to feel better, my head felt clearer and I had less pain.
I still have pain, but it’s much more manageable and I firmly believe that everything happens for a reason. I am better off without the pain pills and I would have never thought that would be the case.

Meanwhile, I found a doctor almost an hour away and waited a month for an appointment. When I saw the doctor, she told me that I needed to see three different specialists because she didn’t prescribe medicines, she was a homeopathic doctor. Would have been nice if they had explained that when I asked for a primary care physician appointment.

In the weeks that followed, I left my husband and my house and moved almost three hours away.
He helped me buy a small mobile home near my sister in Maine.
We had problems before the move so combining the stress of moving and the extreme changes in my body chemistry, well I think that I just had myself a good old-fashioned nervous breakdown. Or so my mom would say. 

I have been alone since October.
I have learned many things since I have been alone. Here are just a few.
I have definitely learned how much my husband loves me, even after thirty-five years together.
I have learned that our good memories are powerful.
I have learned that no matter how old your kids are…they never want to see their parents split-up.
I have learned that I enjoy taking care of myself and that I like being alone.

It’s sad, but we have talked more since we split-up than we ever did when we sat together every night and a make-up is hopefully in our future. 

My husband says that thirty-three years of marriage are worth fighting for and he has a point.
Still, I say; right now…I’m just tired of fighting.

The most important things that I have learned are that I will be okay, single or married and as always, I am in His hands and He knows where I need to be, even when I don’t have a clue.

Jeanne Marie, 2016

 

Dear Jeanne Marie…

 

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Dear Jeanne Marie,

I give you permission to be happy. You don’t have to smoke anymore and kill yourself slowly. You have been dying since the day you started, plus; you are still carrying what you were going through when you started smoking. You are still letting that kill you too.

Well, the mourning is over. I give you permission to stop smoking, permission to be happy.

Every day that you wake up is a gift and you are wasting all of your gifts with your sadness, depression and guilt. Give up the cigarettes, give up the depression, give up the sadness and the guilt.

Be happy. I give you permission to be happy. You do not have to pay any more for things that happened, things that you did and things that you didn’t do.

Be ok. Let the past go…give it up. Give up the cigarettes. You have a gift with words and God wants you to use that gift. It came from Him and when you are lying in bed, sleeping or crying, you are saying, “No thanks, God.”

You are by nature gentle, kind, funny and loving. Don’t let love gone cruel turn you into an angry bitch, that’s why you left. To save the sweet you had left and girl, you were running low.

You are blessed, you are blessed. You are surrounded by angels and by people that have passed on already and they love you. They want you to let go of the past, let go of the pain and live again.

I see you already grabbing for life in little pieces and then you get scared, like somebody is going to grab your happy and tear it away from you. I’m not saying that can’t happen because it does happen.

I’m saying enjoy the moment while you are happy and while you have it in your hand. You are so strong. Just look at all that you have survived.

I give you permission to stop smoking and I give you permission to be happy…

 

Jeanne Marie, 2016

Shamed Puppy

 

Like a shamed puppy

I crawl into bed

when he is sound asleep,

hoping for a covert cuddle

from my owner’s hand.

Longing to feel his fingers

run through my messy hair.

Timid, I snuggle and wiggle

under the soft, heavy quilt

until I am against his warm body.

A body I once knew as well as my own.

Stupid. Hoping that even in his sleep

he’ll notice that I’m there.

Beside him, seeking comfort

from a closed, cold heart,

aching to be wanted.

Something?

Anything?

Desperate, aching for intimacy

he cannot give, hoping,

despite hopes shattered in the past

wanting him to love me

the way that he once did,

more than I want air to breathe

more than I want food,

clothes or a roof over my head.

As tears soak my pillow

I remember why

I moved into the bedroom down the hall,

a million miles away, moving away

from the nightly reminder…

He doesn’t want me and

though he says he loves me and he

protects me, tries to take care of me,

even in his sleep he pushes me away.

He used to draw me closer

and wrap his body around mine

even as he slept, he wanted me close.

So here in this home, I stay where I belong

just a shamed puppy who has done no wrong.

The passion is gone and it will never return

That much I guarantee, of this I’m sure

that in this house the fire will not burn.

Jeanne Marie, 2015