I M Perfect lady

Category: Examples of an Imperfect woman

  • Voted off.

    I am perplexed about the unnatural reaction to being told of a pedophile in your midst…and the lack of natural responses or reflexes.

    I just wonder if the same message was given, but I said it was in the local school, what then would be the response?

    Would they immediately defend the school?  Or would they ask and want to know who this individual was?

    It is hard for me to wrap my mind around the fact, that not one person was curious as to which congregation housed the sexual predators and where did he/she live?  Not one. Silence.  Well, not really silence, but defense of an institution.

    Is this because they already know where they are?

    Or do they not want to know the truth?

    I can’t figure this one out.

    It feels like those of us who are alerting congregants of this behavior are pegged as the ones tearing down the stairway to heaven.  That if you believe us, you will not make the climb heavenward.

    So you stick to the end game, keep your eyes on the goal of heaven and disregard messages that could pop holes in your faith.

    It seems you have great faith in a vehicle that will get you to heaven, while I am telling you there is not enough gas, the tires are bald and there is a klunk in the engine…and it isn’t looking well for you…it is starting to look like a gamble and not the sure shot you were told to believe in.

    I did not wreck the car, but noticed the damage. I did not design this car or make you the promise that it had magic powers to erase all sins.  This is not something I neither created nor is it mine to fix.  I am just reporting

    But I am telling you how it stalled and died on me.

    How the magic button didn’t erase the pedophilia from my father…he kept going and going and going.

    How the eraser didn’t erase his sickness at all.

    I am telling you that there are other sick people that your forgiveness of sins will not correct or halt or stop in anyway.

    They sit and sing with you…and you never even asked who.

    The infection is spreading while you use words to eradicate behavior that years and years of therapy and the desire to do so can only stop.

    Truly, do you really believe that a few words spoken to a man who has a sexual disease, that those words, will cure him?

    It is in the cells and in the DNA, it will take efforts of Herculean strength to face and deal and heal. 

    What I can sense and I am sure he/she can sense is that this religion is not even interested or caring who is within the confines of its membership.

    If the lack of questions is any indicator, there is nothing there that shows him/her there are boundaries and standards within the mission statement.

    All are welcome here. 

    Well, not all…those who speak the truth are voted off.

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

  • The Raw and Perfect Truth.

    As I thought about the way we paint people, how we are taught at a very young age to temper our truths, what we see and how we feel, how we not only learn to paint ourselves in false colors, but others as well. 

    We tell little children it is ‘not nice’ to call a fat person fat.

    It is not nice to say that someone who is mean is mean.

    That it is not nice to say grandma made you feel bad.

    We are teaching them, It is not nice to speak your truth…

    And, speaking your truth will make others feel bad.

    Is that right?  How can that be?  How in the world are the child’s words and feelings put aside to protect the mean or fat person?

    And then we wonder why they don’t come and tell us when a mean Uncle so and so did bad things to them.  They have been taught that their feelings don’t matter and that the truth is not kind.

    I am quite certain the fat person knows she/he is fat.

    And perhaps it may be better for us to engage in a conversation about it. 

    When I began speaking my truth, it felt like I was doing something bad.

    Like I had broken the ‘golden’ rule of kindness, that I had turned a corner into the forbidden territory, and all hell would break lose.

    And it did, the pretty painted picture shattered and crumbled.

    I lost friends and family when I spoke out loud and became like a very very stubborn child. I refused to give up what I had seen, how I felt and how the other person’s actions affected me.

    For once in my life, I looked at me in truth and how the world around me felt to me, looked to me…and my coloring people crayons disappeared.

    And the paints I used to tone down what I saw and how I felt…completely dried up. 

    I then discovered an incredible freedom and how easy it was to not have to come up with an excuse for others or worry how my truth would make them feel.

    Byron Katie’s book, “Loving What is” showed me how it was okay and actually a very sacred place to be.

    I was walking with God in reality. 

    I saw what God saw.

    He didn’t paint a sunset over to make it into a bird, nor a tree into a river.  He kept them all in their natural states.  I could then see the perfection in everything. 

    A mean person is mean.

    An unhappy person is unhappy.

    A homeless man has no home.

    A biting dog bites.

    A pedophile abuses children.

    A drunken person drinks.

