Abuse

darnold1975

Dear Abuser: 

I am the revolution you never expected.

Who am I?

I’ll tell you who I am.

I am the light you tried to strangle, the light you tried to stifle in your chokehold.

But my light bled all over the pages of your book, your preconceived narratives, your filthy words and your attempts to bring terror back into the blank space of my eyes.

Who am I?

I’ll tell you who I am.

I birthed revolution in my bones like the many women that came before me.

I ignited flames beneath my skin, using the fiery spirits of women who walked beside me

as matches; we breathed fire into each other’s hearts until the world could see us and from the ashes we were reborn.

Who am I?

I’ll tell you who I am.

I am the fear in your hatred, the pain that you tried to use to violate my sacred spaces, rip me apart until I was nothing,

but I knew I would always be something, somebody, and now I am.

I am layers and layers of the love and power that act as your kryptonite,

and with the words and actions of all those who rose with me, I’ll build an impenetrable wall.

Who am I?

I am the thing that nightmarish people have nightmares about,

wake up sweating about, thinking about —

their furrowed brows tense with self-doubt —

wondering if I and the other warriors I march with could ever come back to life.

Who am I?

I am the restless rebel you tried to bury,

the one you tried to pull out by the root and eradicate when she began to grow from the seed.

Who am I?

I’ll tell you who I am.

I am the girl you left for dead thinking she’d always fall and never rise again.

I am the girl you cut with your razor blade wrath, the girl you thought would never fight back.

I am the girl you underestimated, the woman you tormented, the child whose shackles you tightened.

Who am I?

I think you already know –

I think you understand.

I am the prisoner you tried to cage, the little girl you made afraid –

I am the woman who never gave up, the one who exposed your charade —

Who am I?

I am everything and anything that you will stand againstto try to regain control.

For every source of darkness, there is a bleeding soul,

one that shines so brightly that the entire war zone becomes illuminated.

I am the truth, your karma, the revolt —

I am the resistance, the pieces you tried to keep shattered, coming back together again.

I emerge quietly, but I resound loudly —reverberate through your skin.

My power was never yours, and it was never yours to take.

Who am I?

I am the second coming,

of everything and everyone 

you tried to break.

–Shahida Arabi

#Thispuzzledlife

darnold1975

Domestic Violence: Why Didn’t They Just Leave?

“Trauma Bonding is like being a hostage who has developed an irrational affection for your captor. They can abuse you, torture you, even threaten to kill you, and you’ll remain inexplicably and disturbingly loyal.”

– Ann Clendening.

I posted this today to help give you a voice to your own abuser/abusers. I have been in therapy for many years, and sometimes, I even doubt these words. The problem is that we were so indoctrinated with their beliefs, comments, gas lighting, manipulation, and co-dependency that we formed a something called “trauma bonding.”

Trauma Bonding is an unhealthy emotional attachment that develops between a victim and their abuser. It is a complex issue that occurs in different abusive situations that include physical, sexual, and emotional abuse. But it’s also important to note that not everyone who goes through abuse forms a trauma bond. However, some people may be more prone to forming a trauma bond due to the early experiences as a form of repetition compulsion https://www.attachement project.com, 2025). This can happen in domestic abuse, child abuse, elder abuse, exploitative employment, kidnapping or hostage-taking, human trafficking, and religious extremism or cults (https://medical newstoday.com, 2023).

Characteristics of Trauma Bonding:

·        Intermittent Reinforcement: The abuser cycles between periods of abuse and kindness creating a sense of hope and dependence in the victim. Victims of abuse may be waiting for that next “feel-good moment” in the relationship that also keeps them trapped in a cycle of abuse and relief (https://www.domesticshelters.org, 2021).

v  This is also how many addictions keep you stuck. If everything were bad all of the time, you would grow tired and leave. But the intermittent reinforcement is how they maintain control.

·        Isolation: The abuser often isolates the victim from their support system, making them more vulnerable and reliant on the abuser ((https://medical newstoday.com, 2023).

v  I was not completely isolated physically from my support systems. But emotionally I was very isolated. He constantly told me that my friends and family didn’t have my best interest at hand. He would make up lies about things they said and assassinate their character behind their backs.

·        Fear and Insecurity: The victim experiences constant fear and insecurity, leading them to believe that they cannot escape the abusive situation (https://www.savantcare.com,2023).

v  The constant fear and insecurity that I experienced was, in fact, my prison cell. And I was afraid to leave even when the door was wide open.

·        Justification: The victim may rationalize the abuser’s actions or blame themselves for the abuse (https://thriveworks.com, 2024).

v  I was conditioned to believe that everything I did that made him angry was my fault. And it wasn’t. Now, I can see that his actions were because of his behavior, not mine.

·        Emotional Manipulation: The abuser uses emotional manipulation to control the victim’s thoughts, feelings, and behaviors (https://wondermind.com, 2023).

v  This right here was the #1 key factor for why I wouldn’t leave. He even told me, “No other man would ever put up with the things that I have to deal with in you. All of the good things about you, which aren’t many, are because of me. You are useless without me. I have given you everything you wanted. And disobeying me is the thanks that I get? Why do you need anti-depressants when there is no reason that you should be depressed.

Consequences of Trauma Bonding:

·        Difficulty leaving the abusive relationship.

·        Feelings of guilt, shame, and self-blame.

·        Low self-esteem and trust issues.

·        Mental health problems, such as depression, anxiety, and PTSD (https://www.savantcare.com,2023).

Trauma bonding kept me trapped in an abusive situation. People have said, “Why didn’t you just leave?” The problem lies in the way they you manipulate you into believing that everything bad that happens, no matter how minor, is the victim’s fault. And day after day, their hold strengths without you even realizing it. And in my case, I felt as though I was responsible for their thoughts and feelings. I constantly strived to be “good enough” or “well deserving enough” to see the person that he told and showed me he could be when we met. And quite frankly, it was always just a game. Their abusive self is “the real them.” Believe your instincts and the colors in which they present themselves. For that is who they truly are.

If you have read through this and have never been in a situation where everything you do is being controlled, consider yourself lucky. But don’t you dare sit there and say, “It was their own fault that they didn’t leave.” That is one of the most callous things that you can say to someone who is currently trying to survive and those that have survived finally leaving that situation no matter how long it took.

You have absolutely no right to tell me or anyone else how we should feel simply because you have not experienced it. I stayed much longer than I should’ve. And there are times when I still beat myself up for it. Now though, I give myself some grace for not knowing how to leave or recognizing what was going on in plain sight. It’s not just one event that causes this. It’s something that happens every single day methodically planned and executed by the warden in the relationship.

Once you leave, I highly recommend getting into therapy. Just because you think that no damage has occurred, doesn’t mean that it hasn’t happened. Even now, 19 years later since I left him, I have phobias, anxiety, depression, difficulty concentrating, and difficulty making decisions. He has left a mark that will last a lifetime. And some of the things that he did I’ll never recover from. He once told me, “You’ll never be without me no matter what you do!” And the truth is that, while he still doesn’t have total control over me, I still allow parts of him to live rent free in my head.

The next post will be something that represents those of us who have managed to leave and have an understanding through therapy how and where to put the responsibility where it truly belongs, on them.

To those who are still in these types of relationships, I see you even when you don’t openly identify yourself. To those who have left and still live in fear, I see you and you’re not alone. To those of us who continue to strive to change those hard-core beliefs that were instilled by way of threats, intimidation, and violence, I see you as well. None of you are alone. And not all relationships are like this. 

Find a therapist that you trust and open your soul to them. Coach has been a lifeline of compassion and understanding for me that I’ve rarely experienced. And she has never made fun of or questioned why I didn’t leave. Unconditional support and her teachings have made life possible for me many lonely nights. I will probably always struggle with some things and that’s ok. This process is certainly a marathon instead of a sprint. And there is no time limit for healing. The whole point is to continue showing up and moving forward in whatever way that might take shape. You are not on an island like you think. There are millions of us both male and female who struggle with the effects and consequences of domestic violence and abuse.

You are loved. You are wanted. And you deserve the good things that life has to offer. Thanks for reading! And I hope you look for the next blog in a couple of days that I post that will help you begin to find your voice. The power to heal is now and ours.

Affirmation: My story has power and inspiration through it.

***Don’t forget to watch the video!***

 #Thispuzzledlife

darnold1975

Domestic Violence And Animal Cruelty

“The connection between domestic violence and animal cruelty is so significant that it is commonly referred to simply as “the Link.” Perpetrators of domestic violence often threaten harm or bring actual harm to their victims’ pets in order to control them, keep victims from leaving, or to punish them for actually leaving or attempting to leave.”

-ASPCA.org

Light the charcoal. Sprinkle the sage. Negative energy go away. Today, I want to discuss domestic violence and pets. I won’t pretend that this topic is going to be easy to digest. However, it’s one that needs to be brought into the light.

Many of us sometimes love our animals more than people. I know, speaking only for myself, that my animals have always been a source of comfort, unconditional love, and understanding that many people can’t fully embody. They have never spoken a word as their compassion is in their eyes. And all they ask for is to be fed and also loved in return. That is, it. Nothing more. Nothing less.

My personal experience with domestic violence is knowing that absolutely nothing is off limits. And it is their cruelty that can always get worse. Do some abusers change? Yes. But if they are not willing to do self-reflection and to look at their own traumas and behaviors, then they will not change. And most blame their actions on the victim.

Please Read The Following:

     Up to 75% of women entering DV shelters report that their abuser threatened, harmed, or killed their pets in the presence of children (safehouse.org, 2024).

     Up to 65% of domestic violence victims and 48% of battered women remain in abusive homes out of fear for their pets.

     Only around 5% of U.S. shelters have any kind of housing for pets of domestic violence victims (https://www.drmartybecker.com, 2017).

Why Do Abuser Use Pets To Terrorize Their Human Partners?

·        Creating fear: Abusers may torture or kill a pet to demonstrate what they are capable of doing to their human victim or their children.

v  There were many times when I saw and heard my ex-husband’s violence against my animals. He would muzzle my outside dogs all night long most of the time. And he would beat my cats with a belt if they meowed at night. He also scared my cats so much with a broom that they began to have a very strong fear reaction for many years following me leaving him.

·        Leverage to prevent escape: Many women fear for their pet’s safety is the primary reason they delay leaving an abusive relationship.

v  One of his favorite things to say was, “One day you’re going to look up and all of your animals will be gone. You just might come home one day, and they will have vanished.”

·        Punishment and retaliation: Abusers may harm a pet as punishment for a perceived transgression or in retaliation for a partner trying to leave.

v  After 13 years of being in a domestic violence situation, and over a year of planning my departure, I left him hoping things would cool down enough to go back and get my animals as a way of saying, “I’m done.” Two weeks later, I went back to retrieve my animals, and most had been starved. There was no water. A few of the ones remaining had been eaten by other animals or were mysteriously cut in half. On that day, I was able to get out two cats and my African Grey parrot. Only three of the many that I owned. My cats were starving and had old, moldy food. My bird had moldy food and dirty water. My outside cats were nowhere to be found. And my dogs had been shot which was witnessed by a neighbor. And the sights and smells can never be undone.

·        Forcing participation: Some women survivors tell about how they were forced to participate in illegal acts under threat of harm to their pets.

v  Luckily, I was never forced to do this. Because they would’ve had to do something for me. Because I don’t have the capability to hurt my pets.

“Seeing her hurt was more than I could bear. 

I couldn’t and wouldn’t leave my pets.”

-Sarah, DV Victim

Women have reported:

“He kicked the dog repeatedly until it was howling in pain.”

“He put his hand into the goldfish bowl in front of my five-year-old daughter and squashed the goldfish, for no apparent reason.”

“I can remember an instance when he picked the cat up and with full force drop-kicked it from the back door. He did it because he saw the cat on the workshop. I thought the cat might die.”

“He would refuse to allow us to feed the dog-saying he was ugly.” (https://pmc.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov, 2008).

Resources for victims who want to leave with their pets:

·        National Domestic Violence Hotline 1-800-799-SAFE (7233).

·        The Purple Leash Project

o   Our goal: To see 25% of domestic violence shelters become pet-friendly by 2025.

·        Safe Havens for Pets

o   For pets are sheltering services that help individuals who are experiencing domestic violence or homelessness with a companion animal (https://www.safehavensforpets.org, 2023).

·        RedRover Relief

o   Mission is to “bring animals out of crisis and strengthen the bond between people and animals through emergency sheltering, disaster-relief services, financial assistance, and education.

·        URINYC PALS (New York City)

·        Paws for Safety (Rockland County, New York)

·        Praline’s Backyard (Snellville, Georgia)

·        Ahimsa House (Georgia)

·        Shelter our Pets (New Jersey)

·        Network for Pets of Domestic Violence Victims (www.npdvv.org).

·        This is a list of pet-friendly domestic violence shelters (https://saftprogram.org, 2025).

I completely and unapologetically understand the fear that abusers instill in victims about their victims and their pets. I encourage you to seek help by way of organizations that are listed here and the many others that I don’t have the space to acknowledge. Animal abuse is a crime in all 50 states. And  each state has anti-cruelty statutes that include felony-level provisions for acts of violence against animals. 

And they will “love bomb”  and abuse you until you concede. That is part of their “reign of terror.” They are master manipulators and will suck the soul from your mind and body. And then tell people that you enjoyed it. It is imperative for you and those you love, including your pets, to find a way out of that situation. I beg you to please continue searching for help in every way possible. Because they will do it again. And candy and flowers won’t make it better.

Thanks for reading even though difficult it may be. Please seek help for those you love even if that is for yourself. You and your pets are worth the love and compassion that is waiting for you all. Keep reading. Keep hope alive.

Affirmation: I forgive myself for believing all relationships are abusive and violent.

***Don’t forget to watch the video!***

#Thispuzzledlife











	




			
				


	
			
					
	

	

		

			 darnold1975 		


		
Types Of Domestic Violence: The Final Chapter
	


	

		

“Don’t play his game. Play yours.”





-Rachel Caine, Fall of Night (The Morgancille Campires, #41)





TECHNOLOGY-FACILITATED ABUSE





    

  • Monitoring text messages, phone records, social media activity, and internet search history.
    • 




  • Preventing or forbidding a person from owning or having access to a phone or computer.
    • 




  • Sending abusive messages through text, email, social media, or other online platforms.
    • 




  • Using technology to track a person’s movements without their permission.
    • 




  • Using technology to gather personal information about someone without their permission.
    • 




  • Accessing or ‘hacking’ a person’s online accounts without their permission.
    • 




  • Impersonating a person online.
    • 




  • Using technology to share personal and private images or videos without consent.
    • 






v  Luckily, social media and the internet were fairly new things at that time. However, once we separated, he was very threatened through email.














STALKING AND HARASSMENT





    

  • Following and watching someone, for example watching them from a parked car.
    • 






v  I was stalked constantly. And he even went as far as to sit outside my job for the entire shift to make sure I didn’t eat any food that he didn’t approve.





    

  • Using technology to monitor their movements; this is also called tech abuse.
    • 




  • Sending unwanted gifts to a person’s home or workplace.
    • 






v  This was done whenever the cycle rolled back around to “love bombing.” He always gave me gifts and the same speech. However, it would only take a couple of days until he was right back to the same thing starting with verbal and emotional abuse.





    

  • Repeatedly making unwanted contact through phone calls, text messages, emails, social media and other messaging or chat apps.
    • 




  • Turning up, uninvited, at the person’s home or workplace, or at social activities.
    • 






v  He would always justify his actions with some type of excuse for why he showed up. And he was always lying. He always had a more sinister reason.





    

  • Installing spyware on a person’s digital devices to get private information, or to secretly record or video them.
    • 






v  He and his brother went so far as to tap the phone lines at our house to monitor who I was having conversations with.





    

  • Using webcams and other forms of video surveillance without the person’s knowledge or consent.
    • 















REPRODUCTIVE ABUSE





    

  • Preventing a person from using birth control or forcing them to have unprotected sex.
    • 






v  This happened from the very beginning. I was lucky that I never got pregnant.


















Abusers will justify and create new ways of cruelty covered with beautiful paper and a beautiful bow. And to unsuspecting victims, they have no idea what kind of damage is done until many years down the road, if and when they get out and into therapy emphasising on  “deprogramming.” For years, I’ve questioned if what I experienced was true. And that’s the precipous of their game. They teach you how to doubt your own reality,





I left that horrible 14-year relationship, in 2006, battered and broken. Many of the wounds are still evident, and others are in various stages of healing. What I don’t need a degree to diagnose is how deep some of the wounds run. Being conditioned to be someone who you aren’t. And the constant walking on eggshells still wreaks havoc on my nervous system. And I still get overwhelmed  to the point of not being able to make everyday decisions that most take for granted.





What is unseen benefit? For a long time, I never knew the answer to that question. What I did learn was different aspects of human behavior and their “red flags.” Not just physical. But also verbal. I watch how they talk about their other friends and family. I watch non-verbal cues. I watch how they are on both good and bad days. I watch how they communicate. I watch how superficial they are and their intentions. I watch to see, in what ways, they poke fun at another person. Are they being silly or cruel? I watch to see if my needs are considered or is it just “lip service?” But above all, I watch for congruency. I watch behavior with a fine-toothed comb. And for the most part, if I sense that something is off, I’m out. Most of the time, I have to watch them for a little while before deciding about whether or not to end a relationship.





I now listen to my gut. Something that I rarely ever did because he made every decision. And I do mean every decision. My master’s degree never taught me to listen to my gut. Surviving cruelty did. I know what I see. I know what I experience. And your validation is not needed. Thanks for reading! And reach out for HOPE.





Affirmation: I deserve peace.





***Don’t forget to watch the video!***





#Thispuzzledlife



















	




			
				


	
			
					
	

	

		

			 darnold1975 		


		
No Kings 2.0
	


	

		

“There are no kings in America. Only gilded me we can topple again and again.”





-Aileen Cassinetto





Light the charcoal. Sprinkle the sage. Negative energy go away. Today, I want to talk to you about our country for a moment. I don’t usually write much about politics on my blog. Social media is quite different. However, we are currently experiencing unprecedented times. Which is causing so much collateral damage that it could take several presidents to undo what is being done if that is even possible.





When my boys come to visit we always talk about current things like school, everyday life, personal wants, “would you rather” and the current political environment. And to be honest, I never thought I would have to explain basic human rights and how those are egregiously being destroyed. And now the decisions of a lot of Americans have put in power a want to be dictator.





I wrote a blog this past month that recently posted about how good we have it in our country. And now I must retract that statement by tell you that the United States of America, the threat to democracy and the very essence of our lives are now being tailored for a fascist society. And the “American Spirit,” which is not a person, is being made a mockery of the founding fathers’ original intentions. Let me break it down.














Our Foundational Ideas





·        Liberty and Independence: The freedom to think, speak, and act as one chooses without infringing on the rights of others.





·        Self-government: The belief that citizens are the ultimate source of authority and have the right to participate in the political process.





·        Equality: The idea that all people are created equal and deserve fair treatment, respect, and dignity, with equal opportunities for success.





·        Individualism: The belief that individuals are in control of their own destinies and can achieve self-sufficiency and independence through their own initiative (https:study.com, 2025).





Aspirations of the American Dream





·        The promise of opportunity: Anyone can achieve success through sacrifice, risk-taking, and hard work.





·        Upward social mobility: The change for individuals to attain a better life than their parents.





·        A “democracy of goods”: The notion that everyone should have access to material comfort and goods, a vision popularized in the 20th century (https://www.wikipedia.org, 2025).














