Even When Fear Stalks You.

Don’t LABEL yourself. Living up to that label can bleed you dry.

Don’t ALLOW yourself to be packaged and sold into the views this world has of you. BE YOU. That’s what you were born to do.





Without fear. And even when fear STALKS YOU,

Fight anyways.

Because the fear needs to know, you’ve got this beat.



The Advocate.

This post is written by Therese J. Borchard, through her website Beyond Blue. It was written for anyone who suffers from addiction, who may not feel accepted by God, because of that. It is gentle, beautiful and full of grace. I wanted to share it, because well, if I needed to hear this, someone else out there does too. God bless each and everyone of you, and know, you are not alone. I am not alone, and we’re all in this war together..this war of life.

Dear God,
In John’s Gospel, Jesus says this to your disciples:

If you love me, you will keep my commandments. And I will ask the Father, and he will give you another Advocate to be with you always, the Spirit of truth, whom the world cannot accept, because it neither sees nor knows him. But you know him, because he remains with you, and will be in you. I will not leave you orphans. I will come to you (John 14:15-18).

I have always found great comfort in your promise of the Advocate, the Holy Spirit, to remain with us until the end of our days. And I’m beginning to recognize Her in my friendships that feed and sustain my spirit.
I want to keep your commandments, God. Really, I do. So why do I keep on messing up? Why, despite my efforts to lead a healthy lifestyle do I periodically grab for any one of my addictions, and clutch it with a death grip, believing that it alone holds the key to my sanity and peace of mind.
Lord, you know how many times I have been there—grabbing for the thing, giving it up, grabbing it again, letting it go, then taking it back. When I let it go, I feel that brief sense of relief—that I am okay on my own—that I don’t need it to be me. But then the panic, the withdrawal, sets in, and with it the false belief that I will never be whole without it.
I’m weary of the cat and mouse game. I want to be free. Of all my addictions. For good.
I need your Advocate, and I know where to find Her.
She is there, where two or three are gathered in Your name (Matt 18:20). Or, as Martin Buber put it, She is there “when two people relate to each other authentically and humanly.” She is that “electricity that surges between them.”
I felt the peace of Your advocate yesterday, when I had lunch with a good friend who shares the same struggle of my addiction. At one point, as I held her hand, I started to cry, explaining the misguided thoughts going through my brain.
She didn’t judge.
She just squeezed my hand harder. And said, “Therese, it’s not about the object. It never is about the object. It’s about the hole in the soul. Grow the tree—your sense of self, your spirit—and, trust me, the craving will wither. Later, she wrote me an e-mail that ended with this:

Remember, it’s about growing a self. And you do that by discovering what you need, getting those needs met in a way that makes you like yourself, makes intimacy possible with people you trust and love. Bottom line, you are safe, sane, loved, cherished, smart. You just have some work to do. Like everyone else.

As I looked into her beautiful face, and felt the sincerity of her compassion, I knew I was in the presence of your Advocate, God. Just like I have in so many support-group meetings, where I entered the room dying to drink and left an hour later free of craving. Because I filled up my spirit in those rooms.
Why do I always forget that recovery isn’t just about not drinking, or not smoking, or not bingeing, or not taking my own life? It’s about each and every one of those 12 spiritual steps—about admitting the powerlessness of my obsessive-compulsive thoughts and behaviors, about spending time with the Word of God in scripture and prayer, about helping others who struggle to break free of their addictions, and about finding the self-worth in myself, and believing that I am just fine without the object I think I need.
Moreover, you don’t call yourself “sober” when you’ve managed to walk away from the bottle. You’re sober when you no longer fantasize about what a martini would feel like going down. You’re not sober until you’re in the presence of the Advocate, the voices of truth, just as Jesus explain in the Gospel of John. Until that Spirit of truth remains in you even after your lunch is over, and your support group meeting is over. When you She is in you and guiding you always toward health.
The Advocate is first found in communion, in people coming together to seek the Truth. Because just as Jesus said, the world can’t see or know Her. No way. Not in this culture of addiction.
The Advocate reveals herself only to those open hearts wanting to hear the Truth.
I want the Truth, God.