    A neglectful mother neglects her children. 

    I didn’t try to make any of the above different, it was impossible and not my job.  I retired as the painter to make their lives appear kinder and feel better to me.

    Instead I felt them as they were…I opened myself up to feel all the things I had previously painted, I stripped them down so only their truths shone forth.

    I felt what it feels like to have a pedophile father, a neglectful mother.  I felt it all wash over me removing my own paints of being normal and okay.

    Stripped bare I stood with a family minus the pretty paint.

    Its unvarnished rawness of glaring truths…

    It wasn’t pretty but it was my truth…and I didn’t have the strength or the desire to pick up a brush and cover it up.

    I let it lay there in all its ugly perfect glory… the raw and perfect truth. 

     

     

  • I am painted black

    Dialoguing with people who see life with a different perspective is both enlightening and disheartening at the same time. (A brother-in-law messaged me on facebook.)

    It strengthens my stance and clears my vision, and leaves me feeling the distance I have traveled from my original thoughts and beliefs. 

    It is for my benefit to see what I used to sound like, how I too used to see the world. And it shocks me to engage again with my old belief system.

    It’s Hard to recognize the beliefs I lived as for so many years…and even harder to feel their bite, their condescending judgment, the righteous wisdom without experience, the tearing down the innocent to make the not so innocent seem less harmful…

    One belief is that when you die and you go through your life review, you will experience how you treated people in life.  I am not dying and yet this feels like I am in a full fledge Life  Review.

    Where I can witness my old self in action and have him treat me like I treated others.

    To hear my old words and directives, to continually want the other to change so I can feel better about myself, that the world is the problem and not my eyesight.

    As I read his words and their swiveling view, trying to hear me, but not wanting to give up the allegiance to his group, the flipping and changing of sentiments, shows me just how confused and slippery his slope is.  I remember living there, where there wasn’t a firm ground to stand upon, where it seemed I couldn’t remain just me.

    That I ran on a fence line, dancing between both sides, but never really having a side for me.

    Just me.

    Where I lived secure in knowing me, understanding me, and being okay to just be me.  It always seemed I was used for propping someone up, making someone seem less or another to be more than who they are.

    I was a voice piece, a defender, a speaker outer girl, a champion of the weak, and a fighter for the down trodden, the peacemaker no matter what.  An exhausting task to always have to darken someone to make the other seem less light…to never just sit and let the truth shine forth. 

    What I have learned the most in this last dialogue exchange is that reality is hard for many to live in, that most want is to not see the darkness or shadows out there, for they may discover the same inside of them.

    It is easier to attack me, to be angry at me, to say and treat me like the bad person, instead of actually addressing the bad in their midst. 

    I used to do this, I used to attack the innocence instead of speaking what needed to be said to the unkind.

    I get this.  I understand it, and I understand and feel the wrath of my old ways. 

    I can see clearly how I was seen as the bad girl and not my father. For in order for my mother to see my father in his true light, she had to change him from light to dark, it was easier and I didn’t put up much of a fuss, so instead she made me dark.  If she seen him in his true colors, it would have meant a whole life change, and to see her own colors,…it was easier to change my colors dark.

    This is still happening.

    It is much easier to change my colors than to see someone in a new light.  Once again, I am painted black.

      

     

  • What I can verify.

     

    My brother wrote a post on his blog, www.messyguru.typepad.com called, Rumor Has It.

     

    I looked up the definition of Rumor and it said, “Unverified report.” 

    I wonder how much of each of our lives gets by us unverified?

    What we mostly don’t verify is where we came from, is this normal, and is it true.

    We rarely verify our beliefs or our definitions of love or abuse, or the validity of the rules of our religion.

    We don’t verify them, but we don’t call them rumors. 

    We don’t verify them, but we believe them to be our truths.

    We don’t say, “it is a rumor that wearing red nail polish will keep me from heaven.”  Without verifying this report, we believe it and call it truth.

    Or, “It is a rumor that if I take control of my body and decide how many kids I have, I will go to hell.”  How can you possibly verify that?  Yet it is believed as true.

    And we don’t say, “It is a rumor that no sin is too great to forgive or that all sin is of equal value.”  Has this been verified?  Can a cuss word and a man raping a child be the same worth? Is that what we believe to be true?