I now must again explain to my children how racism, at its core, is just wrong in every way. And how the example of the highest position, in our once revered democracy is being dismantled one freedom and one right at a time. And how if someone disagrees with someone’s way of life, you must not fear and/or hate them. I have instructed my children from day one that people and families are unique individually. And just because of their uniqueness, it doesn’t mean that they are wrong. I don’t care about your skin color, religious affiliation, political affiliation, sexual orientation, ethnic background, or gender identity. However, what I don’t like are bullies. And currently we have a bully in power.





I don’t hate no matter how far left or far right you are on the spectrum. But the idea of hating and inciting violence against someone because they are different is not ok. Do I like people like Charlie Kirk? Hell no. Do I think that he deserved to be murdered based on his views, regardless of whether I agreed with him or the fact that he was a racist and a homophobe, never. But when your whole premise of the stage that you voluntarily inject yourself onto is about treating those you disagree with by tearing them down, bad things are bound to happen. And when political views and votes are more important than lives of our citizens and our beautiful immigrants, our tears begin to fall.














When the president of the United States who has 34 felony convictions, and whose best friends were  the vilest child sex trafficker and rapists this country has ever seen, while also having the support of others, it must be discussed and stopped. Jeffery Epstein and Ghislane Maxwell were convicted of some of the most horrible crimes against children. And it has been confirmed that Donald Trump’s name, as well as many others, were also listed in the Epstein files.





As a parent and someone who was also preyed upon by those in power, the only logical decision of our government should be to release the unredacted files and have total transparency. This  shouldn’t be a tall order. I see a lot of people online who voted for Donald talking about how evil Jefferey Epstein was. And how pedophiles should be held accountable, unless you talk about the high probability that Donald Trump is also connected to said crimes.





I have never seen so many lies and an obvious cover up by the United States government in my life. I don’t care whose names, whether they be democrats, republicans, independents or royalty, are on the list. They should all be held accountable. And for some of us, whose perpetrators were never held accountable, this is a national symbol of that fight for justice. And just maybe the bad guys get caught in the end and have to pay for their actions that have ruined upwards of a thousand children’s lives.





When you are forced into something as horrific as sexual abuse, your life is forever changed. You will never view the world as “safe” again. You will never look at the average person the same again. And the most intimate part of a person’s life and body are forever damaged. The lies and manipulation that one has to possess to accomplish these acts are more than I can comprehend.














It is my hope and prayer that whoever has taken part in actions consistent with pedophilia, rape and/or the coverup of these crimes will see the day when they are forced to be accountable for everything that they have turned a “blind  eye” to. I shouldn’t have to explain why blatant actions have been and continue to be ignored. I shouldn’t have to explain how and why our, once thriving and beautifully diverse country has systematically been sent down the tubes. And is also being controlled by a Russian dictator who is training our orange, “want to be dictator” in the ways of murdering democracy.





My children shouldn’t have to witness and be explained the purpose of “Alligator Alcatraz.” And how funny it is to the hard core “Triple Trumpers” MAGA movement. The only thing consistent are lies, deceit and the many times of the crashing of Grindr by down low politicians. Who are angry because they are scared of authenticity. I shouldn’t have to explain why our country is ok with standing by someone like Benjamin Netanyahu and watching as the genocide in Gaza continues. I shouldn’t have to explain why Vladamir Putin is allowed to continue with the horrific attacks on the people of Ukraine. I shouldn’t have to explain why a dictator across the pond poisons those that don’t agree with them. But here we are.





What I do have to explain are the constant sacrifices of our military service members, who many have laid down their lives for generations, in an effort to make sure that we retain those inalienable rights of life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness. And how and why the Declaration of Independence and our Constitution was formed. Even though the president of our country clearly knows nothing about said rights which was caught on camera many times. Why “No Kings Day” protests are so important. And how our once love for the “freedom of speech” is being allowed to now be censored.














With tears in my eyes, again, I write this. And the grief of my soul as I watch the sometimes-comical players in this mockery of a democratic government, keeps me up at night. And a lot of times, I laugh to keep from crying. But the videos of children and adults being starved to death is not something that we are accustomed to witnessing. I don’t believe that those who take away the rights of others should have rights of their own.





The tensions in this country of the blatant abuse of power by turning the military on our citizens is uncalled for and scary. And the depths of these fears, I do my best to shield my children from seeing. But they are not dumb. They ask questions and I try to explain them on an age-appropriate level.





I enjoy watching and posting the satire of some of these views. But make no mistake, I will constantly keep at the forefront of our conversations about the importance of such figures in the civil rights movement,  Nazi Germany, the extermination of the Jews in concentration camps and the importance of the Stonewall riots. And now, I must explain to them modern day concentration camps disguised as being something “good” for the American public.





People, life as we knew it is disappearing at a rapid rate. It is time for us as Americans to grow a spine and make a peaceful stand against tyranny. And this means doing “your part” in whatever way that looks. No longer is it ok to remain “neutral” as “neutrality” is now a vote for tyranny. You can make a choice to be red, blue or any color of the rainbow. And remember that staying neutral is also a choice. Our country is a collection of diverse groups of people, races, ethnicities, and religions creating One America. The colors that matter the most are the ones who are red, white, and blue.





Thanks for reading! And I hope that you, not only as an American, will stand up for what’s right instead of staying silent to what’s wrong. To our allies across the pond and abroad, your voices also matter. And I personally thank each and every one of you for not allowing the Epstein scandal to  go unnoticed. Keep standing for freedom my fellow Americans as will I. And to our diligent immigrants, I will continue to do my part to fight for your right to live the American Dream that most of us took for granted. Thanks for your attention to this matter.





Affirmation: I embrace the opportunities and freedoms in the United States to build the life I deserve.





 ***Don’t forget to watch the video!***





#Thispuzzledlife
























	




			
				


	
			
					
	

	

		

			 darnold1975 		


		
Types Of Domestic Violence Part 3
	


	

		

“No amount of me trying to explain myself was doing any good. I didn’t even know what was going on inside of me, so how could I have explained it to them?





-Sierra D. Waters, Debbie





Light the charcoal. Sprinkle the sage. Negative energy go away. Today I want to continue talking to you about different types of domestic violence. Now let’s continue.





ELDER ABUSE





·        Physically or sexually assaulting the older person.





·        Physically restraining the older person, and limiting their ability to move around.





·        Preventing the older person from leaving the house or having contact with others.





·        Neglecting to provide basic necessities including food and medical care.





·        Using the older person’s money or property without their permission.





·        Forcing or pressuring the older person to alter documents such as a will.














LATERAL VIOLENCE





also known as ‘horizontal violence’ or ‘intra-racial conflict’. It is a mixture of historical, cultural and social dynamics that results in a range of behaviours. It is not just an individual’s behaviour. It can involve a group of people working together to attack or undermine individuals, families. Lateral violence doesn’t just refer to physical violence. It is also a form of coercive control and is related to social, emotional, psychological, economic and spiritual violence.





    

  • Malicious gossip
    • 




  • Group bullying
    • 




  • Social exclusion and isolation
    • 




  • Claims that the individual does not ‘belong’ in the group
    • 




  • Physical violence
    • 




  • Sexual violence.
    • 






*Each of these were done to be when both he and his brother worked as a team. They ruined my name to their friends and family. They told horrible lies about things that I had not done. They both knocked me down. Ripped my clothes. And started kicking me in both my stomach and my back. And if I was being too resistant to what my husband wanted, he would call his brother to threaten me in other ways by saying, “He would pay people to rape me until I couldn’t walk.” And when I went back to my husband and told him what was said he simply told me, “Well, I guess you shouldn’t have made him mad.” In essence, he called his brother and set the whole thing up.














LEGAL ABUSE





    

  • Preventing a person from getting legal help, including making false claims about their rights to legal protection.
    • 






·        Hiding or destroying legal documents and other evidence.





    

  • Making false reports.
    • 




  • Not complying with court orders.
    • 




  • Deliberately delaying legal procedures.
    • 




  • Deliberately running up large legal bills.
    • 






*He continually threatened me with legal action. I was told that no one would believe my claims about him because he hadn’t left one identifiable mark on me. And because I had been diagnosed with depression and prescribed medication that I was the one with the mental history. The fact still remains that he never had the balls to go to therapy about his own issues. Because all of his behavior was because of someone else. Had they gone, he would have a diagnosis of Narcissitic Personality Disorder and also labeled as a sociopath for his behavior that both he and his brother exhibited without a conscience. I think that’s why neither one of them ever got any help. Because they didn’t want a label that accurately described them.





FINANCIAL ABUSE





    

  • Forcing or pressuring a person to get a credit card or take out a loan against their wishes.
    • 




  • Using a person’s name to get a credit card or take out a loan, without their knowledge.
    • 






·        Controlling what a person can spend their money on.





v  He was so tight with money that you couldn’t slide a piece of notebook paper between the cheeks of his ass. I wasn’t allowed to spend money without permission. But he was able to buy whatever he wanted.





    

  • Controlling a person’s access to their own money, such as their wages or salary.
    • 






v  I was never allowed to keep or use my own money. He would come up to my jobs and I was expected to hand over my checks. I was given $20 per week and was told, “Don’t let me find out that you’re eating food that I would allow.”


















Affirmation: I am not alone in this experience.





***Don’t forget to watch the video!***





#Thispuzzledlife



















	




			
				


	
			
					
	

	

		

			 darnold1975 		


		
Types Of Domestic Violence Part 2
	


	

		

“An abuser can seem emotionally needy. You can get caught in a trap of catering to him, trying to fill a bottomless pit. But he’s not so much needy as entitled, so no matter how much you give him, it will never be enough. He will just keep producing more demands because he believes his needs are your responsibility, until you feel drained down to nothing.”





-Lundy Bancroft, Why Does He Do That? Inside the Minds of Angry and Controlling Men





Light the charcoal. Sprinkle the sage. Negative energy go away. Today I want to go over more types of domestic violence. I know that this topic is not an easy one to face. However, domestic abuse occurs in more homes than you realize. Maybe in your own home.





VERBAL ABUSE





·        Ridiculing or humiliating someone.





v  If he were alive and breathing, this would happen from the time I woke up until the time I went to bed.





·        Criticizing their appearance, intelligence, sexuality, religious beliefs, or ethnicity.





v  This happened all the time. I was constantly told that I was dumb and retarded.





·        Criticizing their actions as a partner or parent.





v  All day and every day. The worst was at night and on the weekends. I got blamed for his bad golf game. He had this idea that he was Tiger Woods. And he very clearly wasn’t. But it was always because of something I did that made him play bad. In reality, he just sucks at the game.





·        Using cruel or abusive nicknames.





v  He and his brother always had cruel nicknames for me.





·        Swearing at someone.





v  Most people cuss when they get mad. However, he and his brother were relentless in their attacks.





·        Yelling or screaming at someone.





v  Again, I think that a certain amount would be considered normal. However, screaming and hollering at me for everything little thing was how they both operated.














SOCIAL ABUSE





·       Stopping someone from seeing or contacting their friends and family.





v  He didn’t physically stop me. However, it was very clear that I was not leaving the house without specific information about where I was going and what I was doing. And if that wasn’t what he wanted, I was told not to go at all.





·       Stopping someone from going to social or community activities.





v  Unless he went with me, I was told, “No. You don’t need to go do that.”





·       Preventing someone from having contact with people who speak their language or share their culture.





·       Making someone move away from friends, family, or work opportunities.





 





·       Controlling a person’s use of phone or computers.





v On more than one occasion, when I went to call for help from police, he would unplug the phone so that I couldn’t use it.





·       Checking or stopping their mail, phone calls, text messages, emails, social media and other messaging or chat apps.





v  Luckily, there was not much of this that was available at the time. There was barely internet, and I better not have an email address. I had a Nokia cellphone which he checked constantly.





·       Telling lies or spreading false information to damage a person’s reputation.





v  This happened all the time. Especially when he talked to his family. The smear campaign was always in action.





·       Using someone’s intersex status, sexuality, gender expression, transgender, or HIV status against them.





v  He never knew that I was a lesbian. Hell, why would I tell him when the violence was bad enough.





·       Forced marriage





v  The day of my wedding, I knew that I was making the biggest mistake of my life. I was frozen with fear. But it was what he continually pushed for marriage. And I eventually gave in. Biggest mistake of my life!





·       Stalking





v  This happened every single day. If it wasn’t him, it was his friends and family who did the stalking. At the end of the day, I was questioned about everything that I had done and was told, “Well, what about when you were walking around in that store.” He knew every move that I made. It even got so bad that he knew what I had eaten during the day.





SPIRITUAL, RELIGIOUS OR CULTURAL ABUSE





    

  • Preventing someone from practicing and being connected to their culture.
    • 




  • Stopping someone from going to their place of worship.
    • 




  • Stopping someone from having contact with other people who share their beliefs.
    • 




  • Stopping someone from celebrating days of cultural or spiritual significance.
    • 




  • Stopping someone from sharing their beliefs and traditions with their children.
    • 




  • Stopping someone who is Aboriginal or Torres Strait Islander from returning to Country or having contact with kin.
    • 




  • Stopping someone who has family connections outside Australia from visiting or connecting with family or community overseas.
    • 




  • Ridiculing someone’s beliefs or traditions.
    • 




  • Forcing someone to do things that are against their beliefs, like eating certain foods or wearing certain clothes.
    • 




  • Forcing someone to marry.
    • 






The pressure was definitely applied when I was undecided.





    

  • Forcing someone to take part in spiritual practices in which they don’t believe.
    • 




  • Forcing someone to raise their children according to beliefs they don’t agree with.
    • 




  • Using or claiming to use spiritual or religious beliefs:


    • 






Let me just say this about him and his spiritual practices. He always went through the motions and played the part. He even pretended to get “saved” and was baptized. However, that was as far as it went. Because when we got home the abuse continued to happen. But now he had a Bible to justify his actions.





Thanks again for reading! I hope I was able to share a little lighter on the subject of domestic violence. There is help and hope after abuse. Reach out for the love and respect that you deserve. Keep moving forward!





Affirmation: I will not shrink.





***Don’t forget to watch the video!***





#Thispuzzledlife



















	




			
				


	
			
					
	

	

		

			 darnold1975 		


		
Types of Domestic Violence
	


	

		

“If you aren’t silent about your pain, they’ll kill you and say you enjoyed it.”





-Zora Neale Hurston





Light the charcoal. Sprinkle the sage. Negative energy go away. Today, I want to talk to you about some of the behaviors that fit under the umbrella of domestic violence. It wasn’t until I  was out of the relationship for a while before I began to see  information validating  what I always knew. This is not comprehensive list by any means. 





COERCIVE CONTROL OR CONTROLLING BEHAVIOR





·        Control who a person sees, wears and where they go. 





v  This was considered normal in my relationship. He dictated everything that I wore. If I chose what I wanted to wear, he would tell me to,  “go change. You look ridiculous.” And I was afraid to go somewhere without asking his permission.





·        Monitor or track what a person does. 





v  This was also something that was done on a daily  basis. He would call me wherever I was supposed to be and verify it by employees.





·        Control a person’s finances, medicine, food, or exercise.





v  He always told me that I was not allowed food that he didn’t approve. And I was required to be at the gym at 5:30 am every morning. And he would call and speak with those employees about what type of exercise I was doing. I was also not allowed to spend any money without permission.





·        Force someone to have sex or do sexual things.





v  I was never given the option to make that choice. I was threatened if I even spoke about that.














PHYSICAL VIOLENCE





·        Hitting, punching, kicking, bashing, shoving, or pushing.





      This happened more times than I can count. He did kick me in the face. But when he and his brother teamed up together, it was worse. The main reason is because my husband didn’t want to say that he participated. And because they always threatened and intimidated me into silence, I never said anything. His brother was his “yes man.” And my husband pulled the strings. 





·        Spitting on someone or pulling hair.





·        Choking or suffocating.





v  This typically happened during forced sex. Or whenever his brother would get mad at me, he would choke me as a form of intimidation.





·        Throwing things at or near someone.





·        Using a weapon.





v  This was always pointed at me or laid out somewhere as a form of threats and intimidation.





·        Locking someone in or out of space.





v  This was often done to show control.





·        Stopping someone from eating, sleeping, or having medication they need.





v  Every piece of food had to be given an account. One of his favorite things he would allow me to have for a snack was ten olives and ten pistachios. He would come home from work and completely berate me if I weren’t already up. And it didn’t matter that I had just worked a 24-48 shift. He always told me that medication was a crutch. He got mad because I had been given muscle relaxers for a hurt back and proceeded to kick me in the face and throw my medication out into the rain. I was also not allowed to take any psychiatric meds for depression or mood stabilization because, “why do you need anti-depressants when I’m so good to you? And what if someone finds out that you’re taking this? I don’t want anyone knowing that my wife is crazy. Then it makes me look bad. Why don’t you care about that?”





·        Forcing someone to drink or take drugs.





v  I did this on my own to help deal with being under his crazy world of control.














SEXUAL VIOLENCE





·       Touching or kissing someone without their consent.





v I was made to accept his advances. 





·       Pressuring or forcing someone to have sex or do something sexual without their consent.





v  I was told, “Either you give it to me, or I’ll take it. Either way, I’m getting what I want. Make your decision.” Many times, I was bruised or bleeding by the time he was done with me. I had no voice in any matter. He was the “warden,” and I was his “prisoner.” My whole sexual relationship with him was simply RAPE.





·       Pressuring or forcing someone to have sex without protection such as a condom.





v I was told early on, “I’m not using protection because it burns my dick. If you really loved me, you wouldn’t  put stipulations on how I fuck you.”





*I know this is explicit. However, I want you to get an accurate description of the situation.*














IMAGE-BASED ABUSE





·        Sharing private images of a person without their consent, for example images of them undressing or showering.





·        Sharing culturally inappropriate images of a person, for example images in which they do not wear items of clothing that they would normally wear in public.





·        Sharing intimate or sexualized images of a person without their consent.





·        Producing and sharing images that have been digitally altered to suggest a person is nude or engaged in sexual activity.





·        Threatening to do any of these things.





        *I found out later on that his brother would secretly be filming or watching us having sex.*














EMOTIONAL OR PSYCHOLOGICAL ABUSE





·        Criticizing a person and their choices or actions.





v  In his mind, he thought that I was too stupid to make decisions that were considered “correct.” All he ever told me what how stupid and retarded I was.





·        Isolating a person form their friends or their family.





v  Some friendships I lost forever because they just thought that I abandoned them. What they failed to see was that I would get accused of all kinds of stuff if I disobeyed him. Those who have never been in an abusive situation can’t comprehend losing your power to stand up for yourself. It was just easier to do what he said. Some former friends haven’t even talked to me since that time. And that is about them not me.





·        Threatening to harm a person, their family, their friends, their pets, or their belongings.





v  He always made threats about things he would and could do with keepsakes or my innocent animals. And if he and his brother didn’t feel that I was getting the picture, they would show up at my parents’ house and start harassing them.














·        Threating them to share personal or private information, such as sexuality, gender identity, personal health, or visa status (https://www.act.gov.au/community/domestic-family-and-sexual-violence/types-of-domestic-and-family-violence, 2025).





This topic will be spread over a few blogs. As you can see, when I add personal experience, the blog gets much longer. Stay patient and learn from this. It’s a hell that most people can’t understand. And I’m telling you that it’s all true. I was living in a prison without visible bars. Thanks for reading! And watch for the second part in the coming days.





Affirmation: I remember that it is ok to ask for help and receive support.