Read more: http://blog.beliefnet.com/beyondblue/2008/04/dear-god-addiction-and-your-ad.html#ixzz1l3oMbMmm


I am doing this for my benefit.

I am constantly beating myself up for not being ‘perfect’.

The fact that I didn’t work out that day, what I weighed at the dr.’s office, how I forgot to give the kids their vitamins before they went to school. How the kale I had good intentions for but got all slimy forgotten in the back of the veggie drawer in the fridge. How I’ve spent James’ mid life crisis sports car money on eye cream and ‘youth’ serums.

So here’s a picture I will make full size for my bathroom. Except looking at it makes me think that this girl has some serious muscle tone I am lacking. But still- it’s a good message.

And when you’ve got five minutes- watch this video. For the sake of yourself, your daughter’s and granddaughter’s- we need to remember there’s so much out there than…

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The Kind Of Shoes You Burn.

We had been sitting there, smoking cigarettes. I guess, trying to ease into the thought, that we were going to go back out there again. Catching our bearings in some sort of way. Bracing ourselves. Even if we didn’t want to admit it to each other.

“Can I come with you? I’ve never seen anything like this before. I wanna be there.” Looking over at the little bird standing next to me. Let out a sigh that’s  tarnished with judgement and shake my head. Her curls, well not so much curls, more like frizzy waves of mousey blond hair,  are pulled back in a tight ponytail and her t-shirt is ridiculously oversized. She’s waiting for my answer, looking at me with this half-smile.

” Are you serious?” What kind of person asks to tag along in a robbery. The same kind of person who slits their wrists and decides to slap you in the face, that’s who. I’ve never really liked her, but I’m immediately aware of the hypocrisy held in that thought, and shoot my self down with a kind of personal disgust. ” Yeah, I guess, if you want to.” The whole thing is a sick mess anyways.

When I’m walking down the street a short time later, this disturbing sense will come over me, and I’ll feel like we’re in some kind of sick “show and tell” time. Like you used to have in school, except this isn’t in school. It’s the middle of the night, and you’re  scouring the streets looking for someone to rob. It’s a messed up feeling, walking around in the dark, waiting to cross paths with someone who feels “right” to rob. How does a person pick? Just typing out that question makes my stomach turn, at the same time,  I can’t help but remember what it felt like. It’s a heavy feeling. It’s lonely. Cold and dark. It also, awakens an animal that lives inside you. One that you didn’t even know existed, until you travelled in those shoes. The kind of shoes you burn, when you swear to walk a cleaner road. And so, the question had to be asked, how does one pick?

For me, it was always a man. Always.

It made it easier if he hit on me. If he approached me, in a sexual gesture, it was probably going to happen. Whisky breath and hands. And part of me, could justify it. That was my little green light. This quiet rage would push itself through my chest, and that was it. It was just, easier that way. At least that’s how had been up until now. Tonight, I wouldn’t do the picking. She, would pick. And, the moment  she runs across the street, taking deep strides to catch up behind him, and reaching down into her pants to pull out that frightening silver hatchet, I’ll feel it deep in my gut. This cold ice brick of regret.

You know how people always say, ” When I woke up this morning, I would have never thought his was going to happen.”

Ya, no shit.

Red Vinyl.

Again, another old post to continuing getting all my new readers up to speed with the story! This entry is titled “Garbage and Hamburger Grease”. As I said before, I’m going to be putting up new Memoir posts on Saturdays from now on, so if you are waiting for a new one, it will come out then. Another huge thank you to all the amazing people who have taken the time to keep up with and read my work. God bless each and every one you!!

Garbage and Hamburger Grease.