    Doesn’t it make you wonder what we call rumors and what we call truth.

    What is verified and what is Unverified.

    Somehow the FALC has this all upside down and backwards.

    If what they believe in is unverified, than is it possible that what they don’t believe in is verifiable.

    Is it possible that when they hear a ‘rumor’ about so and so being a pedophile, or being creepy, they are actually spreading the truth and believing it?

    Do they even know what is truth and what is fiction? 

    This is how I found myself when who I had called dad was actually a pedophile. The people that I loved actually abused me and didn’t love me. I was completely upside down and backwards in most of my definitions and what I believed in.

    The churches ideology actually fit perfect into my backwards home life, it matched perfectly.

    My rumors were my truths and my truths were rumors.

    It is horrifying and shocking what folks in the FALC are believing in and what they are spreading as rumors.  I am here to tell you it is completely backwards.

    The rumors floating around in victim circles are facts and verifiable by the results of their lives. By the trails and trials of their journeys. 

    The suicides and attempts, depression and addictions, the mental disorders, and casual sex, the married girls using their bodies like puppy mills, generations of pedophiles, etc…are all signposts and can be verified by their lives.  These are not rumors.

    And these are not accidents or freaks of nature; they are actually perfect results of living in a home of abuse and believing in the way of the FALC.  It is a one two punch and the results are again, verifiable by the lives they live in reality.

    The victims lives are not rumors…and what you call ‘rumors’ about their perpetrators are verifiable…so they cannot be called rumor, for rumor is an unverified report.

    The wounded children are the verification as they live their lives upside down and backwards, out of control and believing they are certifiably nuts, crazy and insane.

    What they fail to appreciate is that they are perfect and the world they came from is insane.  And it is only when they continue to try and make the insane sane is when they go nuts.

    Where they come from is so insane, that they believe and die for rumors and disregard the truth as it walks talks and breathes in front of them.

    It is my humble opinion from my experience of coming out of the FALC and being raised in a family where the head of the house was a pedophile, where the mother supported him and her religion without question or verification to the contrary, that both are steeped in rumors and where truth is kicked to the curb.

    I should know, I am sitting on the curb for demanding and investigating and Verifying rumors…rumors within my family of origin and the religion I was born into.

    For forty-six years I lived an unverified life.  I believed what I was told to believe and disregarded the rest…now, I sit with rumors and look around reality to see what I can verify. 

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

  • It is not how you say it, but that you say it.

    It seems that I am not the only one who is unsure of what to bring to the Authorities and what is considered ‘evidence’ or if you have the right knowledge or if it is not first hand but rather hearsay.

    What I want to impress upon all who read this blog, is that we each carry a parcel of evidence, and each part whether it be large or small, first hand or was told to us by victims or friends of victims, we are all carrying some evidence.

    Evidence we believe in.

    It doesn’t have to be bold and in detail, it can be that you too have heard about the character of this man or this woman.

    They are all, as we are all, presumed pure until told otherwise, until enough folks can say something to the contrary.

    Each of us has a ruler to gauge people and each of us have bumped into unsavory characters, and what most of us fail to do, me included is follow through and speak up, alert not only friends and family, but authorities.

    The authorities we have to presume are NOT knowing or hearing what we are, they are in the dark and it is up to us to show them were to shine their lights, to investigate and look into the well being of the people, we are fearful for.

    If someone had pressed the issue way back when my father was molesting his daughters and all of our friends, it wouldn’t have taken a great detective to canvas our neighborhood and collect evidence from the girls living there.

    We keep thinking we need to work this from the bottom up, to find a child willing to say something, but that is not our job.  We are not the investigators; we don’t have to have a complete file of evidence to alert the authorities. 

    Our job as citizens of the world is to alert the authorities of folks we have information on, whether it be first hand or second, but if you believe it…it needs to be handed over to authorities.

    As the saying goes. “All it takes for evil to continue is for good folks to do nothing.”

    It matters not if you are articulate, if what you have heard seems small, it all adds up to the complete story; a story told from a variety of angles.  It can be your personal experience or how you heard.

    They need Not just one viewpoint or one age, not just from folks within the church, but from those on the outside.  Not just the family and friends, but friends of family and friends.  We all have a thread that will make up the tapestry of who these people really are.