***Don’t forget to watch the video!***





#Thispuzzledlife



















	




			
				


	
			
					
	

	

		

			 darnold1975 		


		
Domestic Violence Myths
	


	

		

“Leaving is so hard because your confidence is destroyed. You feel trapped.”





-Unknown





Light the charcoal. Sprinkle the sage. Negative energy go away. Today, I want to talk to you about some common misconceptions about domestic violence. Sit tight. These myths and truths will help to dispel some of the things that you might have been told.





1.        Myth: Domestic abuse is a “family matter” and the community should not interfere.





Fact: Domestic abuse is against the law making it everyone’s business.





2.        Myth: Domestic abuse affects only a small percentage of the population.





Fact: One-third of American women report being physically or sexually abused by a partner.





3.        Myth: Only men abuse women.





Fact: Statistics show that 85% of domestic abuse victims are women and 95% of perpetrators are men. However, men are abused by women also. And the rate of  Gay, Lesbian, Bisexual and Transgender communities are at the same rate as heterosexual relationships.





4.        Myth: Only low-income families and minorities experience domestic abuse.





Fact: Domestic abuse in every area of society. Most previously recorded statistics are skewed due to the numbers coming from public agencies, city hospitals, police departments, social service agencies, and the courts.





5.        Myth: Abusers are violent in all their relationships.





Fact: Most abusers are only abusive to a targeted intimate partner. Some abusers are successful in their professions and are very charming. And this is how they maintain power and control. This was how my ex-husband introduced himself. In front of people, he appealed to many. It was once we were not in front of people that the abuse occurred.





6.        Myth: Domestic abuse is caused by mental illness.





Fact: Personality disorders, mental illness, poor impulse control, and generational abuse do not cause domestic abuse. Even in cases where a particular mental illness may cause a person to be abusive, the abuse is not specifically targeted at one person but to everyone around during the episode.





7.        Myth: Domestic abuse is caused by drugs and alcohol use.





Fact: Where drugs and alcohol are often associated with domestic abuse, they do not cause the violence. My ex-husband never used drugs and alcohol. He was just mean and very controlling.





8.        Myth: Abusers are violent because they cannot control their anger and frustration.





Fact: Abusers use anger as an excuse to rationalize or blame their abusive behavior: anger is not a cause of abuse; it is a conscious choice made by them. I was always told that “I was the cause of his anger.” So, in some way, I was made responsible for his behavior. When in actuality, he is responsible for his own behavior.










9.        Myth: Therapy will stop the violence. If he/she goes to therapy, it will be safe at home.





Fact: Referral of a batter to is one of the strongest predictors that a victim will return to violence. However, research on the effectiveness of treatment  for batters are inconclusive. What is known is that there’s a 50% drop out rate in these programs by those who do enroll.





10.   Myth: Boys in violent homes will grow up to be battered and girls will be victims.





Fact: Not all children who grow up in homes where there is domestic abuse are directly abused or grow up to  become victims or abusers. It is important to note that children from homes where domestic violence abuse occurs are at greater risk for all of these outcomes than children from homes where  there is no violence.





11.   Myth: Even if he/she is violent, it is better for the children to have both parents. Children aren’t negatively affected by domestic abuse unless they are actually abused.





Fact: Witnessing violence as a child is associated with adult reports of depression, trauma-related symptoms and low self-esteem among women, and trauma-related symptoms among men. Child witnesses of domestic abuse on average exhibit more aggressive and antisocial behaviors, fearful and inhibited behaviors, anxiety, depression, trauma symptoms, temperament problems, and lower social competence, than children who do not witness such violence. Youth who witness domestic abuse are more likely to attempt suicide, abuse drugs, and alcohol, run away from home, commit other delinquent behavior, engage in teenage prostitution, and commit sexual assault crimes (https://law.arizona.edu/sites/default/files/myths_and_realities_of_domestic_abuse.pdf, 2003).





I hope that you’ve been able to put some of these myths to rest. From someone who has gone through domestic violence, my perpetrator never though that he was doing anything wrong. And when I presented the need for therapy I was told, “I don’t need to go to therapy because you are the problem.” When the actual problem was that he didn’t want to look at the reality of his own actions and behaviors. And he continues to be that way. Keep reading and stay safe!





Affirmation: I forgive myself for believing I have to stay in the relationship until the person changes.





***Don’t forget to watch the video!***





#Thispuzzledlife



















	




			
				


	
			
					
	

	

		

			 darnold1975 		


		
National Domestic Violence Awareness Month
	


	

		

“Never stop fighting for your freedom, you are worth it.”





-DA Survivor-Anon





Light the charcoal. Sprinkle the sage. Negativity energy, go away. Today is the beginning of Domestic Violence Awareness Month. This month is when our voices from all over the globe will be heard. We as victims, survivors and warriors bring to light the horrors of domestic violence and the impact that it leaves on our lives and those around us. Let’s take time out for a little education on a few of the topics surrounding domestic violence.





Domestic Violence is a topic that I know a lot about. Well, I know how to function in it. And I know how to get away from it. But living with the aftereffects reveal a whole other set of problems. Where domestic violence used to be seen as something that only happens to women and their partners. There is more awareness on the abuse of men by their partners. No matter how you identify. It also happens to the most innocent, children and pets. This happens in all forms of relationships. And the statistics are staggering.










Domestic violence is violence committed by someone in the victim’s domestic circle. Which include partners and ex-partners, immediate family members, and other relatives and family friends (https://www.UN.org, 2025). The behaviors can include such things as:





·        Physical





·        Sexual





·        Emotional





·        Financial





·        Psychological actions or threats of actions that influence another person.





This includes any behavior that intimidate, manipulate, humiliate, isolate, frighten, terrorize, coerce, threaten, blame, hurt, injure, or wound someone. The repetitive exposure to violence teaches children that violence is a normal way of life (https://dvcc.delaware.gov, 2025). And for those of us who leave, constant confusion and every minute of no knowing when something else will happen again, is our normal. And the many years of programming by our abusers takes years of therapy to de-program ourselves. But you will never be who you used to be.














Recovery is not for the faint of heart. It is hard and uncomfortable. And it takes years to undo the damage that was caused on so many levels. I was one of the lucky ones. Long story short, I survived. But the mental damage that was caused has left me crippled in some ways. And through the sleepless nights filled with tears, therapy, psychiatric medications, body memories, flashbacks, phobias, and panic attacks, I have learned that I have a voice that deserves to be heard. And no matter what people say or believe, I can validate my own story regardless of the opinions of others. Because I lived it. 





The main thing I want to say to other women and men across the globe who are still in their own processes, “YOU ARE NOT ALONE!” Because it happened to me too. Thanks for reading! Keep smiling and pushing forward.





Affirmation: My light shines even in the dark.





***Don’t forget to watch the video!***





#Thispuzzledlife



















	




			
				


	
			
					
	

	

		

			Featured darnold1975 		


		
LGBTQ+ And Suicide
	


	

		

“Our country is grappling with a youth mental health crisis, and it is particularly pronounced for LGBTQ+ youth.”





-Ronita Nath





 Light the charcoal. Sprinkle the sage. Negative energy, go away. Today, keeping in line with the topic of suicide, I want to discuss suicide in the LGBTQ+ community. 





The prevalence of suicide in the LGBTQ+ community is nothing new. The risk for suicide attempts and suicidal ideation can be 3 to 6 times greater for lesbian, gay and bisexual adults according to the National Institutes of Health. But there are also other statistics to keep in mind.










In 2024, 39% of LGBTQ+ youth considered attempting suicide according to The Trevor Project’s national survey. 1 in 10 of LGBTQ+ youth attempted suicide in the past year. And LGBTQ+ youth are more than four times likely to attempt compared to heterosexual youth. I can tell you that personally, I’ve been suicidal many times because of rejection from my family as a lesbian woman.





Transgender and Nonbinary identified individuals are at an even higher rate of suicide. And almost half seriously considered suicide in the past year. In 2022, 80% of transgender people had considered suicide and 40% had attempted. These statistics while staggering are not surprising. These demographic struggles are way more than they should be with little compassion from society.














Bisexual identified individuals are 1.5 times more likely to report thoughts and attempts compared to gay and lesbian individuals. And 2.98 times more likely to have  a suicide-related event compared to heterosexuals according to a 2022 study. And  the LGBTQ+ youth of color report higher rates of suicidal ideation and attempts compared to white peers (www.therevorproject.org, 2025). And there are several contributing factors such as:





·        Discrimination and Prejudice:discrimination, harassment and violence due to sexual orientation or gender identity increases the risk of suicide.





·        Lack of Support Systems: Limited social support from family, peers and community exacerbates the mental health challenges. 





·        Mental Health Disparities: LGBTQ+ individuals are more likely to experience depression and may face barriers to accessing mental health services (https://mhanational.org, 2025).












For someone who is a member of the LGBTQ+ community, I can tell you that I’ve considered suicide many times. The rejection from family and friends are sometimes more than I can bare. And having worked with someone in therapy many years ago, who was not sensitive to the needs of someone in these communities, there was little progress made. Mainly, because I couldn’t trust her. And she was extremely judgmental.





Since collaborating with coach for almost a decade, I can tell you that I have been able to fully accept the fact that I’m gay, despite my family’s disapproval. And then the religious communities also seem to greet us with bible verses telling how many ways we are going to hell. We all know that “choosing” to be gay is such an easier way of life. There the secret is out. 





With the current political administration taking away the rights and freedoms that the Stonewall riots stood against, and the lack of funding for suicide hotlines for LGBTQ+ youth, these rates will only climb. Our families, friends, churches, and government should be ashamed of standing by people who are ok with the policies set in place. We are the same as we ever were. We just wear rainbows now. 














There are those beautiful allies out there who remain the strength and backbone of our continual fight for equality. We are youth, parents, aunts, uncles, cousins, husband, and wives who just want to be recognized as equals in the eyes of the law. But where reputations and political agendas are from the far right, we must be even more solidified as a community. If someone is for rights with some and not others, I have no room for them in my life. But it’s taken me years to come to this conclusion. 





Is it lonely? At times, yes. However, I want people in my life who not only support me but also my friends. The suicide hotline is something that our community not only wants but needs. Many of us have non-supporting families and mine is no different. But I do have a place to live currently. But that does not constitute me putting up with homophobia or fragile masculinity and femininity.





The very few “true” friends I have, understand that being gay is not a “choice.” It’s who I am. And if that’s too much for someone to manage, that’s just too damn bad. To my fellow allies and community members, keep up the good fight. We must take up the original Pride flag are carry on. I love our colors. And I’m proud to call myself a member of the LGBTQ+ community.





Keep smiling. Keep shining. Knowing you can always count on me, for sure. That’s what friends are for. We are seen. And we are heard. And….WE ARE FABULOUS! Thanks for reading. Take what you can use and leave the rest.





Affirmation: I am proud of myself and will continue to strive to do well.





***Don’t forget to watch the video!***





#Thispuzzledlife



















	




			
				


	
			
					
	

	

		

			Featured darnold1975 		


		
Veteran Suicide
	


	

		

“The soldier above all others prays for peace, for it is the soldier who must suffer and bear the deepest wounds and scars of war.”





-Douglas McArthur





Light the charcoal. Sprinkle the sage. Negativity energy, go away. Today, I want to discuss veteran suicide. I know that this topic has seemed to get old and fast. However, I believe that the more we talk about the harshness of life, the more the stigmas will begin to disappear.





In 2022, the most recent year for the current data, 6,407 veterans and 41,484 nonveteran adults died by suicide. The rate among veterans was 34.7 per 100,000 compared to 17.1 per 100,000 for nonveterans. Since 2005, veteran suicide has risen faster than any other group. And these rates are unacceptable.














The veterans who died by suicide in that year, 40% were under the care of the Veterans Health Administration. Among those patients, who were also diagnosed with a mental health disorder or substance abuse disorder, there were 56.4 per 100,000, which was twice the rate of those without a diagnosis. And among 1,548 veterans who died by suicide 64% were diagnosed with depression, 43% had an anxiety disorder, 40% had PTSD, and 32% had an alcohol use disorder. However, the highest suicide rates were associated with veterans who had sedative use disorder which include benzodiazepines, barbiturates, and opiates (www.rand.org, 2025). And the stigma about mental health in the military further increase this problem.





Aspects of Veteran Mental Health stigma:





·       Fear of judgment and perception:  Veterans worry about how seeking help will affect all areas of their lives and especially on career repercussions.





·       Military culture: The “warrior ethos” which emphasizes self-reliance and stoicism create barriers to seeking help.





·       Loss of security clearance: Some fear that seeking mental health treatment will lead to revocation of security clearances.





·       Impact on treatment: stigmas can lead to untreated mental health conditions, substance abuse and increased risk of suicide.





·       Self-stigma: Veterans may internalize negative societal views about mental health which can lead to shame, self-blame, and more reluctance to seek help (https://oxfordtreatment.com, 2025).














As an advocate for medical cannabis, I believe that our veterans should be given an ounce of cannabis the minute their feet hit US soil upon returning from active duty. As I personally deal with PTSD, there is not another medication on the planet that can bring me relief like cannabis can. And it’s such a safer alternative to alcohol, opiates, and benzodiazepine medications.





Currently,  the Safe Healing Act, which was introduced on February 4, 2025,  is designed to prohibit the Secretary of Veterans Affairs from denying a veteran benefit administered by the Secretary by reason of the veteran  participating in a State-approved marijuana program and other purposes. But unfortunately, there is only a 3% chance of being enacted (www.govtrack.us, 2025). And I consider this utterly ridiculous. There is an unmistakable problem with veteran suicide. It appears Big Pharma is still in the way of progress. I wonder how many people who oppose this bill must suffer, daily, with the horrible effects of PTSD, anxiety, and chronic pain that “Big Pharma” can’t seem to help?





Our returning soldiers are faced with horrors that no one understands until they’ve been there. And though I have never served our country, I can tell you that the above-mentioned mental health disorders have also almost taken my life many times. The symptoms are horrific in nature. Put chronic pain in the mix and suicide often seems like the only answer to have a break, though it be permanent, for even a moment of peace.














Veterans, in my eyes, should be held to the utmost respect. They should be the highest paid employees before professional athletes. And we as a country should make sure that the best treatment is available to them for the rest of their lives. Some have paid the price of their lives on the battlefield. And a high percentage of others pay with their lives when they return home. But instead of treating them like the heroes like they are, they are often discarded by the government that they so proudly serve. 





Is cannabis the only answer? Not at all. However, while they find the modality that works for them, I think that cannabis could lighten the load and make their futures seem a little brighter. Discarding them along with all the judgmental stigmas only adds to the problem. And until this is rectified, we will continue to lose those beautiful people who are willing, at any moment, to lay down their lives for our freedoms. Shame on the United States of America for treating them like that!





I know reading this is not easy. But we as a nation must stand up for these individuals who continue to pay the price every time, they open their eyes. Let’s get past the “reefer madness” ignorance and allow our veterans the opportunity to extend their lives at home. A special thanks and salute to one of my favorite veterans who I’ll call Joe. Thanks for reading! And God Bless America!





Affirmation: Bring out your inner warrior





***Don’t forget to watch the video!***





#Thispuzzledlife










	




			
				


	
			
					
	

	

		

			 darnold1975 		


		
Attack On Freedom
	


	

		

“The attacks of September 11th  were intended to break our spirit. Instead, we have emerged stronger and more unified. We feel renewed devotion to the principles of political, economic and religious freedom, the rule of law and respect for human life. We are more determined more than ever to live our lives in freedom.”





-Then-New York City Mayor Rudulph Giuliani





Light the charcoal. Sprinkle the sage. Negative energy go away. There’s no way if you have lived since September 11, 2001, that you don’t remember when our great nation was sneak attacked by Middle Eastern “thugs” under the direction of an evil man on a dialysis machine. It was an attack on freedom similar to the attack on Pearl Harbor.





I will never forget the day that 9/11 happened. I was working for a local veterinarian during a truly horrible time in my life. I was in a horribly, abusive marriage where I never got to experience true freedom. I was also in the depths of addiction that was slowly killing me. And he made sure that I was also controlled by an extremely painful eating disorder. I was essentially a mess in every area of my life. 












The vet’s office that I worked at had a small television that was usually put on a news channel for waiting clients. That particular day I was busy being miserable, high and working at top speed. The area that I worked in was the puppy and kitten adoption center that was always busy. I was busy cleaning cages and feeding those cute babies when I took time out to go look for something in the main waiting area. I walked in and one of the receptionists said, “Dana, look at what’s just happened.” I turned to look at the television screen at a picture that you only saw in movies. I saw an area of a building where an apparent plane had crashed into it. I said, “Do you really have time to watch a movie?” They quickly said, “No. A plane was hijacked and flew into one of the twin towers.” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing and seeing. I said, “Wait! What?! That doesn’t even make sense.” And for many months following the thought was the same. 





Even now I still don’t completely understand how someone could hate Americans to that extent. I took a moment to reflect on everything that I had experienced in life. I looked around to realize that Americans have turned on her own people as evidenced by racism, sexism, homophobia, gender phobia, transphobia, abuse, domestic violence, drug addiction, gang violence, child abuse, mass shootings, school shootings, dangerous elected officials and many other things. But this was so different. It’s almost the attitude of “You can’t come up in our house and kick our ass! We kick our own ass!”














For a moment though, our stature as a “free nation” had been “sucker punched.” Suddenly, whether someone was poisoning our families with their “gayness” wasn’t a big issue. The disruption of cohesiveness within society based on whether someone was wearing a blue or red bandana came to a screeching halt. Hurricane Katrina wasn’t even a meteorological thought. We, as a nation, sat in stunned silence at the harshness of our new realities. Members of our beloved families were now gone. Now we didn’t care if the people in power were red, blue or orange. We just wanted those responsible to pay and pay dearly. We no longer had such different beliefs about life as a whole. And then, the second plane hit.





At this point, it was absolute pandemonium trying to find the source of the betrayal and eliminate it quickly. And then in exactly 1 hour and 24 minutes, heroes from our families did their part to save others from their certain demise by overtaking the cockpit of yet another hijacked plane with a mission of killing as many Americans as possible. That brave group of people who decided that enough was enough said this,  “Are you out of your mind?! Who in the hell do you think you are? Let’s roll.”










The skyline of New York City would lose the twin towers as they collapsed from total annihilation. The damage had just been too great. The North Tower of the World Trade Center stood for another 102 minutes. The South Tower stood  approximately 56 minutes after the second impact. Almost immediately, rescue efforts to find survivors and/or bodies began and would continue for the next nine months. 





By May 2002, the World Trade Center site had been cleared. The rescue and recovery efforts consisted of more than 108,000 truckloads of debris and 1.8 million tons of wreckage that were removed along with many other people who were never found (redcross.org). On September 11, 2001, the terrorist attacks on the United States of America killed 2,977 people including hijackers. And of these, 3,000 children lost a parent (nymag.com, 2014).





 Lady Liberty at the direction of then President George Bush, was pointed in the direction of the Middle East where members of the terroristic organization, Al-Qaeda,  and would soon make those “desert thugs” pay for many years to come. We were, again, becoming a group of people who stood with a united front and said, “Your attack on freedom will come at a heavy cost.” And it seemed like the term “functioning” would now have new boundaries.





President Bush addressed the workers and families at 9/11 ground zero by saying…”I can hear you! I can hear you! The rest of the world hears you! And the people-and the people who knocked these buildings down will hear all of us soon!”