The city has a sinister feel at night time. Out come the blinking lights and diner signs. The screeching and growling of buses, the bass of heavy hip hop reverberating through the air,escaping from the windows of nearby traffic. The cackling chatter of the public, mixed with gossip, ringing cell phones and drunk passersby. The homeless chants of sparing change. Downtown smells like exhaust fumes and vomit. Liquor and cigarette smoke. Garbage and hamburger grease. The occasional blast of pot smoke, and the aroma of peculating coffee squeezing through the cafe doors, as people bustle in and out in a rush.

As I’m walking, I’m relieved to have a few people at my side. Tyler and one of his boys, and of course, loyal as she was from the get go,She.

She is walking next to me, talking through her constant smile. Story after story. She unknowingly skips when she walks, not a full blown skip, but almost this youthful hyper glide. You imagine her feet to barely touch the spit covered sidewalk, and she reminds you of a ten year old girl who’s just come back from a field trip. It’s almost refreshing, until you remember what’s really happening. You remember, you have no bed to sleep in tonight, or enough money in your pockets for a hotel room. That you’ve left your home, as much as it was evil, and these streets are now your play/battle ground. The boys walking behind you, whispering in fast hushed tones, hustle, hustle hustle.

Red meets up with us a few minutes later, she’s come out to slum it. A break from her sheltered suburban life. I’m deeply aggravated with that, and only shake my head at her for even being here. Fine, tag along sweetheart.

I’ve been disconnected all day, and insultingly quiet. Finding relief in She’s banter. I’m totally aware that something messed up is going to go down tonight, and so are the boys. We’re all thinking, planning and processing. Often, taking a second, to look up at each other and give the stare of settled awareness. The unspoken, yep…this is it. You ready? look. Tyler and I did this all the time, barely ever really needing to ask or explain anything to each other. We had that weird twin thing, reading each others mannerisms and facial expressions. Two peas in a pod. Two sardines in a stinking can. Two master manipulators praying on She’s ignorance and trust. We should have been ashamed of ourselves, we should have made her go home. Instead we all decided to hit an all night diner and do a dine and dash. We planned to have a feast of our favorite meals and figure out the rest later. I had only done one other dine and dash in my life, but at this point who gave a shit. The diner looks like a  1950’s hamburger joint and is open twenty-four hours. It’s packed with late night bar hoppers and a mirage of other downtown hanger outs. The booth we sit in is cushioned with red vinyl and the table looks like something right out of Leave it to Beaver. Music plays loudly in the background as She looks over the menu like a kid in Disneyland. Ordering Milkshakes and desserts. I opt for a coffee and  a light dinner, my stomach isn’t working with me tonight. All I can think about is, what comes next. After we bail on our bill, and the night turns to the early hours of the morning. I think about hours earlier, walking away from the Y for the last time. How the director told me, if I left with Tyler, I wouldn’t be aloud to return, under no circumstances. I tell her, it’s my only option, and she turns her back to me. I’m swirling my spoon in the coffee and staring into the creamy hot liquid. I hate myself. The others at our table, gorging themselves, laughing and acting like a bunch of dumb kids at dinner for a birthday party. Except Tyler. He’s staring at me from across the table. Nudging my foot with his. Watching me stare off into oblivion. He gives me the come sit next to me look, and I sigh, knowing some kinda filthy scheme is about to drop from his lips. He puts his arm around me, leans his forehead on mine, and out it comes. The black, dripping tar hanging from his mouth. The sentence that catapults the disturbing play of my immediate life…

Hey babe..

I stop breathing.

Have you ever jacked someone?

I choke on it, closing my eyes, feeling the warmth of his forehead on mine.


Thirty minutes.

To read the post that follows this one, simply click the link as follows~ This next entry is pretty intense. It was hard for me to write because it was the first time I had committed a robbery…I’m so blessed to have made it through, and to be given the opportunity to change, to grow, and to live. Thank you God, for your forgiveness and grace. http://thisbeatingheart.com/2011/11/21/imminent-madness/