    They have created an elaborate shield that deflects their criminal behaviors. We each can tug and pull on one thread that will reveal to all just who lies beneath.

    Somehow our minds have us convinced that we will spot this action happening, that we have to see it with our own eyes, before we can pass on information. You need not have the whole picture, but one piece of the puzzle.

    Again, we are not the detectives; we can’t arrest them, or take them to the court of the land.  It is our job to help the detectives.  We know what they don’t know.

    And if you know enough to believe it and you don’t share it, you are adding and abetting the crime. 

    The only ones who are free from guilt in this are the ones who don’t know. 

    If you don’t know, you can’t know.

    But, once you know, you can’t not know.

    And if you know and are holding it safe within, you are doing each pedophile a great big favor.  Their sickness breathes on your silence.  

    I was even more devastated by mother, for she was okay knowing and doing nothing for me.  Nothing.  I was left alone to tend my wounds, to make right my upside down world.   For I have very little memories, but I do have one, me showing my mother my hurting bottom.  I was little, way little.  I didn’t know why I kept that one odd memory. But now I do.  I showed her and nothing was done. She didn’t leave him.  Forty years later, my niece says her Grandpa touched her.

    Silence and doing nothing kept him going from girl to girl. 

    If you believe it, believe that your silence will deliver to him/her another child to abuse. For my experience with my father shows the trail.

    I had evidence that his sickness began years ago.

    The detectives need past histories, not just what is going on today, they need to see a pattern emerging.  The more who come forth, the more chances his/her case will go to trial.  They need to hear that this ‘story’ is being told far and wide, it comes from people of all ages…

    The less that comes forth, the more chances his/her reign will be like my fathers…40 years and way too many little girls!

    What I know for sure is that I will not be the one sitting holding my evidence while a child’s innocence hangs in the balance.

    I will not be like my neighbors or other members of the church and withhold evidence.  What I heard will be passed on.  Not in the rumor mill, but to the ones who have the power to help the children.

    No matter how my evidence is taken by the law, I know that I have done my part.

     It is not how you say, but that you say it.

     

  • I blame you too.

    In the past two weeks, I have been trying to glean the attention of the Detective in order to pass on suspicious names, names we keep hearing repeatedly from different circles all having to do with criminal sexual abuse with children. Names being spoken in three states, and ‘rumors’ that have been passed around within the inner circles of the FALC, but haven’t made it to the outside.

    I am on the outside and willing to share what I have been hearing and would like to encourage others to join my voice.

    What keeps these pedophile machines working is our silence.

    If you have memories or odd memories or have feelings that directly oppose the image being presented, that is a flag. 

    We fail to understand that we don’t have to have a succinct blow-by-blow account of an abuse interaction, but instead we each add our portion of evidence to build the case.

    My evidence against my father was the fear and terror that cursed through me in his presence, as well as no memories of my childhood, or just the odd ones. 

    My father did nothing, unless it included little girls.  He wasn’t taking my brothers on ‘special car’ rides.  He who did nothing in the house to help out, began wanting to make Sunday dinners, when granddaughter’s were born….  He who never went to church or even acted within the confines of their rules, Used the Forgiveness of sins to keep erasing his ‘sins’ of abuse. 

    All those things had a theme and makes sense for a pedophile, but goes against his otherwise behavior.  He never was a family man, making plans, being involved, nor did he take my mother on dates, but little girls…he paid attention to.

    That is a Huge Flag. 

    The Greek Definition of Pedophile is Child Friendship. 

    If you see an adult man or woman who is having exclusive, or almost exclusive and exhaustive efforts for one particular sex or age group, your antennas should be rising.

    We fail to look for the grooming process, the charismatic and excited engagement with children as well as seeing the changes in the child.

    Mostly, I thought you needed child’s behavior to be suspicious, but the authorities can work this backwards as well, by being alerted to odd behaviors in adults.

    What I also came to find out is that my mother’s friends were married to pedophiles as well.  It truly does seem that birds of a feather flock together.  

    Here is another thing, I did not hear of other pedophiles, for I was the one of the ones they were talking about.  I was clueless to the signs for I was the sign. 

    I was the walking billboard.  I had all the earmarks needed to show what a child who has been abused looks like, acts like and is.