And he launched Operation Enduring Freedom in Afghanistan on October 7, 2001. And expanded the “War on Terror” beyond Afghanistan which would lead to the invasion of Iraq. The attacks also led to the establishment of the Department of Homeland Security in 2002 and the Patriot Act (www.cfr.org, 2025). This led to a 20-year conflict that led to the loss of over  7,000 American lives (https://usafacts.org, 2024). 





Major players in the terrorists’ attacks and the aiding and protection of additional terrorists were Saddam Hussein and Osama Bin-Laden. They were both hunted down and eventually executed. Saddam was convicted by the Iraqi High Tribunal of crimes against humanity. And was sentenced to death by hanging. He was executed on December 30, 2006. 





On May 2, 2011, the United States conducted Operation Neptune Spear, where SEAL Team Six shot and killed Osama bin Laden at his “Waziristan Haveli” in Abbottabad, Pakistan. He was buried at sea to prevent his grave from becoming a shrine for his followers (History.com, 2025).





When an organization or a group of people decide that American “infidels” are a waste of air and skin, the destruction was immense. And there had been no sneak attack on our nation since Pear Harbor in 1941.We, as a nation, have proven time and time again that when you attack the freedoms of the United States of America, your lives will be diminished like the innocent lives that were ended in the September 11thattacks. Thanks for reading! And God bless the United States of America.





Affirmation: I believe in the resilience and freedom of America. I live with patriotism which I hold true.





***Don’t forget to watch the video!***





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			Featured darnold1975 		


		
Cyberbullying And Suicide
	


	

		



 “Be careful because cyberspace is a two way street those that hunt and stalk and troll can also become the hunted by those that they harass and attack. Cyberspace has a definite dark side.”







Don Holbrook





Light the charcoal. Sprinkle the sage. Negative energy, go away. Today, I want to talk about another reason that people are committing suicide. It’s the inevitable factor of cyberbullying.





Cyberbullying is bullying with the use of digital technologies. Research consistently indicates that there is a strong correlation between being a victim of cyberbullying and increased suicidal ideations. In fact, once study showed that students who are subjected to cyberbullying are 4 times as likely to commit suicide. And a major increase occurred during the COVID-19 pandemic). Another study found that cyber bullying increases suicidal thoughts by 14.5% and suicide attempts by 8.7%. The limitations are since there is usually not just one factor that contribute to suicide (www.nih.gov, 2025).





I can tell you that as an 8th grader adult bullied me where I was supposed to be safe, at school. And though there was no cyberbullying at the time, due to lack of access to the internet, I quickly began having suicidal ideations that have plagued me ever since. When you’re a child, bullying is such a violation and betrayal. And for me there was no way out. So, I had to fight the best way I knew how. Sometimes it was quiet while escaping within my mind. And sometimes, it was through pure aggression. Sadly, aggression was the only thing to make it all stop even for a moment. But the colossal damage had already been done. 












That year of bullying set the precedence for how my life would turn out. I lost all confidence in myself and my abilities. My self-worth was destroyed. And I turned to the only thing that seemed to accept me no matter what my condition. It was addiction. By the time I started high school, I was a full-blown addict of drugs, alcohol, self-harm and eating disorders. And at almost 50 years old, I continue to struggle with them.





I learned that no one was a “safe” person. I learned that if anyone were going to protect me, it would have to be me. I learned that taking the first shot at someone was the safest way to live. I also concluded that no one that I saw as an “underdog” would ever have to fight their own battle again if I were there. I asked for help but was denied. And when I did, the abuse only got worse.










Cyberbullying takes on a whole new level of abuse. And the damage can be irreparable. It’s said and done by people who don’t have to look at you in the face. And typically, most people wouldn’t have the balls to say those same things if done in person. Since our national politics are so unstable, I would venture to say that the amount of cyberbullying would increase significantly. Below are a couple of the cases that I wanted to show you about. There is no way to list them all.





Megan Meier’s Case (2006): a 13-year-old American girl who committed suicide after being bullied on MySpace. The bullying was orchestrated by an adult neighbor, Lori Drew, posing as a teenage boy. The adult was the mother of a classmate. The mother was found guilty of cyberbullying in 2009. However, the conviction was later overturned.














Texas Child Suicide (2023): A child in Texas died by suicide during an online game due to alleged cyberbullying. The suspect lived in Michigan who eventually plead guilty to crimes related to aiding suicide and harassment causing death (www.nbcnews.com, 2023).





In the world that we live in, it is imperative for us parents to pay close attention as possible to what our kids are doing and with whom they are interacting. I do not live under the delusion that it is possible to know everything. I am not God. The only thing I know to do is to regularly talk to my children about the dangers of cyberbullying. And that just because someone is on your “friends list,” doesn’t mean that they are really friends. And that predators disguised as heaven will often put you through hell. And even with that knowledge, I know that I can’t protect every facet of their lives. The very essence of a predator is to go undetected. And to operate in the shadows, often in plain sight.





I hope that you have gained useful information on this topic. I continue to learn each time I blog. And maybe, it’s bringing some type of comfort as I look at these difficult topics. I write thinking, “What can I do to help other parents?” And then, BOOM! Another blog appears. Thanks for reading! As always, take what you can use and leave the rest. Keep smiling. And stay informed.





Affirmation: I forgive myself for believing when I’m bullied it’s my fault because I let it happen, or I was in the wrong place, or I should have known better.





***Don’t forget to watch the video!***





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			Featured darnold1975 		


		
Common Myths About Suicide
	


	

		

“When you feel like giving up, just remember why you held on for so long.”





-Hayley Williams





Light the charcoal. Sprinkle the sage. Negative energy go away. Today, I want to talk about some myths regarding the topic of suicide. I was first exposed to suicide at the age of thirteen. One of my friends and classmate committed suicide when we were in the eighth grade. As a child, how do you manage that? I can tell you that among all of the major events in my life that has changed me in some way, the day that I lost my friend to suicide will always rank high on my list. I think, though, that the biggest impact for me was how our teachers and school administrators dealt with the situation.





I grew up in the 1980’s when child and adolescent mental health was rarely recognized. And, honestly, my generation was sort of left with the attitude of “figure it out yourself.” Situations that left gaping wounds were merely glossed over. And so, me and other friends and classmates turned to a life of addiction and suicide. As a teen who was being abused daily by a teacher, and the complete lack of protection from the adults, I was forced to just “figure it out.” I did it in total “self-preservation mode.” The behaviors that I developed were not healthy, but they were there when no one else was.





In the 35 years since my friend’s suicide, I have lost a lot more friends. And sadly, I have built walls all throughout my life that continue to help me through my pain. The one thing that has seemed to resonate through the years is how religion constantly attacks those who have been through the most. And I grew up being marinated in the ideology that suicide was “selfish,” “a sin,” “immediate condemnation to hell,” “the easy way out” and the most “self-centered” act known to man. 












A lot of the “indoctrinating messages” I was raised to believe, life made me realize how very untrue and damaging they are and will continue to be. I have been on all sides of suicide. And from a personal standpoint, those beliefs couldn’t be any farther from the truth. Below are a few common myths regarding suicide.





Myth 1: Talking about suicide increases the chance a person will act on it.





Fact: Talking about suicide can reduce rather than increase suicidal ideations. It improves mental health related outcomes and increases the likelihood that someone will seek treatment.





Myth 2: People who talk about suicide are just seeking attention.





Fact: People that die from suicide have often told someone about not wanting to live anymore. And it’s always important to take it seriously. In my own family, these statements have rung true. Or most often, those statements are ignored.





Myth 3: Suicide can’t be prevented.





Fact: Suicide is preventable but unpredictable. Most people have experienced intense emotional pain, hopelessness and a negative view on life and the future. Suicide is a product of genes, mental illnesses and environmental risk factors. Intervention can and does save lives.





Myth 4: People who take their own lives are selfish, cowardly or weak.





Fact: People don’t die of suicide by choice. The emotional pain that they experience makes it difficult to consider different views. Have you ever turned a gun on yourself? I have.





Myth 5: Teenagers and college students are the most at risk of suicide.





Fact: Suicide rates for that age group is below the national average. The age groups with the highest rate of suicide in the U.S. are women 45-64 and men 75 and older. Suicide is a problem among all ages and groups.










Myth 6: Barriers on bridges, safe firearm storage and other actions that reduce access to lethal methods of suicide don’t work.





Fact: Limiting access to lethal means of harm is one of the most straightforward strategies to decrease the chances of suicide.





Myth 7: Suicide always occurs without warning. 





Fact: There are almost always warning signs before a suicide attempt.





Myth 8: Talk therapy and medications don’t work.





Fact: Treatment can and does work. I don’t agree with big pharma for many reasons. I guess, though, “life over limb.” Lives are saved with both therapy and medication. Therapy has saved my life for many years now. But finding the right one to work with can be taxing. Most people who are in the helping profession do help rather than harm (mayoclinichealthsystem.org, 2025).





Myth 9: You have to be mentally ill to think about suicide.





Fact: 1 in 5 people have thought about suicide at some time in their life. Not all people who die by suicide have mental illnesses at the time they die.





Myth 10: People who are suicidal want to die.





Fact: The majority of people feeling suicidal do not actually want to die; they just want the situation they’re in or the way they’re feeling to stop.





Myth 11: Most suicides happen in the winter months.





Fact: Suicide is complex and not just related to seasons or the climate. Suicide is more common in the spring and a noticeable peak on New Year’s Day.





Myth 12: You can’t ask someone if they’re suicidal.





Fact: Evidence shows that asking someone if they’re  suicidal could protect them (Samaritans.org, 2025).





Myth 13: Strong faith prevents suicidal thoughts.





Fact: Many deeply religious figures including biblical figures have experienced suicidal thoughts. The misconception that strong faith eradicates mental despair is false. Faith doesn’t guarantee protection from difficult emotions and struggles.





Myth 14: Suicide indicates a lack or abandonment of faith.





Fact: Suicidal ideation is viewed from different perspectives. Suicide does not inherently mean that someone has abandoned their faith.





Myth 15: Fear of religious repercussions is a sufficient deterrent for suicide.





Fact: For some maybe the fear of divine punishment can be a factor. However, many faith communities emphasize grace and forgiveness, even for those who die by suicide. And personally, I have rarely seen grace and forgiveness on this topic.





Myth 16: Religion or faith alone is enough to prevent suicide.





Fact: Studies show inconsistent findings regarding the protective effect of religious affiliation on suicide risk. It is crucial to understand that faith alone is not a guarantee against suicide and should not replace professional mental health interventions when needed (https://pmc.ncbi.nim.nih.gov, 2025).





I hope at the very least that some of the myths regarding suicide have been explained. My own personal suicidal feelings have been dismissed the majority of my life. And no amount of “bible beating” has ever helped. It has only made things much worse than they already are. And some of the statements made disguised as “help” by family members, are not help. The statements are just toxic. Saying that you have “x” amount of years living and never considered suicide isn’t helpful. Please don’t play therapist when you’re not one.





Put harmful judgments in the trash where they belong. Love and appreciate those that you love. Because it can all change in an instant. Quit making “their” suicidal feelings about “you.” Because it’s not. And always remember, “Just because someone has a smile on their face doesn’t mean that they’re not suicidal.” Thanks for reading! As always, take what you can use and leave the rest.





Affirmation: I am overcoming depression one step at a time.





***Don’t forget to watch the video!***





#Thispuzzledlife



















	




			
				


	
			
					
	

	

		

			 darnold1975 		


		
Suicide Awareness And Prevention Month
	


	

		

“This life. This night. Your story. Your hope. It matters. All of it matters.”





-Jamie Tworkowski





Light the charcoal. Sprinkle the sage. Negative energy go away. Thank God, we have made it through most of the hottest months of the year. September is another sticky, humidity filled month before the beginning of the cool down. September is also Suicide Awareness and Prevention Month. I know, it’s another upbeat topic. I think that the topic of suicide shouldn’t be taboo. It’s an unfortunate dark part of nearly every culture. And, yes, it has also affected my life in many ways which I’ll share.





Suicide has always been referred to as “the easy way out,” “selfish action,” a  “total disregard for friends and family,” and the most hurtful “a sin.” And it’s really easy for people to throw out opinions that help no one when they are struggling. That is minimizing their pain and abuse.





Having been not only a patient in the mental health system for the majority of my life, and working in the mental health field as a professional, I have also seen and been on most sides of this problem. People are so quick to judge what they don’t understand. And, sadly, suicide is a topic that tends to be discussed in judgment versus with compassion.





I have been chronically suicidal since I was a teenager. I was being abused and put on display for others to see for an entire year in school. I was also locked in a closet in that same room while being verbally abused in any way imaginable. I tried to tell adults about what was going on. However, I was made to feel like it was my fault. This helped the teacher to further perpetrate her abuse. My parents also made me apologize to her for comments that I made to her. But as their child, I was not protected by them or the administration. I was in a difficult situation without the possibility of brighter days ahead for the future.





My suicidal feelings got the best of me one day at school when I took forty aspirin. I had no idea, at that time, that it wouldn’t work. But the thought of continuing one more day at the hands and mouth of s purely evil woman was more than I could deal with. My parents were called and made aware. Nothing was ever done. I was never provided with any kind of help. Maybe it was the “standard” of the late 1980s. I was not given the emotional support to sort out my trauma. 














What I did begin doing was self-harm. I had no idea what it all meant, at that time. But I knew that it made things better even if for just the moment. As I’ve stated about my family’s dysfunctional dynamics, I was told just to make it through the year and everything would be fine. It wasn’t. Yes, the abuse ended. But I was not fine.





By my freshman year in high school, I was “balls to the wall” in addiction. Addiction that presented itself in drugs, alcohol, eating disorders and self-harm. The strongest addiction being self-harm. And 35 years later, it continues.





The depression, anxiety and suicidal ideations never subsided as I was told. One day I finally told my mother that had I had access to a weapon, I was going to kill myself. Instead of offering help, of any kind, I was met with anger and told that I was being selfish. My thoughts were anything but selfish. I was hurting in ways that no one knew. And no one seemed to care. So, I suffered in silence for many years.





As a child/teenager when traumatic events occur, your mind goes directly to self-preservation. You do whatever you can to either tolerate the darkness or end the pain. Meanwhile, the trauma of life continued at a level that no one is capable of dealing with alone. My next real relationship was abuse that lasted 14 years. And again, I felt trapped.





If you don’t understand the concept of Pavlov’s dogs, then you don’t understand what it’s like to be held mentally captive while the world sees your situation with an easy out. And the sad part about it, is that they think that you deserve everything you get because you don’t just leave. My parents attributed all of the chaos of that relationship as being something that religion could fix. So, we got involved in church. If anything, the abuse got much worse because now his weapon was a Bible that he read and used as justification that I should be “submissive” to his every demands. Mentally, I was trapped again without any way out. And my self-harm was not about survival. It was about making the pain end. 














I would reach a mental breaking point and would stand out in the front yard where we lived and pointed a gun at my chest and pulled the trigger. The strange part was that I seemed to be witnessing rather than taking an active role. I watched that whole event as a spectator. I don’t expect you to understand the power of dissociation. Most people, in fact, are very ignorant about it. Again, I was met with anger from my mother. She kept saying, “Hush! Hush! Do you want to go back to Pine Grove?” That is the local mental health facility. And at that moment all I needed was compassion. But again, I faced anger and judgment. I wasn’t trying to “take the easy way out” or be “selfish.” I just wanted the pain to end. And everyone seemed to lose sight of that reality but me.





The bullet went into my shoulder only a few inches from my heart. And even hospital staff treated me as though I was taking up space much better suited for someone else. Self-harm became a way of life for me. It’s been there when people should’ve been there. But self-harm doesn’t always mean “suicide attempt.”  And this is a very sore subject among family members. But I sit as an outcast by my family who want nothing more than the family name to not be tainted by abnormality. They acknowledge that bad things happen. But they just want it to disappear and to quit bringing shame to the family name and instead just move on with life. But the biggest factor, is that they don’t want to be perceived as “parental failures.” It’s still all about the reputation of the family.





 People that is not how trauma works. And saying, “We just didn’t know how to help you” is “shit”of an excuse. I was a child when it began. You were in the position to help protect your daughter and you didn’t. Remember, the part of the story where I said, “Just make it out of the 8th grade and everything will be better.” It’s 35 years later and it’s not better. It has crippled me as an adult. And has stolen my hopes and dreams. And I still deal with suicidal ideations on a daily basis. Those never went away either. So, I guess feeling like a “burden” to those who say that they love me but treat me as such will forever be the unhealthy narrative. I’ve asked them to do therapy to help with our relationship. But again, it’s of no importance. And the unspoken belief that I’m unworthy continues.





I wrote this blog to say this, “Quit making someone’s struggle with suicidal thoughts and actions be all about you. You are not helping anything. You only make it worse.” Simply say to them, “Your thoughts and beliefs are valid. Let’s find some compassionate help that will help you thrive. Throwing Bible verses in their face is not helpful. Telling them that they will go to hell is not helpful. They are already living in an emotional hell. 





This is not rocket science! Just don’t be an asshole as a rule of thumb. I have been in the position of being the last one to talk to a person moments before they completed suicide. I can tell you this, “I’m not mad at that person. I don’t condemn their actions. I don’t say, “Well I guess they’re in hell now. How selfish of them.” I simply say, “I hate that they were in so much pain that nothing anyone said could break through the cloud of despair.”





Until you’ve been in that position, you have no idea how strong emotions and thoughts are. And if the person felt like they had exhausted all of their means of trying to end the pain in an acceptable fashion, then they see no other way out. Judgmental comments about, “well, they didn’t seek out every source of help” is you seeing in from your perspective only. If you can’t see it from their perspective, you’re one of the lucky ones. Thanks for reading! Take what you can use and leave the rest.





Affirmation: I’m always healing and never alone.





***Don’t forget to watch the video!***





#Thispuzzledlife



















	




			
				


	
			
					
	

	

		

			Featured darnold1975 		


		
What Are The Streets Saying? Lean
	


	

		

“My lean cost more than your rent, ooh (it do)





Your momma still live in a tent, yuh (brr) “





-Lyrics by Lil Pump’s song “Gucci Gang.”





 Light the charcoal. Sprinkle the sage. Negativity energy, go away. Today, I want to discuss a drug concoction known as “Lean.” And how very dangerous it can be.










What is Lean? Lean is known as “purple drank,” “sizzurp,” “dirty sprite” and is a very dangerous addictive mixture of prescription-strength cough syrup, a soft drink, and sometimes hard candy  and sweeteners due to the unpleasant taste. The main ingredient is codeine which is an opioid. The misuse of codeine can cause a person’s heart rate and breathing to slow leading to an overdose and possible death. And it’s even more dangerous when combined with alcohol or other drugs such as benzodiazepines and Phenergan. High doses can cause hallucinations, vivid dreams, or nightmares. And can cause both physical and mental dependence .





Lean came on the scene in the music industry with such artists as Justin Bieber, Lil Nas and Three 6 Mafia in Houston, Texas. You can buy codeine over the counter in some countries (https://www.medicalnewstoday.com, 2025). However, in the United States, it can only be bought with a prescription. And with the crunch on doctors prescribing opioids, they syrup is more difficult and more expensive buying it on the street. Cough syrup that contains codeine usually costs between $250 and $800 per pint. Premade Lean on the street sales for up to $1000 per pint (https://www.arkbh.com, 2025).














 The precise number of lean specific overdoses and fatalities are not known. However, there are risks that must be considered including:














 I’ll be the first to tell you that I’ve never tried lean. I was one of those kids who always ran and hid when it was in liquid medicine form. If it was in pill form, there is a high likelihood that I would’ve used and probably gotten addicted to it. Thanks for reading. Take what you can use and leave the rest.





Affirmation: You are in charge of your life story.





***Don’t forget to watch the video!***





#Thispuzzledlife



















	




			
				


	
			
					
	

	

		

			Featured darnold1975 		


		
What Are The Streets Saying? Inhalants
	


	

		

“The National Institute on Drug Abuse states, “The brain of a chronic toluene abuser is smaller compared to someone with no history of inhalant abuse.”





-Neil Rosenberg, M.D., NIDA Research Report





Light the charcoal. Sprinkle the sage. Negativity energy, go away. Today, I want to discuss something that many teenagers experiment with, inhalants. Abusing inhalants isn’t a new thing. As it was very popular 35 years ago. And when you’re a kid without access to money, getting “high” is just a short walk away to the family utility shed. I’ll give you some facts. And then I’ll tell my story.





First, let me describe what “huffing” is even though it’s self-explanatory. Huffing is the act of inhaling chemical vapors from common household products to get high. And it’s a dangerous form of substance abuse. Even though it might seem less risky, huffing can be even more dangerous with potentially severe and fatal consequences (https://evokewellnessoh.com, 2024).





The primary chemical in many dusters is HFC-134a, which act as propellant and refrigerant. Inhaling duster fumes can be dangerous. It can lead to serious side effects such as liver problems, breathing problems and death. Duster and other inhalants aren’t considered control substances and can be bought most anywhere.














Air dusters also contain other ingredients such as:





·        Difluoroethane can cause heart issues and loss of consciousness.





·        Nitrous Oxide can cause dizziness, vomiting and nausea.





·        Alkyl Nitrites can cause increased heart rate or vomiting.





·        Butane can affect the heart leading to sudden death.





·        Propane which can cause convulsions and loss of consciousness.





Other possible side effects are:





·        heart irregularities





·        unconsciousness





·        irritation of the nose, throat, and lungs





·        coughing





·        difficulty breathing





·        shortness of breath





·        irregular pulse





·        palpitations





·        inadequate circulation





·        abnormal kidney function





·        frostbite of the nasal cavity





·        breakdown of muscle tissue





·        liver damage





·        suffocation due to displacement of air inside the lungs





·        coma





·        convulsions





·        brain or nerve damage





·        bone marrow damage





·        choking on vomit after using an inhalant





·        sudden sniffing death, which is when a person dies suddenly after breathing in an inhalant due to cardiac arrest (https://medicalnewstoday.com, 2025).














Over a fifteen-year period, teens in the US abused more than 3,400 products through inhalation. The age range was from 6 to over 50 years old. Teen boys accounted for 73.5% of cases. Of those with known outcomes from emergency room visits, 208 died and more than 1,000 experienced life-threatening or permanent disabilities (www.poison.org, 2025).





·        More than 22.98 million Americans have abused inhalants at least once in their lifetime.





·        And over the past two decades, less than 1% of individuals aged 12 and older report past year use in 2023. 





·        Inhalants are typically used by younger adolescents, with 4% 8th graders having used in the last year. The peak age is 14 years old.





·        Inhalant abuse is less common in adults but does occur, especially among those with access to chemicals (https://www2.courtinfor.ca.gov, 2025).





·        Only 25% of inhalant abusers tested in emergency rooms had no effects. Most had serious effects or died (www.poison.org, 2025).





Toluene is a chemical found in common products including nail polish, paint thinners, adhesives. It is also used to aid in the production of benzene, other chemicals, pharmaceuticals, and dyes. Toluene can also be found in printing inks, varnishes, lacquers, and some types of glues (www.OSHA.gov, 2025).





Another product that is popular among teens, which can be bought at any “head shop” is “whip-its.” It is nitrous oxide which cuts off oxygen to the brain, creating a euphoric high that lowers mental and physical pain. And it is used to make whipped cream. Using nitrous for recreational purposes is illegal. And you can be fined or jailed for violating inhalant laws (www.webmd.com, 2025). Lock me up!





I’ll be the first to admit that “huffing” was always one of my favorite ways to get “high.” Second, only to pills. It began when I started sniffing White Out. I would cover the page with it and then roll it up and start sniffing the fumes. Same thing went for gasoline. I would put a little on a rag when I filled up with gas. And then held it to my nose and inhaled deeply. All while I was driving. I know. Safety scores are totally negative. And for many years I would quit. Always heavily involved in other types of addictions.














Once the stress of my life engulfed me while I was in undergraduate and beginning graduate school, I would start huffing again. And I found my “main squeeze” in computer duster. Mainly, because it was much cheaper than other things. I was in therapy at the time. And the stress of life and the ever-hovering PTSD symptoms had me huffing every chance I got, especially after therapy. And one day I had left therapy, grabbed my can of duster from underneath the seat and started huffing as fast as I could to get the “incorrect” EMDR effects out of my brain. And when the chemicals hit, they hit hard. Suddenly, I couldn’t figure out how to work my steering wheel. I ran up on the curb and over corrected and spun across four lanes of traffic. Luckily, there were no cars coming. I sit for a second and realized that everything was ok. Still much higher than I should’ve been to drive, I cranked my Honda CRV and headed in the direction of a potential future employer. But during my stupor I forgot to look for vehicles coming from the right as I was about to make a left turn. And the next thing I remember is hearing the horrible sound of glass breaking and a loud boom. My luck had just run out. I had inadvertently pulled out into the back wheels of an eighteen-wheeler. And for a split second I thought, “Wow! This is it. Jesus, I’m on the way!” The next thing I remember is feeling intense pain but unsure where. An ambulance picked me up from the scene. What I didn’t realize at the time was that the eighteen-wheeler had gone over the top of the cab and crashed it in. Nevertheless, I was terrified that I would be getting a DUI. But there was no way to test for an aerosol. So, I vowed to keep my mouth shut. They did do a toxicology test, but an aerosol is from the lungs not the blood. And I would live with battle wounds. I vowed to never touch that stuff again. But I would always carry that little behavior not as a first choice. But still a choice I would always have for private viewing. I thought that I was finally scared of addiction and the dark forces that surround it.





After many of doing without it while engaging in self-harm, illicit drugs, and alcohol, I would begin again while living in Texas for a couple of years. But this time, it was spray paint. They both get you “high,” however, duster can give you a very panicky “high.” If it do it too much, it becomes downright scary. To this day, I still deal with huffing. I know that it’s typically done in teenage years. But that’s when one of my biggest traumas occur day after day. And in many ways, I am still that same rebellious and very hurt teen.





If you know of someone who is “huffing,” help them stop NOW! Because years later they will look up and realize they’re an adult who’s still “huffing,” if not dead. It might seem harmless, but it’s not. I hope some of this educational material will bring more attention to a very common problem with inhalants. Thanks for reading! Take what you can use and leave the rest.





Affirmation: You are not your mistakes





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			 darnold1975 		


		
What Is Narcissism? Part 2
	


	

		

“The Narcissist wants the authority of a king while having the accountability of a toddler.”





-Haryo Aswicahyono





My ex-husband and his brother are both very narcissistic in the way that they manage everything. They are not men. They are boys with very fragile egos that were destroyed by their father. Nothing they ever did was good enough for him. And his explosive anger was the way that he maintained control. 





Their was also raised by narcissistic uncles that taught him the only way to raise kids is to beat them into submission. That is also how his grown children operate. If they don’t get what they want, they abuse their victim until submission is achieved. And my ex-husband was that way in every area of his life. Because physically they’re both just broken-down old men who use threats and intimidation. Because they would get beaten physically in a fight. 





Where was their mother? Well, she was an uneducated homemaker for many years. And where was she to go or to do? Her circumstances didn’t allow her to take three children and leave. The services were just not available then. But what it caused was continuous trauma to others. If someone doesn’t put a stop to it then the abuse continues to multiply like cancer until it becomes the norm. Then, they become accustomed to what is now their normal life and anyone who challenges that must pay in whatever way they see fit. 














I finally got enough and left. But his brother’s wife continues to take emotional abuse. I went into my next relationship and the mark of his abuse also crept in. I decided that I was where the effects of his abuse would cease to continue. And it’s been an arduous process the last twenty or so years in therapy. The way I got though life was so distorted once I was able to step back and realize all the damage that he caused. The most difficult part of living through it is that the PTSD that I sustained from his emotional, financial, sexual and religious abuse continues to affect me today. And sometimes the simplest of things are monumental. 





I’m one person who has been through this. And there are millions more people, both men, women and children who are subjected to a malignant narcissist like I was. Will everyone get help that can be so beneficial? Absolutely not. And then the cycle will continue for another generation that are busy building more narcissists. 





Oh, the kids can grow up to be successful in spite of the narcissism. Just look at our president. He oozes with narcissism, and he has a cult of followers who don’t see it either. It is all about his personal gain that is disguised as “Making America Great Again.” Those of us who have been abused by a narcissist can identify the “gas lighting” and “manipulation” a hundred miles away. Because some of the same statements and attitudes came out of my ex-husband’s mouth. 





Narcissists rarely get help because they never see fault in themselves. They are great at dishing it out. But they absolutely cannot handle it being done to them. He very much wanted to be seen as some kind of a “big boy.” However, he had the emotional maturity of a toaster. My sons are already better men at 10 and 13 years old than he is at 68 years old.





So, I ask you, “How do I support someone like that? I’ve already been through its multiple times in my life. And if you really want to find out the total damage that has been caused to me by way of the narcissists in my life, I’ll let you talk to my therapist who continues to see me struggle years later.”  Thanks for reading! Stay educated. Stay safe. And keep smiling!





Affirmation: I resolve to walk away from situations where someone lies, refusing to engage with truth benders or gas lighters.





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			 darnold1975 		


		
What Is Narcissism?
	


	

		

“Narcissism is a cover for a very weak self-image.”





-Dian Grier, LCSW





 Light the charcoal. Sprinkle the sage. Negative energy go away. Today, I want to talk about narcissism. This doesn’t just occur in world leaders. This occurs within our family members and those we meet along the way. And narcissist abuse will leave a mark on all of its unsuspecting victims.





Before I go any further, I want to tell you about the specifics of Narcissistic Personality Disorder as a diagnosis. Let me see if I can describe these types of individuals, so that you will have a better understanding about what to look for. One thing to note about a narcissist is that they enjoy criticizing others for any little thing. However, if you begin to criticize anything about them, they will quickly lash out with discontent.





First, we must understand the difference between “personality” and “personality disorder.” Someone’s personality is influenced by experiences, environmental and hereditary. A healthy personality allows someone to cope with the normal stresses of life while developing and maintaining satisfying relationships. However, when long term patterns of thinking and behavioral responses are rigid, inflexible, and cause stress and impairment in functioning, the personality is considered “disordered.” To be classified as a disorder the person’s way of thinking, feeling and behaving deviates from the expectations of the culture while also causes distress or problems functioning and lasts over time. The behavior typically begins in late adolescence into early adulthood (psychiatry.org, 2024).














 The criteria for a diagnosis of Narcissistic Personality Disorder in the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders (DSM-5-TR) defines the disorder as “a pervasive pattern of grandiosity, need for admiration, and lack of empathy.” Beginning by early adulthood and present in a variety of contexts. To meet criteria for a diagnosis there must be at least five of the nine criteria. Having a grandiose sense of self-importance, such as exaggerating achievements and talents, expecting to be recognized as superior even without commensurate achievements.





They believe that they are “entitled” to special privileges and have unrealistic expectations for  special treatment.





 Demanding excessive admiration





·         They crave excessive attention from others. And they seek validation and applause for their perceived achievements and abilities.





Sense of entitlement





Exploitation behaviors





  They take advantage of others to achieve their own goals. And they lack concern for the harm they cause doing it.





Lack of empathy





They struggle to understand the feelings and needs of others while also dismissing or minimizing their experiences.





Envy towards others or belief that others are envious of them.





They want to see others envious of them.





Inability to handle criticism.





Preoccupation with fantasies of success, power, beauty, and idealization.





Belief in being “special” and that they can only be understood by or associated with other  high-status people (or institutions).





 They struggle to accept criticism or feedback and become defensive and angry when confronted.





Fragile Self-Esteem





Despite their appearance of how they exude  confidence, they really have a very fragile sense of self-worth and are overly sensitive to criticisms.





Arrogant behaviors and attitudes(StatPearls Publishing, 2025 January).





Childhood trauma is one of the most common types of traumas that can contribute to the development of narcissism. And it can include things such as physical, emotional and sexual abuse, neglect and abandonment. When a child is subjected to things like this, the mind has to find a “work around” for dealing with the emotions. Some children deal with these seemingly “threatening” feelings and emotions by developing a sense of entitlement, a need for control, and a lack of empathy towards others.





This is exactly who my ex-husband is. Trying to form a close emotional bond with him was like trying to hug an iceberg. There was just nothing ever there. He got mad and pretended to empathize with others. The fact of the matter is that he considered him “the best” at everything. And he made a point to criticize everyone he had contact with once they left. He and his brother were at the mercy of his father’s physical and emotional abuse that was a direct result of his own narcissism. I’ve known and been around them all and I can tell you that it’s like being around the “Narcissism Entourage.”  





I will post part 2 in the next few days. Keep reading. Keep Smiling. And always remember, “Tomorrow is another day to begin again.”





Affirmation: I am embracing my journey towards healing and growth.





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			Featured darnold1975 		


		
And Then There Was Piper
	


	

		

“Kittens are angels with whiskers.”





-Alexis Flora Hope





Light the charcoal. Sprinkle the sage. Negative energy, go away. Today is a special day because I brought this beautiful little girl into our family. She is the epitome of being a survivor.





I had been wanting a new kitten for over a year. And I always thought that the name Onyx would be a great name for a black cat. I looked locally and the black kittens were either feral, no veterinary care or too expensive. But then I saw the story about this litter. And I just could not seem to put it out of my mind.










The story goes like this…Someone left a litter of  kittens in a concrete parking lot in a metal cage. And there were two little ones that were hanging on for dear life. I know. I want to find those people and set them on fire too. People are just a special kind of evil for doing things like that. A lady saw them as she pulled up to the store and rescued them. And went to get veterinary care. She and her family also hand fed and spent countless hours and emotions making sure those two babies made it. A month later, I my heart told me, “That little girl is the one.”





Me and the owners talked, and I realized what this special little kitten would be for me. I met up with one of the owners at a neutral place. I got the kitten’s tiny little body out of her crate while she meowed. And I melted and then lost my breath all at once. That little girl melted my heart once I saw her. I lost my breath not from her beauty but from her tiny little “murder mittens” that reached out for safety and grabbed my boob. I felt like I had just been stabbed and was clinging to life. I’m pretty sure I dissociated too. I really hope the fear in my face and the gasp from my throat wasn’t noticed.










To keep from trying to make her a black cat when she is not, I have changed her name to Piper. And from what I can tell, the name suits her simply fine. We need each other. Her sisters Tink and Coco are not grateful for her arrival currently. I am guessing that it is because neither of them wanted to share lap space or cookies. I talked to them like toddlers saying, “We do not hiss and try to bite our friends. She is a kitten. Not a crocodile. And she is your sister.” They did not seem to care about the rationale. And they continue to hiss and sulk.





I am now at my “cat limit.” Me and my girls know how to do two things, “We know how to adapt to change and love.” We do not always do it with a smile on our faces and with love in our hearts. But little Piper is just what the three of us needed to complete our family unit. 





Big brothers, Marshall and Copeland, will give her “a run for her money.” But they will no doubt love her too. She already speaks English and is sassy and mouthy just like her sisters. Stay tuned for more interactions with my three amigos. Welcome Home, Piper! 





Thanks for reading! And Please Spay and Neuter Your Pets!





Affirmation: I am getting to know my new family.





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			Featured darnold1975 		


		
What Are The Streets Saying? “Benzo Dope”
	


	

		

“Drugs take you to hell disguised as heaven.”





-Donald Lyn Frost





Light the charcoal. Sprinkle the sage. Negative energy go away. Today, I want to talk to you about a drug that is more dangerous than fentanyl. It’s called “Benzo Dope.” In my time working in the addiction field, one of the most dangerous combinations of drugs that I saw was benzodiazepines and opiates.





Benzodiazepines (Benzo) are a class of depressant drugs that are commonly used in anti-anxiety medications such as: Xanax, Valium, Ativan and Klonopin . There are many others but these mentioned are the most common. They are used in conjunction with many other drugs like heroin, cocaine and fentanyl to intensify the sedating effects. These drugs both decrease respirations and when combined can cause coma or death (dea.gov, 2025). Common street names associated with these drugs are: bars, footballs, french fries, ladders, tranks, planks, xannies, benzo blues, nerve pills, candy, k, k-pin, super valium (addictioncenter.com, 2025).














During my extensive time of being on psychiatry meds, I was prescribed “benzos” to help treat paralyzing anxiety. The trend that I’ve personally seen is that some doctors have significantly decreased prescribing these meds because of their high potential for abuse. The withdrawal symptoms, regardless if you abuse them or not, come with some pretty nasty symptoms. Even when being tapered down withdrawal effects are still present. Yep, I have abused those drugs a time or two with and without opiates.





“Benzo Dope” combines these two types of drugs raising the overdose rate in epic proportions. The “benzo” part of the concoction throws up some amnestic barriers where the user has no idea what has transpired. And oftentimes they don’t even know that benzos have been added to their dope. This leaves individuals susceptible to being robbed, raped and other traumas with no memory of the event. Now, however, “benzo dope” has become a staple in which addicts ask for it by name. The life saving drug, “Narcan,” helps to reverse the overdose effects of opiates but plays no part in the reversing the life cycle of benzodiazepines.





Several years ago, I worked at a methadone clinic in Albuquerque, NM. Methadone is another very dangerous drug that should be taken off the market. There were numerous overdoses because while using that strong opiate they combined benzos which resulted in death. As always, take what you need and leave the rest. No matter what drug is being used addiction is a death sentence.





“It is more difficult and dangerous to widraw people from benzodiazepines than from heroin.”





-Unknown





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			 darnold1975 		


		
National PTSD Awareness Day
	


	

		

“Always remember, if you have been diagnosed with PTSD, it is not a sign of weakness; rather, if is proof of your strength, because you have survived!”





-Unknown





Light the charcoal. Sprinkle the sage. Negative energy go away. Today, I want to take time out from celebrating Pride, to give light to National PTSD Awareness Day. This one hit hard as I’ve lived with PTSD longer than I’ve lived without it. And there are so many of us who don’t make it to the other end of the tunnel. It’s an incredibly dark place to wake up to and go to sleep with every night.





Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) dates back to ancient civilizations and military conflicts. Terms used early on included “combat-related stress,” “shellshock,” “combat fatigue,” and “railway spine.” In the 1800s and early 1900s, the “talking cure: was popularized by Sigmund Freud and introduced in medical literature. And the treatment went from psychoanalysis to electric shock treatment. By the 1950s, the treatments had become more humane. However, now people would not admit to any traumatic symptoms due to the stigma. So, group therapy and psychotropic medications were introduced (blackbearrehab.com, 2025).





In the 1970s Vietnam veterans began experiencing a lot of psychological problems that persisted even after returning home. And survivors of domestic abuse were also included. In the 1980s,  PTSD was officially recognized as a mental health problem. Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders adopted the diagnosis where it has remained (blackbearrehab.com, 2025).