    There seems to be two drastically different behaviors exhibited; one that you are a people pleaser, a self less person, you are the co-dependents dream come true…you can’t make a decision unless others agree, you live for them or for approval outside you never have an opinion outside of the group. I have said, “I was a whore for love and peace…” their love and their peace, no matter the cost to my self.

    And the other is promiscuous behavior.  Willing to be self less as well, but with your body in sexual ways.  Having zero boundaries or respect for your own self.  Casual sex…sex without loving committed friendship and honor.

    I was a member of the FALC, I was born into the religion, my mother is a devote member and I presumed since my father wasn’t one (unless he needed to get blessed and get the the anger to dialed back..), we were an oddity.  Our family was a rare one within the church.

    However, I am now finding out even if our bloodlines and lineage is has no history within the FALC, we were not the exception as much as the rule.

    I suppose there are a few folks in there, who have never heard of any abuse within, but in my experience, I haven’t met one yet. Although, to be fair, I haven’t talked to them all, but the lineage of abuse is appalling.

    And here is what I know for sure. The only way this can continue is with the silence of many. 

    The greatest threat to pedophiles is for our voices to unite, for our stories to join together to form piles of evidence that will equal the volumes of wounded children.

    If you can’t speak from personal experience, you can speak of what you heard about someone.

    In my case, the detective couldn’t believe the amount of people who knew. Yet only one had the courage to speak. And that one voice alerted us all to a pedophile in our midst.

    I am asking for you to reveal suspicious behavior…not just a blow by blow account.  I am asking you to stop playing in the rumor mill, but be the one to take the information out and bring it to the authorities.

    Here is the addresses where your letters can be written for people in the Copper Country.  You will notice the fact that I am skipping the State Police, for the detective there is a member of the FALC.  It is my personal opinion and choice to leave it out.  I also left off the Keweenaw County Sheriff for he too is a member of the FALC.

    Houghton County Prosecutor

    Michael Makinen – Phone # 906-482-3211

    401 East Houghton Ave.

    Houghton, MI 49931

     

    Houghton County Sheriff  Brian McLean   

    Detective Tom Rosemurgy – Phone # 906-482-0055 (for both)

    403 East Houghton Ave.

    Houghton, MI 49931

     

    FBI – Detroit Field Office

    Phone # 313-965-2323

    477 Michigan Ave. 26th Floor

    Detroit MI, 48226

     

    It is my hope, that our generation will be the one that speaks out and breaks the chain.  It is beyond what the mind can hold, that a religion is shielding criminal sexual abuse.  And it will not stop due to our “not” talking out about it.  Believe me, I only wished it was just my family, that we were the exception not the rule, but also believe me people, it is running unchecked into this generation of little ones…they are us, they are taking the first footsteps in abuse, and we are the adults now to end it.

    I have heard from families who were told, “not to go near my house/father”….that was they way they dealt, just stay away. 

    Well, them staying away, the good people staying away, gave my father unlimited and unfettered access to all the little girls.  Adults too afraid to speak up to afraid to do anything left the little girls to deal with my father…and they did, they gave their little spirits and souls to a man who ate them up. 

    No adult took what they knew to the authorities.

    Many want to just blame my father, but if you knew, I blame you too.

     

     

     

  • We go to the outside.

    On facebook a blog was shared, and I went and had a look.  http://extoots.blogspot.com/  I browsed a few posts and came upon an article that was referred to on a posted dated, April 30th. 

    http://www.hs.fi/english/article/Shedding+light+on+child+abuse+among+the+Laestadians/1135265532861

    While reading that article, it seems it matters not whether you are in Finland or in the USA, if you are asking for abuse to be recognized within the church, you will be bypassed.

    This article has tons of great information and insight, however this is one section that caught my eye.

    Have the leaders put pressure on you?
          “I wouldn’t say that my treatment involved pressure, because putting pressure is something that is active. But I have felt that I have been bypassed.”

    Boy do I get that.  They don’t pressure you or threaten; they simply bypass what you are saying. There is literally NO reaction or action taken when you bring up sexual abuse in the church.

    Anyone that is pondering, how in the hell, sexual abuse and pedophiles has been able to play within the confines of this religion, need to read this article. 