PTSD is a developed from a traumatic event. C- PTSD when a traumatic event continues for months and years or multiple events occur. The intrusive thoughts, flashbacks, insomnia, avoidance, memory problems, detachment from friends and family, feeling emotionally numb, hyper startle, irritability, trouble concentrating, impulsive behavior, paranoia, severe anxiety, nightmares, suicidal ideations and actions and uncontrollable thoughts about the event. And over time, these symptoms completely devour who you once were (MayoClinic.org, 2025).





I know that PTSD is typically related to soldiers. I am here to tell you that I never went into the military. But the PTSD that I deal with, as a result of domestic violence, grabbed hold of me and has never let go. It has completely stripped me of everything that I used to enjoy. I don’t care about relationships. I question people about their intentions, even if they’re pure and good. I’m constantly waiting for the next shoe to drop. I don’t have typical reactions to being scared. I could see a moth out, of the corner of my peripheral vision, and then jump and scream like Jeffery Dahmer was staring at me and about to take the first bite. I face the stigmas of both friends and family mainly due to a lack of understanding. However, the reasearch information is everywhere. Sometimes others just need to their own leg work. I have come to realize that instead of trying to find out how PTSD affects someone that you love, it’s “the easy way out” to just to be dismissive, embarrassed and judgmental instead. The attitude is “just change X behavior.” Without having a solution, the resounding message of “just make it go away” further ostracizes the person that you say you care about. And so the anticipated glimmer of hope dissipates further isolating the individual.  And sadly, can lead to suicide.














PTSD is not about you, it’s about them. It’s just a diagnosis until it’s “you” that experiences it every day. It has taken me down to the point of putting a gun in my mouth. And because living in the abuse was so severe, I actually pulled the trigger after pointing the gun at my torso. It missed my heart by only a few centimeters. Nothing was messed up to the point of needing surgery. But self-harm is something that I’ve dealt with since I was a 13-year-old child. And I had no idea how to deal with all the overwhelming emotions of abuse. In that cold, dark closet where I began to self-harm, and as maladaptive as the behavior is, it worked. It was the only thing that worked to bring me back to complete balance. But the problem is that it became a true addiction issue that I continue to struggle with. And before you ask, yes I’ve done a lot of therapy. It’s not that the therapy doesn’t. It’s that the addiction is that strong. 





PTSD is a true injury on the brain. The brain’s job is to help you survive in any way possible. So, we reach for anything to help calm the barrage of intrusive thoughts, memories, smells and sounds. And once it’s been damaged through a traumatic event, it creates a “work around” solution. What typically works? Self-harm and substance abuse creates almost instant comfort. You don’t have to wait for 6-8 weeks to reach your therapeutic dose efficacy to begin working. It’s an immediate fix that some of have to use just to stay alive.





Cannabis was recommended when all other “Big Pharma” medications failed. And it has saved my life on a daily basis ever since. Cannabis seems to put a cloud over my brain saying, “Settle just for a moment.” And for that moment, I can take a break from the constant paranoia and overstimulation of a brain that wanted to do nothing more than survive. And that, is my battlefield. It wasn’t in Iraq, Afghanistan or Vietnam. My battlefield is everywhere I go. I fear people and social situations in a way that most cannot understand. 





It literally takes me about a week in advance to start prepping to leave my house just  to go to pick up medications,that I,unfortunately have to take. But I don’t take anymore psych meds. I was extremely sick, coming off all the meds that I had been begging for over two years to be tapered off. And I got tired of waiting, so I did it myself. I don’t advise this way because it was a really miserable  process. However, I was at a point of desperation. And now about 6 months later, I feel like a new human being after the toxic feeling of all the medications. All of my true feelings and emotions have awakened, and I really like feeling somewhat comfortable at times.





My personal opinion is that anyone returning home from the active duty  should be handed an ounce of weed the minute they step off the plane to do with as they wish. And it would be perfectly ok if they gave it away. That’s like paying it forward in “Weed-O-Nomics.” As it stands, soldiers come home from a war that never ends. And they are committing suicide at a rate of 22 soldiers a day. And that is less than unacceptable.





As the topic of cannabis continues to circulate among social circles and national politics, I hope that veterans from our military will step out against the shame that is felt from social stigmas.  And reach for the plant that can “help take the gun out of your mouth.” Cannabis doesn’t cure PTSD because it wasn’t the one who caused it. But it does make things much more tolerable.





Thanks for reading! Happy Pride everyone!





Affirmation: I am resilient and capable of healing.





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			 darnold1975 		


		
“Trans Rights Are Human Rights”
	


	

		

“It’s not the child’s responsibility to teach the parent who they are, it’s the parent’s responsibility to know who their child is.”





-Tig Notaro





Light the charcoal. Sprinkle the sage. Negative energy go away! I hope everyone’s Pride month is going well. There’s just something about Pride month that feels so unique to the rest of the year. To me it’s almost like coming out of the closet for one month every year. The release of finally stepping out of that smothering closet into your truth and say, “This is who I am!” And after the  chaos that can happen, at the end of the day, you can finally sleep soundly knowing that you just set yourself free. You no longer have to pretend that you’re one way or another to appease, yet another, non-affirming straight person who wants to tell you how many different ways that you’re going to Hell. And for my fellow trans brothers and sisters, it can be so much more difficult.





First, you must understand what the term “Transgender” means. Transgender is very simply, when someone has the brain of one gender and the body of another gender. It’s difficult for many to understand. If you don’t understand, then you were never transgender. I’ll admit that I don’t understand everything. But that’s not the point. The point is that the person or people are my friends, and I accept them for whoever they are or want to be. And I understand how difficult that can be. 














Transitioning is so much more difficult than just saying that you’re trans. They go through physical, psychological and emotional changes. Not only do they have to say, ‘I’m different.” They also have to say, “I’m switching genders.” Based on the way that my family reacted to my own coming out, I would rather dive headfirst into a vat of hot lava instead of telling them that I was switching genders. I’m considered “soft butch” and there are a lot of problems because I’m not the stereotypical female.





Let me explain a few things.





· Transgendering behaviors are peppered throughout history in ancient civilizations and cultures of the world. 





· In the nineteenth century, people like Karl Ulrichs began to describe “gender confusion” as being “female psyche caught in a male body.”





· The Early 20th century the Germans began studies and treatments for gender dysphoria.





· In the 1950’s transgender rights in the United States began with Christine Jorgensen’s surgery coming to public attention. 





· 1960’s the term “transgender” appeared and then medical treatments like hormone therapy and gender affirming surgeries became possible.





· 1970’s The very first clinic dedicated to transgender health care opened in Canada. 





· 1980-Present the term “transgender” was popularized and the moment began to build momentum(HRC.org, 2024).














Transitioning can be something as simple as having a new hairstyle, name, pronoun or style of clothing. Not everyone transitions all the way through surgery. Some people have complete top and bottom surgery and hormones. And others do hormones and choose not to do surgery for several reasons. The complete process is individual to the person. And your opinions will not influence this. It’s not about you and your wants and needs! It’s about them.





I wish that some of you could be on this side of the “public bathroom” argument and realize how utterly ridiculous you sound. They want to simply use the bathroom that reflects their gender. They don’t want your precious “dangling genitalia” or your “cooterville.” And equally ignorant is the statement about being dangerous to kids. Let me make one thing perfectly clear, a lot of the time you won’t be able to identify these individuals by just looking at them. The whole concept of transitioning is about change. And not everyone transitions at the same pace. Peeing and pooping happens no matter what your gender. After my own sexual abuse, I would feel safer leaving my children with someone who is transgender versus someone who is straight and religious.





 That does not mean that I don’t love God through my own beliefs. It means that some of the people that I distrust the most are religious people I’ve been around. And no, I don’t believe that all religious people are harmful. I have some very beautiful christian people in my life that have become a backbone of strength for me. But my trauma has taught me since the age of 5 years old to be incredibly careful around people who say they love Jesus and then use that as a weapon to manipulate and hurt others. I watch actions and not religious rhetoric.














And the military argument? Really?! Like what soldier is going to say prior to his/her life being saved by someone who is transgender, “Wait! Drop your drawers. Do you have one a “banana hammock” or a “clam snuggler?” I wouldn’t care and would be screaming, “Kill this ISIS asshole!” And they are willing to lay their own lives down for a country that does not see them as equal or as deserving as their straight battle buddies. Think about that for a second. They are going out risking and laying down their lives for people who live in some kind of world where random acts of violence are conducted by a “Trans Monster” seeking out children and virginities. I have never seen so much stupidity until “Trans Rights” came into question.





If you think coming out as a gay person is difficult, talk to one of the Transgender Warriors. The term “transexual” is a very outdated and derogatory term. A transexual is the same thing as a cross dresser. There are no hormones or surgery involved. And drag queens and drag kings are not the same as transgender. Some do perform as kings and queens. However, transgender is not only when the individual dresses like the opposite gender. I have met some of these beloved and very courageous people. And I can tell you that a lot of people who transition are some of the most appealing and sexiest people on the planet. And don’t think that they have an insatiable sexual appetite like what is assumed by those not under the rainbow umbrella. Trust me, they have standards too.





I will always be an advocate for Transgender Rights. They deserve the same rights as anyone else. And I believe that if they are brave enough to go fight for my rights, then they’re also deserving of the same rights. They are fighting for our freedoms as I sit and write blogs with a cat in my lap. Have the courage to stand up for these people who are even more marginalized than I am. And to all of my trans friends and family, “I stand with you! You are deserving of love and compassion. You are not wrong. You are loved and accepted. And YOU ARE ENOUGH!”





Thanks for reading! Take what you can use and leave the rest. You are Wanted, Needed and Loved! Happy Pride Everyone!





Affirmation: Your gender and authenticity are beautiful.





***Don’t forget to watch the video!***





#Thispuzzledlife














 

	




			
				


	
			
					
	

	

		

			 darnold1975 		


		
Come Out, Come Out!
	


	

		

“Closets are vertical coffins.”





-Robin Tyler





Light the charcoal. Sprinkle the sage. Negative energy go away. Today I want to talk about one of the most difficult things I’ve ever done. Coming out of the closet! Holy Cow what a topic! This is a topic that is as individual as a fingerprint. Anyone who has ever had to assert yourself as more than the typical “straight” person knows how very difficult it can be. My situation wasn’t any easier.





Growing up in the deep south of Mississippi you are expected to have a certain path to adulthood. Go to school. Graduated high school. Go to college for more school. Meet and marry someone of the opposite gender. Have children with your husband or wife. Always say, “For the bible tells me so.” And perpetuate this cycle. You are not to EVER consider loving someone of the same sex. But what if you, no matter how hard you try, cannot be straight? Apparently, no one has an answer for that. They just hide behind their bibles and tell you it’s wrong. This was even more pronounced because I live in the “Bible Belt” area of the state. Here’s my coming out story.





I knew at a young age that I was going to be different. I had no idea how or why. I just knew that it was how my life would be. I began having feelings about being gay when I was a teenager. I dare not tell anyone. The best thing I knew to do was keep it all hidden. I wasn’t overtly acting gay. I was just a “homie” to my guy friends. And I never really hung out with the girls unless I was excelling at the lesbian “gateway” sports of basketball and softball. I never really had many boyfriends because I wasn’t attracted to them. This was more out of choice. I just couldn’t seem to connect with any. 





On top of all the tumultuous years of a trauma filled adolescence, I realized early on that I would also have to stuff my “authentic self” into a closet where I would remain until my 30s. I know. It sounds horrible and it was. I’ve always heard, “That parenting doesn’t come with a manual” and I truly believe that statement being a parent myself. But being a gay teen also doesn’t come with a manual. The only thing I’ve ever heard is that being gay is wrong. There was never really any explanation except that the Bible says so as they would claim. The topic about being gay was also attributed to getting HIV/AIDS. Yes, I grew up in the 80s. So for the longest time I thought that if anyone ever found out that I wasn’t straight, God would kill me with AIDS.














I took the bait of a man nineteen years older than me. I don’t really know why because I wasn’t attracted to men. He was incredibly abusive in various ways. And four years later, I would marry him. I knew that I wasn’t meant for him because the abuse escalated over the next ten years to a level that still horrifies me to this day. But I did, in fact, marry a man. I remember thinking, “No wonder everyone hates being married.” I continued in that marriage knowing that there was nothing about it that I truly loved, especially him. I did, however, continue being a wife and my wifely duties.





At one point I asked him, “Why are you being like this to me?” To which he replied, “Because the Bible told me so. I am the husband and you are the wife. And you are to do what I say.” And that was the end of the discussion. He would take this role to a very perverse level, always beating me over the head with the Bible to justify his actions including rape. I would eventually leave him and his abusive ways by the hair of my chinny, chin, chin. And it felt so good.





No more being ordered to perform sexual favors that I hated doing. And many times said “no” only to be told, “that if I didn’t that he would take it anyway.” No more pretending like I was happy in public and then crying tears in private. And it wasn’t just because he was so mean that I left. I just wasn’t “straight” and I couldn’t face another day of living that lie.














Six months later as we are going through a horrible divorce,he and his family’s threats and intimidation were just that. One day, though, I would be introduced to a woman who I knew instantly that I loved. We became very close friends very quickly. And we ended up “uhauling”like most lesbians do. For the first time in my life, I was going to love who I wanted to love versus being told who to love. And it was the most beautiful thing that I ever experienced. She was exactly who I wanted to be with. 





Being a party to a scandalous relationship like the one with my ex-husband taught me “toughen up your skin because one day you will need that lesson to reflect on.”  And I would soon come to understand what all of that meant. I was scared but confident because I felt that my family would understand having gone through hell with the ex. So, we sat with both of my parents and I told them that I was a lesbian and I loved Mel. Yep, that shit went over like “a turd in the punch bowl.” They would make it very clear that saying that she loved me for me didn’t matter. It only mattered that she had a vagina. I would also learn soon enough that the reaction was “because it would hurt their reputation and how that might impact their “church life.” It didn’t seem to matter that I could’ve died in that closet. Because I almost did.














I was hurt but I didn’t care. For once I was becoming my “authentic self”, one piece at a time. We moved away to Albuquerque, NM where we took solace in a lesbian group. Finally, though, we were free to love each other openly. And no one cared. We would go on to have two handsome little boys who call us mommas. And I continued fighting battles within my family over their ignorance. I still have family who won’t talk to me or let me be around their kids because, I guess their kids will catch the “gay virus” from me. And others, who won’t even acknowledge my existence because of how it looks in the family. 





That hard lesson about having “thick skin” is that it has given me the strength to stand up for myself and others in the LGBTQ+ communities as we stand together demanding equality for all. These days there aren’t many people who try to debate those topics because my reputation of being a “verbal sniper” will shut them up very quickly. And my beautiful boys also know that no matter who they love or how they identify, it is absolutely ok. And that hateful things are said by people who stand behind the Bible in order to justify their right to be hurtful. And sometimes people ask you not to show up at the church because they don’t want anyone they know to see those beautiful rainbows. Maybe, however, it’s just because my light will shine too bright for their comfort level. What I had to learn through my process is that their ignorance is about them, not me.





You see, the Jesus I was always told about is someone who loves people no matter what gender or sexuality we are. Because we are made in “his” image. We are not made in his “straight” image. But when I came out, all of a sudden I was told how mad it would make him and how I would be punished. Apparently, there is a different mainline number than what I have in my phone. 





I’m sorry. I just don’t believe that at all. I think that God is so proud of me for discovering my “authentic self” because I no longer live a lie. And having the courage to stand up for others who are abused by religion based on their gender or sexuality is not ok. My sons have asked me on more than one occasion, “Momma, how do you know that?” I tell them, “Son, because the Bible tells me so. And LOVE IS LOVE.”





I wasn’t built to live my life in a box or a closet. And neither are you. So if it goes against societal norms and makes me unpopular, then so be it. Keep fighting my LGBTQ+ family. Enjoy being  authentically you. No one will ever have the power to love you like you do. Those rainbows make us look fabulous! Happy Pride everyone!





“There’s no right or wrong way to be gay. No right or wrong way to come out. It’s your journey, do it the way you wanna do it.”





-Tan France





***Don’t forget to watch the video!”***





#Thispuzzledlife



















	




			
				


	
			
					
	

	

		

			 darnold1975 		


		
“Happy Pride!”
	


	

		

“Do not allow people to dim your shine because they are blinged. Tell them to put on some sunglasses, because we were born this way.”





-Lady Gaga





Light the charcoal. Sprinkle the sage. Negative energy go away. Okie dokie! You know what today is? I’ll give you a hint. It’s my favorite time of the year. IT”S GAY PRIDE MONTH! Everyone fly those flags and love who you love. I think those who are new to the pride family and are newly allied deserve to know just why we love pride month so much. 





On June 28, 1969 (no pun intended), the NYPD raided the Stonewall Inn. Raids at gay bars where the patrons and employees inside were interrogated while a crowd gathered outside. The sum of everyone fought back, and police barricaded themselves in the Stonewall Inn. The mob’s resistance went on all night, and continued for days in protests across New York City. 





A year later in June 1970 activists marched throughout the streets to commemorate the riots. It was called the Christopher Street Liberation Day where sparsely attended and encountered protests because of the outlandish costumes that some marchers wore.and is known as the first Pride Parade. Other pride celebrations were in cities like Los Angeles, San Francisco, and Chicago (bryanuniversity.edu, 2024). Pride is used to describe the community’s solidarity, identity and resistance to discrimination (britannica.com, 2025).










In 1978, the symbol representing Gay Pride first made its debut in San Francisco. It was the rainbow flag. The original flag consisted of eight colors (hot pink-sexuality, red-life, orange-healing, the sun-yellow, green-nature, blue-art, indigo-harmony and violet for spirit). The colors were tweaked a bit because of the unavailability of fabric colors. The demonstrations focused on participants’ being proud to be out of the closet regarding individual freedom and diversity of the LGBTQ community. 





In the 1980’s, after the spreading of AIDS, pride events focused on the social issues of the time. The LBGTQ community increased among the straight community, politician sympathies and gay-friendly businesses and corporations began participating in the marches. The popularity began spreading across the globe. Large cities such as Amsterdam, Chicago, London, Mexico City, New York, Paris, San Francisco and Sao Paulo attract several hundred thousand to more than a million annually. Stiff resistance in Jerusalem, Moscow and Warsaw but pride has still continued.










The groups of people who identified as gay, lesbian, bisexual, transgender or queer who felt empathy and solidarity based on shared experiences of prejudice, discrimination and disrespect or awareness of oppression were all included in the acronym LGBTQ. The acronym has again changed to include those who are “questioning,” “intersex,” and “agender” to LGBTQIA or LGBTQ+ (britannica.com, 2025).





In 1999, President Bill Clinton officially declared June as Gay and Lesbian Pride month. In 2009, President Barack Obama named it Lesbian, Gay, bisexual, and Trangender Pride Month. In 2016, President Obama designed the Stonewall Inn and the surrounding area as a national museum. And it was the first national monument that honored LGBTQ+ rights (bryanuniversity.edu, 2024). However, there is still the ongoing fight for equality and inclusion.





As of 2015, the Supreme Court ruled in Obergefell v. Hodges that same-sex couples have the right to marry in all 50 states.  The ruling also declared that same-sex couples have the same rights under the law as opposite-sex couples. This includes Social Security, health insurance and retirement savings. Most Americans agree that legalizing same-sex marriage is good for society.














In 2017, our country and communities witnessed the protections for LGBTQ people across the entire federal government. While President Biden reversed many of those attacks, Trump promised to go back even further on LGBTQ rights if re-elected. And sadly that has happened. Project 2025, has removed anti-discrimination policies. And on day one of his current presidency he began to eliminate protections for transgender students. This began to strip LGBTQ individuals of protections against discrimination in many areas including employment, housing, education, healthcare, and other federal programs.  And to date has kicked many transgender military personnel of their livelihood (aclu.org, 2025). 





Ask yourself, “how does gender identity determine when, where and how your  “battle buddy” pulls a trigger? Aren’t our troops, regardless of how they identify, fighting for the freedoms of the same nation? Trangender soldiers are of no significant threat to anyone else in the military. Because when it comes down to protecting my six, it doesn’t matter how someone identifies in gender or sexuality, if the trigger gets pulled and I live to fight for freedom another day.





Our fight for equality will continue just like it began. We will be loud and proud no matter what our government or religion does to try and destroy our pride. We will be there with our colors on challenging everyone that there be justice for all. The LGBTQ communities will continue to demand that we be included in the preamble of the constitution which reads, “WE THE PEOPLE OF THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA.” Stonewall will never die! Thanks for reading! Happy Pride Everyone!





“If I wait for someone else to validate my existence, it will mean that I’m short changing myself.”





-Zanele Muholi





***Don’t forget to watch the video!***





#Thispuzzledlife



















	




			
				


	
			
					
	

	

		

			 darnold1975 		


		
Most Dangerous Internet Challenges Part 3
	


	

		

“Getting information from the Internet is like taking a drink from a fire hydrant.”





-Mitchell Kapor





Thanks for coming back to read the final blog about the Most Dangerous Internet Challenges. I have saved the most dangerous of all the challenges I’ve talked about until now. That does not mean that I’m being insensitive to the destruction that the previous ones have caused. However, for varied reasons these last four challenges go down as my top for being some of the most dangerous. Let’s continue…





Skull Breaker Challenge





This is a dangerous challenge that first made its mark on Tik Tok in 2020. I’m not saying that the behavior itself has never been conducted before. Because I’m fairly sure that when I was a teen, we did something similar. The participants work as a group of three. One person stands in the middle, while the other two stand on either side. They tell the middle person to jump up and then very swiftly use a sweeping kick so that the middle person falls to the ground and hits their head. Injuries that have been associated with this challenge include concussion, neck, head and spinal injuries. Skull fractures and paralysis are also known to be associated with this challenge. Tik Tok very quickly took down any videos related to the challenge.














Benadryl Challenge





This is a challenge where it involves taking massive amounts of Benadryl in order to get high and hallucinate. Ok, stop for a second. We didn’t even have internet challenges much less this one. Hell, I did this just to escape my own horrible reality. But you can only take so much before the “high” isn’t a really pleasant experience. However, when you don’t have access to money, as a young teen, you go to the next best place, the parents’ medicine cabinet. 





I’m not trying to glorify this. What I am saying is that there are many varied reasons why someone would do something like this. While this can be deadly, I never considered those dangers as a teen. The overconsumption of this medication can lead to confusion, delirium, psychosis, organ damage, hyperthermia, convulsions coma and death. And sadly, there have been children and teens who did not live to see the next internet challenge.














Blackout Challenge





Ok. This one right here has been known to be my poison. The Blackout Challenge also called the “Choking Game” are another one of those things that have thrill seekers mouths watering with anticipation. I had no idea that this had a formal name for behavior until I started seeing this in news reports. The challenge formally began to gain widespread attention on Tik Tok in 2021. It’s a challenge that deprives the brain of oxygen and blocks blood from entering the brain.





Oxygen deprivation of the brain has the potential to cause moderate to severe brain cell death. And because fatalities are often ruled as suicides, it makes the statistics unreliable. I think we all can agree that this can be dangerous. One of the reasons that it’s so popular is because it costs zero dollars to try. As dangerous as it can be, I don’t see this behavior being eradicated. 





My personal beginning with this behavior was born out of a very traumatic situation. And I can tell you that the longer kids get their needs met in this way, the more difficult it is to stop. And just like any type of self-harm that serves a purpose for the individual, the results can be deadly.





I completely understand that not every child looks for some type of emotional need to be met with these behaviors. Either way no one can deny the facts about the statistics showing that it can be deadly. I can admit that this isn’t “brain food” and is still considered very stupid to most people. The main thing is for parents to be aware of the signs that are related to this behavior which include discussion of the game, bloodshot eyes, marks on the neck, severe headaches, disorientation after spending time alone, ropes, scarves and belts tied to bedroom furniture or doorknobs or knotted on the floor and unexplained presence of things like dog leashes, choke collars and bungee cords.























Blue Whale Challenge





The Blue Whale Challenge is one that I consider to be very insidious. If you’ve read my recent blog about the online predatory group 764, this is one that’s eerily reminiscent. It was an online social phenomenon in 2016 that began in Russia and claimed to exist in many countries. The game consists of a series of tasks to players over a 50-day period. 





In its start, the creator who was a former Russian psychology student, got expelled from the university. He said that he originally created the game in 2013 in order to “clean society of biological wastes.” The tasks begin with things like “get up at 4:30 am”  or “watch a horror movie” before moving into self-harm. And the end of the game involves committing suicide. The administrators were found to be children aged between 12 and 14 years of age. 





In June 2018, Russian financial analyst, Nikita Nearonov was arrested for masterminding the game. Nearonov is suspected of grooming ten underage girls in order for them to commit suicide. The game has been reported to be banned in countries including Egypt, Kenya and Pakistan. However, experts agree that it’s almost impossible to ban the game.























I hope this series has been informative on some of the dangerous internet challenges. For all the ones that have diminished, there are new challenges in ten-fold waiting to take their place. Remembering how naïve I was as a teen helps me to realize that had the internet been as big then as it is now, I would’ve surely gotten hurt at the very least. I was incredibly impulsive and searching for something to distract me from life as it was. Thanks for reading! 





***Don’t forget to watch the video***





#Thispuzzledlife










	




			
				


	
			
					
	

	

		

			 darnold1975 		


		
Mommy Dearest Part 2
	


	

		

“This is how betrayal starts…not with big lies, but with small secrets.”





-Shalini Joshi





Now let’s continue…





Lisa did update us on Kathleen’s self-harm issue that had begun to dissipate. And now she was also in therapy. I always asked about how the therapy was going because I hadn’t left my abusive therapist yet. So, I became very protective when it came to that topic. She would always put my fears to rest by telling me that she had a great therapist that really knew how to work with Kathleen. 





Landri would also have a big scare with her heart that left her almost completely bed bound. She had become so weak that she could no longer support her own weight. But eventually she would regain her strength. Slowly but surely, she wasn’t so pale. She was beginning to put on weight, and it looked really good on her. And then she started getting out and walking. They had moved onto the same military base as us. They lived only about 6-7 houses down the street.





We had not been around them in a little while due to our own issues with my mental health. And I had already begun living life in solitude where I would remain for the next few years. One day I had gone out to check the mail when I saw someone walking towards me on the sidewalk. I soon realized that it was Landri. I spoke to her and told her how good she looked and how happy I was for her. We made a very superficial conversation because I was in a very deep depression at the time. The following is the last conversation that she and I would have together. And it continues to haunt me to this day.





 Landri: “Dana, I’m scared of Lisa.”





Me: “What do you mean you’re scared?”





Landri: “I don’t really want to go into our personal problems, but she’s become very aggressive.”





Me: “Wait! Do I need to throw some aggression her way?”





Landri: “No, that would just make it worse. Just remember what I’m telling you.”





Me: “Ok. Promise me that if you need us you will call.”





Landri: “No, it’s nothing like that. She’s just spent all of our money on drugs. And she doesn’t like me questioning her about any of it.”





Me: “Ok. Well, we are here to help if you need us.”





Landri: “Thank you so much for being such good friends.”





She had convinced me enough to pacify my obsessive nature when someone is being dominated. I also understood how telling someone about a perpetrator can make the situation worse. And coming from a domestic violence situation I felt that fear for her. Later that day when Mel got home from work, I told her about the situation. She was likewise just as perplexed as I was. I told her everything from beginning to end about our encounter. She agreed with me to stay out of the situation. And to just be available if necessary. 





A week later, Landri was dead. She apparently died in her sleep. But now that conversation that was stuck on replay was never-ending. I didn’t know what to do as the news completely stunned me. I told her to find out funeral arrangements. I couldn’t let the thought go that, “Lisa just murdered one of our closest friends.” I would battle in my mind thinking, “That’s absurd to think that we would be as close to a situation that was that dangerous and not know something was wrong.” And it has always been rebuttaled with the very conversation that we had asking me not to get involved.










Mel came in from work a few days later and said, “You’re not going to believe what I’m about to tell you.” I said, “Ok well that’s not a good sign.” She very begrudgingly said, “Lisa has already had her cremated.” I scream, “WTF?!” And I began shaking. It was then that I realized that there was a high likelihood that Landri was murdered. It was difficult for me to look Lisa in the face the next time we saw her. Mel asked, “Lisa, what happened?” She begins telling us the story that she had become very weak, very quickly. And how they were laying in their bed together and they both took a nap. But when Lisa woke up, Landri was dead. I told her, “I just saw Landri several days ago and she looked the best I’ve ever seen her.”  Lisa said, “Yea the doctors said that sudden death was a possibility.” I didn’t tell her what Landri herself told me. And without warning Lisa and Kathleen moved away and weren’t answering us in any way.





We had gone to the local library where we were known frequently. Mel tapped me on the shoulder and said, “Look who’s here.” I turned around and I must’ve turned white. We saw Lisa and Kathleen before they saw us. Kathleen wasn’t in a wheelchair. But when we made eye contact, we saw Lisa mumble something to Kathleen. She was just super excited to see us. And then her demeanor turned very solemn.





That situation was many years back now. Mel and the boys moved back to Mississippi. And I moved to Texas to work with “coach” on my PTSD issues. While living out there Mel called me one day and said, “You’ll never guess who I talked to.” Agreeing with her I said, “Probably not. What’s up?” Me said, “I just got off the phone with Kathleen.” I said, “Shut up! What’s going on with her?” Mel told me, “Well, she said that Lisa had made everything up about her military and EMT service. And that neither Kathleen nor Landri had a terminal condition. She was starving them. That’s why Kathleen passed out so much and broke bones. Lisa is now homeless. And Kathleen has moved on with her life complete with therapy.” It took me a few minutes to respond because those horrible gut feelings began flooding every part of me. Several years had gone by since that horrible situation but it still stung with great ferocity. I told Mel, “You know it’s bothered me ever since about that we seemed to know the truth. If it doesn’t seem right, it probably isn’t right.” She said, “Yea, but what proof did we have at the point when we thought that? We couldn’t just go into the police station and talk to a detective only to say, “Well we don’t have evidence, but I do have a gut feeling. They couldn’t exhume the body because it was cremated.” And the words that my ex-husband repeatedly said to me, “Nobody will believe you. You’re the one with the mental problems” kept me silent once again.














Nothing has ever been proven or investigated related to that situation. One of the many things that has continued to plague my mind is the fact that we left our oldest baby in their care so that we could actually go on a much-needed date. They baby sat Marshall many, many times. If something had happened to him, I would’ve killed her without a second thought. Some of my “mommy guilt” about being a parent holds space for the event that taught me that evil is still alive and well in this world. I don’t wish her death. But I do wish her a miserable existence until the end of time. She didn’t care about our child or our family. But what was the saddest was that she didn’t  care about her own family. 





At the same time, I was dealing with another “friend” who was also very manipulative. And I was also being abused by my therapist. After all of this, I lost my damn mind. The first thing I remember writing about this was the poem titled Silent Screams. The only way that I get through another day with the constant barrage of memories about this situation is to give myself grace in the fact that everything was so hidden in a tangled web of lies. She was a manipulator that was even more skilled than my ex-husband. I think that my anger around this is about the fear that I experienced after realizing how much time Marshall had spent in their care. There is a certain amount of grief that comes from losing those relationships. We lost what we thought “was” instead of what it “wasn’t. 





Munchausen by Proxy is actually pretty rare. Unless,of course, it’s happening to you. I recently got interested in the case of Gypsy Rose. She was also at the mercy of her mother who had Munchausen by Proxy. Except that Gypsy Rose murdered her mom and subsequently went to prison. She served her time and is now out of prison. She has talked about all of the unnecessary treatments and procedures that she had to go through for absolutely no reason. And so did Kathleen. 





I don’t advocate murder. However, through the many years of trauma at the hands of some truly evil people, I can’t totally understand the rationale. Lisa was still allowed to live her life. She has nothing but one tooth and her lies that are continuing to be spread onto other unsuspecting victims. The thoughts and feelings that have stayed with me since that day are forever in my mind.” Again, it’s just another traumatic event that has taught me to question everyone’s motives including friends and especially family. I’ve never thought that I should require proof of terminal illness or military service. But maybe I should.





“But the memories that hang heaviest are the easiest to recall. They hold in their creases the ability to change one’s life, organically, forever. Even when you shake them out, they’ve left permanent wrinkles in the fabric of your soul.”





-Julie Gregory





Affirmation: “I am strong and can overcome the influence of manipulative individuals.”





***Don’t forget to watch the video!***





#Thispuzzledlife















	




			
				


	
			
					
	

	

		

			 darnold1975 		


		
Mommy Dearest
	


	

		

“Munchausen by Proxy may be the single most complex and lethal form of maltreatment known today.”





-Julie Gregory, Sickened: The True Story of a Lost Childhood 





Light the charcoal. Sprinkle the sage. Negative energy go away. Today, I want to talk to you about a serious mental health disorder known as Munchausen Syndrome. I know that this is a topic that a lot of people like to sweep under the rug because it just seems too grotesque and unimaginable to talk about. However, the fact is that the disorder remains alive and well in some individuals. And the signs and symptoms are hidden in plain sight.





Munchausen and Munchausen by Proxy fit under the diagnostic criteria for Factitious Disorder. A Factitious disorder is a conscious and intentional feigning or production of symptoms due to a psychological need to take on the sick role in order to obtain an emotional gain. This is not to be mistaken with Hypochondriasis. Which is an obsession with fears that one has a serious, undiagnosed disease. The symptoms are not created consciously (nih.gov, 2006).





Munchausen Syndrome is still considered to  be the most extreme form of factitious disorder. They intentionally deceive others by pretending to be sick. They fake symptoms or make symptoms seem worse than they actually are. And speaking to them you would think that they are an endless pit of medical knowledge. What they do is produce some medical or psychological problems and study everything they can find on it until they’re comfortably able to construct an ongoing story.





Munchausen by Proxy is where the behavior is imposed onto another person. The biggest factor in keeping their narratives alive is manipulation. And they are exceptionally good at it. My exposure to Munchausen by Proxy has left me with a lot of shame, guilt, regret and suicidal ideations. I have tried to extend myself “grace” about this situation knowing that had I understood the harsh reality sooner, I could’ve done something about it.





When we moved to Albuquerque, NM we found us a lesbian group that became our home for a short while. Mel and I had dreams and aspirations of being parents one day which eventually distanced us from them. But not before we met Lisa, Landri and Kathleen. “Two moms and a child? We’ve totally got to meet them!” I told Mel. It didn’t take us long to realize that we had more in common with this family than realized. Lisa, who was clearly a “top” and the strong family leader, told us that they were from Laurel, MS. Very surprise I said, “Wait What?! You mean to tell us that we just met people from Laurel, MS  that are a lesbian family?” She confirmed again. I thought, “Holy Crap, this is what we’ve been needing. Someone from the south that understands our frustrations.” Our relationship was soon off to the races.














Their daughter was a truly compassionate being who appeared reserved but loved our son, Marshall. And Marshall loved them all. And Kathleen definitely danced to the beat of her own drum. The connection was so close that it appeared that this was a friendship that would last a lifetime. Lisa told us that she was a retired military colonel. She was always dressed in some type of military get-up. And she had also been an EMT and worked on an ambulance. I was happy that I now had someone to exchange “trauma junkie” stories with. She seemed to deal with it better than I was doing and was interested in how she did it. Her partner, Landri, was very frail looking but spicy in her own sense. She quit working due to her chronic health issues regarding cardiac problems. They told us that their daughter, Kathleen, had been diagnosed as a child with a terminal heart condition. And that she likely would not make it to adulthood. They warned that there were very frequent hospital visits sometimes close to being fatal. But we loved all of them and they loved us.





 We were prepared to love and accept them right where they presented themselves. We never knew that we needed to have someone prove their medical conditions or a traumatic past. We were on the “therapy” side of life which fit comfortably with our level of empathy. And for the first time while living in Albuquerque there were people who understood what it was like to grow up and come out in the south.





Since we lived on a guarded military base, when she would come through the gate dressed in some type of military attire she accepted the salutes as a proud retired colonel. We planned to celebrate the next Thanksgiving together in grand southern style. Mel and I spent several hours in the kitchen cooking our favorite southern dishes. The finished product was a full spread that would make our ancestors smile. But right before they came over Lisa called to ask us if we could make Kathleen some macaroni and cheese because she didn’t eat regular Thanksgiving foods. We both thought that was strange. But we didn’t question anything due to possible nutritional needs. 





When they arrived, Kathleen came running into our house. She grabbed the freezer door and swung it open while asking, “What have you got to eat?” I looked at Mel like, “Are you watching this?” Shocked and completely bewildered I very clearly remember thinking, “For someone who was raised in the south, that behavior was considered very disrespectful.” We gave the cooked macaroni to her after she also went to the pantry looking for something to eat. Her behavior was startling. She grabbed the macaroni and went and ate like she hadn’t eaten before. Mel and I spoke about it later and we felt half angry and half in utter disbelief. But I also noticed that Lisa was trying to ignore the “elephant in the room.” Almost as though the behavior was unexpected. That evening went on without any other noticeable issues.





Being a preemie, Mashall had  different nutritional needs than a normal baby. He drank pediasure to supplement his much-needed calories. Lisa stated that Landi was supposed to be on supplemental drinks like that for adults, but they couldn’t afford it. We gave them a few drinks which they greatly appreciated. But soon they wanted the majority of what we were receiving for Marshall through the CHIPS program. So, we had to put a stop to that. Again, the whole situation wasn’t sitting right with us. However, there were no alarm bells just a “that’s odd” moment.














Kathleen was  admitted many times to the hospital for injuries that were sustained by passing out. She would literally break bones when she fell. Lisa always explained that it was due to her congenital heart problem. And honestly, we have been close friends for a while now while these medical issues continued. We were also told that they were in a support group for kids and families with the same diagnosis. And they would tell us when Kathleen’s friends from the group passed away. 





She was given all kinds of recognition and special treatment because different organizations were aware that she would not be living the fullest life that everyone else would. We were even invited to go to the state fair free as guests of Kathleen’s. We also attended a rodeo there complete with a special meet and greet with members of a band that was to be singing that night. She always traveled by wheelchair or golf cart because of how weak she could become.





Lisa came to us one day to tell us that Kathleen was self-harming. And they knew that we had some basic knowledge about what causes the behavior. I asked Lisa,” Is she being abused by anyone that you know of?” Lisa of course answered, “No.” But she did tell us that she had suffered a breakup and that because she was getting older, she also began to fear dying. And she would also tell us that prior to moving to New Mexico that Kathleen’s biological father passed away from terminal cancer. We agreed that due to the extreme situation that was occurring in their family that this behavior was possible. We advised her to seek out a therapist before it got out of control and caused severe scarring or possibly escalating to suicide. No matter what we tried to do to help our friends, we always felt helpless.