    However, by her speaking out and others like her we can air out this issue, bring light and awareness, open the closet and see what is hanging there.

    This inspires me and makes me feel that my treatment wasn’t personal, it is simply the way it has been dealt for over a 100 years. But due to the fact that she has written an article in their newspaper, perhaps we too can do the same.

    When bypassed inside the religion, we go to the outside.

     

     

     

  • Stories of Fiction.

    What they don’t tell you is that while you are finding out who you are, you will isolate your self from your old life; you will become a stranger there, while becoming your own best friend.

    My five sisters are gathering together this week, and not a whisper to invite me, I am too odd, and too weird, too nuts or insane, a myriad of labels, but a sister to be included I am not.

    There is a part of me that grieves for the loss of being included and my little girl self feels sooo misunderstood and so misclassified.

    It seems my truth seeking spun me into this evil creature that they don’t want no part of.

    The deeper I delved, the more I explored, the more distance I put between us all, my healing keeps pushing me further away.

    It is like I am set out to sea while they are on the beach having a party.

    I know intellectually, that my spirit and soul would have no peace with them, that I have lived too deep now to go back to be a surface dweller…yet I grieve.

    I grieve for what is, for what was.

    I feel being isolated for all the wrong reasons or so it seems.

    I didn’t sexually abuse them…my father did; yet I am out for talking about it.

    I didn’t neglect them like my mother did; yet I am out for pointing it out.

    It is odd for my little girl to reconcile to make a nice neat understandable folder to put them all in.

    The girls I used to take care of, no longer care for me.

    By doing what is right I am wronged.

    I get it and I don’t.

    It amazes me that they can’t see the bad in my father and then see only bad in me.

    My son, when he was a baby, always said when he did something I thought was wrong…”what did my do?”  With a face of innocence…he wondered.

    And that is what rings hollow through me, “What did my do?”  What hurts the most is that I did nothing wrong. 

    All I did was walk hand in hand with the wounded girls, the girls who were all hurt by him, I never left my line…I never wavered, never veered off course, although there are times like these I wobbled.

    I wobble, shed a few tears, and feel the separation and the unjustness of it all, but I forge ahead.

     

    I forge ahead with the truth and bear the consequences.

    They say, “what doesn’t break you makes you stronger.”

    I am being forged in grief it seems at times.

    How can my mind comprehend me being worse then they who hurt them, again, what did my do?

    It seems they have their story of me and a story of my father, both are stories of fiction…

     

     

  • A dream for me.

    Some days are filled with contrasts that keep you from mulling anything, you go from event to situation to more incoming information, past, present and future…

    This ride at times seems to be moving at super fast speeds, going so quick it is hard to process one thing before the next hits. That was yesterday.

    I had a mission to talk to the Detective to help get a ball rolling, but he will not play catch with me.  I sit, holding my ball…while life seems to be passing so quickly.  Another week has gone by and he appears too busy to return my call.

    To him I may be more work or I am not as important as what he has going on…however he knows not what I know.  I feel myself bumping into a silent wall of rebuff.

    The information grows like a weed out of control and I am losing my faith or trust that even when alerted he will be unable to pull or eradicate this weed that is poisoning the innocent…it seems that the garden is getting overrun while no one is looking.

    I have to have faith that it is all perfectly perfect, that it is going at the pace it should, even if not my speed.

    While I can’t gain his attention, I seem to forever bump into people who I feel are feeding the weed.  It seems so exasperating, like a poor cosmic joke, to see them everywhere and the Detective is nowhere to be found.

    Oh and the normalcy is worn like a costume.

    Letting all that go, I attended a speech given by the Author of the book, The Glass Castle, Jeanette Walls.  She lived her first 17 years in abject poverty, and went on to become a journalist living on Park Avenue in New York City, while her parents remained homeless.

    She spoke to the freshman class at Michigan Tech, and a few of us from off the street, eager to hear her speak.

    Her rough life taught her many lessons you can’t learn on easy street, and in writing it forced her to be with the reality of her life.  She learned about her self and respected herself more for telling her truth, than when she was hiding it from people around her.

    What I found that was different between us, is that as a child she could not hide her ‘shameful’ life situation.  In her town everyone knew they were the poorest family, her clothes and body odor too obvious to hide, and so she wore her label everywhere and was treated appallingly in high school.

    Her very dysfunctional poor lifestyle was hard to not see. 

    And in my case, my outward appearance wasn’t too bad, poor but we did have running water and flushing toilets, although no shower until I was in middle school…just a sauna lit twice a week.  And there was a dirt-poor girl who lived less than a mile from us, who was poorer.  A two room shack more or less…

    Anyway, Jeanette could not hide what shamed her, and I didn’t know the shame that followed me where every I went, I was ‘HIS daughter’ A story was spoken when I left the room or before I arrived, unbeknownst to me.

    I have often wondered what my childhood would have been like had I known that my father was a pedophile, how would I have walked into places and out of them, knowing who I truly was?

    I know that I was always treated like the daughter of a pedophile, yet I was spared because I didn’t know.  I felt I was just a girl from a poor large apostolic family.  I didn’t know that underneath me was incest, abuse…

    I walked with confidence and not with mortifying shame.

    The mortifying shame came when I was 46.  And then I knew what the people of the church knew and yet not one approached me even then.  But, then they started to overtly treat me like a pariah.

    It seemed odd to me that once my truth was out they then began to treat me differently.  It still puzzles me…we all know the truth and now they keep me at arms length, they turned down isles to escape me…

    The only thing changed is I openly walked my truth…and they now did not know what to do or how to talk to me.

    Isn’t it interesting that it was easier to be with me when I was not walking my truth, than it was for them when I was?

    Just yesterday it came to me that it is much easier to be with people who are walking step by step with their truth, than to be with folks who want to tuck a huge part of their lives under a rug.  I can’t be with a half person.

    So, Jeanette and I are the same, we both had rough childhoods, the difference is she knew it and I did not.

    Her father carried a dream of one day building them a glass castle, and she believed in his dream.

    My father never had a dream for me.

     

     

  • Believe Them

    The Unhealthy Truth, by Robyn O’Brien and Rachel Kranz was discussed on Sirius Radio yesterday.  I have not read the book, but was intrigued by what she was saying.

    They were discussing the way our food here in the United States is compared to the way it is in countries with socialized health care, and it was shocking to hear.

    That in London, for instance, all the food is organic unless otherwise stated, there is a small section of foods that have things in them that are not good for the body.  In the USA, we have a small organic section and the rest has things in it that isn’t good for us….

    What she said, is that the Government regulator in England are very concerned about what their people are eating, for they are the ones paying for their health care.  In the USA, they are not paying for our health care so if we get diseases… it matters less or let’s say not at all.  And the health care business is Big Business.

    It was just interesting for me to hear the way the food is looked at by who is paying the medical bills.

    We are being manipulated and don’t even know it.

    I guess we all have to see to whose benefit is it to eat this way?

    It is like we are all being fed poorly so that at some point we will be funneled down into the system where we will pay them for the years of eating this way…they have us eating out of their hands.

    It seems odd that the poor food system is needed in order for the Medical Business to thrive, and we need to fail in order for them to succeed. 

    The insanity of this boggles the mind, that how in the world did our food source get so tainted without us moving a muscle, we allowed them to come in and flip it all upside down and backwards so we are eating poison, pretty much, in order for them to get a bad body to work on and charge insurance companies etc.

    Like cows to slaughter…except our worth is all the pills and surgeries it will take to keep us alive…when the food source is the one who is killing us.

    This insane cycle is the same kind that is in my old religion, they needed us to be worthless in order for them to come in and make us worthwhile. They lined the shelves with sins and said if I did them, then I would need their antidote, ‘the forgiveness of sins’…why not just not have sins.

    Why not just not have bad food?

    We buy into these systems. We believe in the sins, so we then need to believe in the words about forgiving them, to erase them.

    They put bad foods on the shelf, so that the medical care can fix us.

     Who would be hurt if we had only good food to eat?

    Who would be hurt if there were no such thing as sin?

    It gets you to wondering, how many other things we are doing wrong just so that the end game benefits someone? 

    What other unhealthy truths are out there?

    Who benefits from your actions and the way you believe?

    How much control do you have over your life?

    Isn't it an oxymoron, "Unhealthy Truths"?  Some truths will show you the insane sane system, and how unhealthy it is to believe them.