Landri still seemed to become progressively worse. And soon we were told that Landri would also have heart failure. I remember Mel and I were thinking how horrible it was for a family to go through all of that at one time. And how helpless we felt, not being able to do anything. What we did know was how to be friends with someone and support them emotionally the best that we could.





They supposedly decided as a family to go to California to get married legally. At the time New Mexico was considered a neutral state regarding marriage equality. That meant that you could not legally have a same sex marriage performed in the state. However, they would honor marriages from other states. Lisa told us that, “Kathleen wanted that wish to come true.” I thought, “well maybe that’s what they all needed.” However, there was a very dark and sinister part of that family that would not become known for several more months. It began in the shadows so it won’t survive in the light. This story has one more part. Keep reading!





“Munchausen By Proxy is a desire to have attention and pity at the same time. So maybe all narcissists have Munchausen By Proxy.”





-Unknown





Affirmation: “I am resilient, and I can overcome challenges.”





***Don’t forget to watch the video!***





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			 darnold1975 		


		
What Are The Streets Saying?Kratom
	


	

		

“Recovery is hard. Regret is harder.”





-Brittany Burgunder





Light the charcoal. Sprinkle the sage. Negative energy go away. Are you wondering what’s the big deal with Kratom? You may not even know what Kratom is. Today, I will tell you why there’s so many things in the news about upcoming legislation.





Kratom is pronounced (Cray-tom)Kratom is a tree native to Southeast Asia. The ground leaves, when consumed in low doses, acts as a stimulant. And in high doses function as a sedative and can lead to psychotic symptoms and both psychological and physical dependence. Kratom contains two major psychoactive ingredients mitragynine and 7-hydroxymytragynine. The leaves are powdered and can then be smoked, brewed with tea, gel capsules or mixed into a liquid. Or the leaves can be chewed. It can also lead to addiction. 





There have been several cases of psychosis and symptoms including hallucinations, delusion and confusion upon use. The effects on the body include nausea, itching, sweating, dry mouth, constipation, increased urination, tachycardia, vomiting, drowsiness and loss of appetite. Users have also experienced anorexia, weight loss, insomnia, hepatoxicity, seizure and hallucinations (getsmartaboutdrugs.gov, 2024).














I used Kratom for a while to help with chronic pain. And I have to admit that it helped. When I used it, I would mix a spoonful into some orange juice and drink it. The taste is extremely bitter. And overall, I just didn’t like the way that it made me feel. I never became addicted to this substance. I can understand why people can become addicted to it. All you have to do is look at the list of side effects to realize that those same type of signs and symptoms are related to opiate use. And some people believe that Kratom is, in fact, an opiate needing some type of legislation.





Kratom supporters argue that it is helpful for chronic pain and  opiate addicts. And I personally can’t deny those facts. And with it also being a plant, some people argue that it’s safe like cannabis. It is not. Kratom can actually lead to overdose death. Cannabis has yet to have a casualty. I don’t think that it’s completely horrible. I do think that it’s a substance that needs to be used with caution. And I also don’t believe that minors should be allowed to buy it legally. Kids just don’t use it in moderation and always look to just get high. And there have been deaths associated with its use.





There are several countries that have also banned the  possession and use of kratom. These countries include: 





§  Australia





§  Finland





§  Denmark





§  Japan





§  Isreal





§  Malaysia





§  Lithuania





§  Latvia





§  Myanmar





§  Russia





§  Poland 





§  Romania





§  South Korea





§  Singapore





§  Thailand





§  Vietnam





§  New Zealand (bicyclehealth.com, 2024).





As with most substances like this, the FDA does not approve of it. And unlike cannabis, there are no safety measures that have been set in place for regulation. There is no testing of the product to identify pesticides, molds or any cutting substances. Therefore, you have absolutely no idea what has been mixed in with this plant. And for this reason, I agree that that testing should be required prior to the sale. 





The DEA currently has Kratom listed as a “drug of concern.” And it will be scheduled under the Substance Abuse Act. The DEA also stated that they will seek to list Kratom as a Schedule 1 drug which has a high potential for abuse and no currently accepted medical use. And a lack of accepted safety for use under medical supervision (dea.gov, 2016) Currently, individual states have launched their own legislation regarding this substance.





The Six states that have already banned kratom are: Alabama, Arkansas, Indiana, Rhode Island, Vermont and Wisconsin. Other states have enacted legislation about minimum age requirements like nicotine and alcohol. The safest thing to do is to read about the risks involved and make your own decision. And check current legislation in your state for its legal status. Be careful if you have a history of addiction.





If you have minor teens or children, do not let them take this substance. This should only be allowed for adults. Enjoy it while you can. Because this is another substance that will eventually be banned throughout the country. Where it might have been initially used legitimately for years, the substance has proven to be deadly on all  fronts. Thanks for reading! Take what you can and leave the rest.





Affirmation: You are stronger than your temptation.





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			 darnold1975 		


		
I Love This Plant!
	


	

		

“I find it quite ironic that the most dangerous thing about weed is getting caught with it.”





-Bill Murray





Light the charcoal. Sprinkle the sage. Negative energy go aways. Okie dokie! Today marks my second favorite time of the year. Yep it’s the month of 420! Not everyone agrees with it. For me though, it has saved my life. To the  naysayers, there is absolutely nothing you can tell me negatively that I’ll believe about the plant called cannabis.





Cannabis has been around for forever and ever amen with a lot of negative connotations. My own family still takes issue with the fact that federally it’s still considered illegal. And you can’t really have a conversation about it because some of them are not willing to discuss the science. In a lot of ways vilifying this plant because of the Nancy Reagan 80’s seems to have stuck. I have family members that are earthy, crunchy thinkers in regard to health. And their lives all about healing with fruits, vegetables and herbs. But so am I. I like fruits, vegetables and herbs too. I just smoke my herbs. The side effects are very simple: sleepy, happy and hungry. “Big Pharma” on the other hand are constantly being sued for all of the harmful side effects. No thank you to medications that cause more harm than good. And drinking and driving home is the  much safer option?












Over the years cannabis has gotten a horrible name. It’s not because it’s a dangerous drug. In fact, cannabis is one of the healthiest plants available. Our country has now made it a priority to invest money into science and discovering the healing properties. And there are scientific studies proving that cannabis isn’t as bad as once thought.





Unlike alcohol and other harmful drugs, cannabis continues to provide people with life saving medicine as it has for me. It’s healing cannabinoids help with chronic pain, epilepsy, anxiety, multiple sclerosis, PTSD, alzheimer’s disease, chemotherapy induced nausea and vomiting, insomnia, cancer, fighting cancer, inflammatory bowel disease, tourette syndrome, crohn’s disease, depression, HIV/AIDS, muscle spasms, anorexia, amyotrophic lateral sclerosis, addiction, inflammation,parkinson’s disease, PTSD, reducing blood pressure, anxiety disorders, stabilizing blood sugar, decreasing overdose rates, opioid dependence, spinal cord injuries, dystonia, dementia, glaucoma, schizophrenia and other medical and psychological problems (ncbi.nlm.nih.gov, 2017).





The days of believing that cannabis is a drug that causes great bodily harm are over. Hallelujah! Now let me point out one thing. Cannabis isn’t for everyone just like certain pharmaceuticals aren’t. And I agree that some people might have some type of addiction issues. However, there is no physical withdrawal that occurs. It is impossible to overdose on cannabis. You might take or use too much, causing intoxication. But that’s not the plant’s fault. If you have a problem with addiction to this, it is a “you” problem not the substance. 










I can only speak for myself as one who has a lengthy history of addiction, I have never had a problem with marijuana. The problems have always come back to myself and the maladaptive ways of coping. Buying marijuana off the streets where most of it has come from cartels, it can be sprayed with poisons which increase the effects and dependency. And this is also where a lot of the paranoia stems from. Yes, there are people who complain about paranoia induced by cannabis that is bought from very safe dispensaries. These cases are very minimal on a broad scale. So, marijuana might not fit you as an individual. However,for people like me who continue to reap the benefits of this plant minus the addiction, I can say that it has truly saved my life. And as a result has lowered the amount of suicidal ideations that used to plague me on a daily basis. 





The effects of PTSD continue to complicate my life. The overwhelming symptoms are not near what they once were. Cannabis does NOT cure PTSD. It simply helps with the unfriendly symptoms and side effects. I have gone from being on close to fifteen psychiatric “big pharma” medications down to zero. I didn’t see the point of taking Parkinson’s medication for a side effect of the anti-depressant. Not to mention that I wasn’t able to experience emotions in a way to gauge how I was healing. And everything from the waist down was literally dead. If that’s the price you pay for happiness, then I would rather be sad. I still struggle hard sometimes. And that is where working with coach is other beneficial piece to my treatment. If it is not a substance that doesn’t work for you then move on. But don’t demonize this medication for those of us that it helps to ensure survivability. Thanks for reading! Keep moving forward.





“It is irresponsible not to provide the best care we can as a medical community, care that could involve marijuana. We have been terribly and systematically misled for nearly 70 years in the United States, and I apologize for my own role in that.”





-Dr Sanjay Gupta, Neurosurgeon





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			 darnold1975 		


		
What Are The Streets Saying? Online Predator Group 764
	


	

		

“They want to make you suffer. And for you to take your own life. They really are very sadistic people.”





-Anna A., Victim Of 764





Light the charcoal. Sprinkle the sage. Negative energy go away. Okie dokie! Today, I want to talk about online predator groups. I know that the videos that I’ve chosen have some length to them. However, I strongly encourage you to watch these videos. They are graphic in nature. So, please view them at your own discretion. 





Some of these predators use platforms where they begin grooming children in areas that is plentiful with kids, online gaming platforms. One thing to remember is that predatory grooming takes on an infinite number of forms and ideas. And these groups that are preying on our kids are on a continuum. These groups seek to control, hurt, manipulate and kill our children. And the predatory group called 764 is one of the most sinister groups. 





764 is an online decentralized and transnational sextortion network that is adjacent to the Order of Nine Angels (O9A), a right-wing Satanist terror network. And after gathering information on this group, they are definitely doing the devil’s work. 764’s online networks coerce children into recording themselves engaging in self-harm, sexually explicit acts and violence. This group consists of violent extremists who seek to normalize the production, sharing and possession of child pornography and gore material to desensitize and corrupt youth toward future acts of violence. The group members gain notoriety by systematically targeting, grooming, and extorting  victims. They demand that victims engage in and share media of self-mutilation, sexual acts, harm to animals, acts of random violence, suicide and murder. It’s a way of causing chaos by disrupting society.





764 began with Bradley Cadenhead, a teenager from Stephenville, TX. His behavior began at age 8 while watching online porn. His fascination progressed  to a fascination with violent torture pictures, videos and gore. He posted a lot on social media about violence. At age 13, he was put on juvenile probation for discussing shooting up a middle school. He briefly returned to a juvenile facility for violating his probation and he continued routinely watching ultra-violent gore content online. Court records have shown that he refused to participate in counseling sessions, repeatedly left home without permission, assaulted his mother, and ingested dangerous amounts of Tylenol and cough syrup which required hospitalization.














His online activities were also unrestricted. While playing Minecraft online he also met another user who deepened his interest in gore. And this is where he learned to groom children on a sextortion server called “CLT.” He then started a Discord server called 764 after the first three digits of his zip code. He along with dozens of  others used the 764 Discord server and Telegram to seek out vulnerable children to victimize. Cadenhead moderated the server, which received countless videos and photographs of extreme violence, animal torture. He also posted “How-to” guides on sexually exploiting  and extorting minors online to circulate in their channels. Discord reports that when they first identified hundreds of users, they reported it to law enforcement that year. And in 2021, Discord flagged Cadenhead’s online conduct fifty-eight times for sharing “images of prepubescent females and males engaging in sexual act, or in various nude poses.”





Captain Jeremy Lanier, of the Stephenville Police Department, helped to conduct the forensic analysis on Cadenhead’s devices. He is quoted saying, “This wasn’t run-of-the-mill child porn, this was darker. There was one video of a woman being held down and stabbed. This case was awful. It was the worst stuff I’ve ever looked at in six years of working CSAM.” Once a degree of trust was developed Cadenhead and other extorters threatened to harm families and to release the explicit photographs that had been exchanged. They have also convinced children to strangle their pets and bite the heads off pet hamsters on camera. This particular child was found in a bath one night saying that she was to “turn the water red” as requested. The group members also called her school principal and reported that she tried to murder animals which led to a police investigation by local police. 





Richard Densmore also known as “Rabid” became popular in 764 by creating “Sewer” communities on Discord where children were recruited by infiltrating  online gaming sites. A quote from Densmore would tell victims to cut themselves by saying, “I have all your information. I own you…You do what I say now kitten.” And he would  even convince victims to carve “Rabid,” Sewer,“ and “764” onto their  bodies  with razors and box cutters. He also would sexually exploit the children (justice.gov, 2025).





“These online groups are some of the most egregious online enticement reports that we’re seeing in terms of what they’re seeing that children are being coerced to do.”





-Fallon McNulty, CyberTipline Director





Since 2021 criminal cases were brought again more than a dozen people linked to these types of groups in the United States, Great Britian, Germany, Romania and Brazil. And the US Department of Justice is pursuing federal grand jury proceedings. The group is connected to Eastern European skinhead group who members were also accused of random acts and killings in Ukraine and Russia. Prosecutors have cited Telegram and Discord as the primary means where 764 members operate. They use the platforms “to desensitize vulnerable populations through sharing extreme gore and child sexual abuse material.” However, dozens of Telegram channels remained active. Discord says that they have been shutting down these types of activities on their platform. Discord also said that they now work closely with the FBI and law enforcement agencies. In 2023 Discord blocked 130 groups and 34, 000 accounts linked to 764.





Instagram accounts linked to the extortion networks were still active at the time of this particular article. Despite the parent group Meta implementing bans on 764 related accounts. SoundCloud hosted self-harm and Satanism related playlists which were also allowed to remain online at the time of this information. Even though they release a statement saying, “We strictly prohibit any content that includes or suggests child sexual abuse or grooming on our platform and uses a combination of human moderation and technological tools to identify and remove infringing content.” Roblox, user-created skins for 764 themed characters with the groups sign with open references were also still available. Minecraft, where 764 members are known to be active, reports that there are several systems for removing harmful content including chat filtering, in-game reporting and parental controls. And has teams that participate in review and moderation. A spokesperson for Microsoft, which owns Minecraft’s development studio, states, “Pon private servers that are unmanaged  by Minecraft, we will take action to investigate reported violations. However, 764 members have also managed to evade measures the platforms use to try and ban them.





 “There’s a far larger pool of recruits and people interested in child abuse and pedophilia that an obscure Satanist sect,”





-Unknown law enforcement official





The FBI and other agencies are investigating 764 and terrorism because of their close ties with Order of Nine Angles, who long with their Satanist rhetoric are also aligned within militant neo-Nazi circles. They use Swastikas, Nazi memes and other propaganda glorifying homicidal members of white supremacist groups like the Atomwaffen Division which frequently appear in Telegram channels. And the urging of children to cut things into their bodies also resemble O9A rituals.





Bradly Cadenhead did admit to the group’s use of the server to do sextortion of individuals. They reported that sometimes they would do it for money. And sometimes they would do it just to have power over another person. And he also admitted that he had urged users in the server to carve his initial on their bodies as a form of homage. Therefore, many of the participants see him as a type of cult leader. Cadenhead pleaded guilty to all he was charged with and was sentenced to 80 years in prison. He is now 18 years old and currently incarcerated at Estelle State Prison in Huntsville, TX (wired.com, 2024).





I know you might be asking why I sometimes share horribly graphic information? And what I can tell you is this, “If you are grossed out and offended by this topic, good. You need to be. My life has been severely impacted by child predators on more than one occasion. And something that started out innocent progressed into a world full of horrors. We as parents seem to think that predatory people are easy to spot. They are the ones who act, dress and speak in a way that deviates from the societal norms. What I experienced was from people who  I had already met. Some baby sat me as a child and were very seemingly genuine people. They were nice and built me up. They told me all the things I wanted to hear. And they gave me gifts so they could get close enough as a “friend” setting me up for their next moves. And then in a very carefully planned fashion, they got me to take the first step towards them and set their predatory trap. Then they very gently reeled me in hook, line and sinker. They were not strangers. They were in my church, schools, sports and anywhere else they can find their prey. Your kids might’ve found a new online friend who seems to be a very genuine person. They might pretend to have benign interests and just want to have a new online gaming friend. Remember that predators blend in not stand out. Standing out brings them unwanted attention and threaten to expose their evils. People, please understand that perpetrators operate in the shadows not the light. The light outshines darkness which makes it very uncomfortable for them to be unnoticed. So, they get their satisfaction from the thrill of the manipulative hunt seeking to kill and destroy your loved one.” And when one goes to prison, there are hundreds upon thousands of perpetrators looking to fill that spot.





 I love my children and want them to enjoy their childhoods. However, I’m not ok with sacrificing their safety in order to appease someone’s sick curiosity. I’m not saying to not let your children play games online. What I am telling you is to form an even closer bond by challenging something in their behavior that is burning in your gut. And even if you don’t feel that, talk with them regularly about groups like this. Ask them if any of their “online” friends have reported such people. But above all, if something doesn’t seem right, check it out. Our children don’t even gasp the concept of evil predators like this. And I can tell you, that had this been an avenue that I could’ve gone down as a teen, I would’ve walked right into the woods with a clown for a handful of candy. My parents tried to shield us from most harmful things. But I still wasn’t safe from predators. I was taught to trust people until I couldn’t. And, unfortunately, when I understood that point it was too late. I was already in the grasp of a perpetrator. Thanks for reading!





“I’ve been praying for someone to get me out of there since day one. Where were you all this time? Where were you four months ago?!”





-Victim To Agent, Just Before Her Rescue





***Don’t forget to watch the video!***





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			 darnold1975 		


		
Are You A “Cycle Breaker?”
	


	

		

“Never underestimate a cycle breaker. Not only did they experience years of generational trauma, but they stood in the face of the trauma and fought to say, “This ends with me.” This comes at a significant cost. Never underestimate a cycle breaker.”





-Nate Postlewait





Light the charcoal. Sprinkle the sage. Negative energy go away. Okie dokie! Today, I want to talk about being a “cycle breaker.” This has been one of the most difficult areas of my life. There have been and still are areas of my life where I’m determined to break the cycle of unhealthy thoughts, behaviors and relationships. Even if you think that your family should be the “example family” for the community, there are probably still issues within your particular family system that has left a legacy of a behavioral way of life. Sometimes this is healthy, dysfunctional or toxic. Even if it appears to primarily affect one person, it’s still an unhealthy family cohesiveness.





I think we first must understand what a “cycle breaker” is. This individual is intentionally trying to change multi-generational family patterns. They have to get down in the gutters into family origins of the behaviors to seek out unhealthy patterns. This person must achieve deep introspection and intentional behavior changes. And “Oh how very frustrating this can be.”





I have already written many times about how familial patterns can affect us all. What frustrated me as a minor was that I felt completely powerless to change anything including myself. What I did was take on the role of a survivor in any way possible. I fought back in ways that scared people. I have fought back in ways that isolated myself. Sometimes I get so triggered by a tone, word or a statement that it throws me back into that fighting stance. And I developed armor that worked so incredibly well for self-preservation. By the time I reached adulthood, the armor that my mind created for itself was one that knew no bounds. Every day of my life involved a fight for survival. But even when I removed myself from the abuse, my brain still thought that it was “fight time.” So, the chaos followed me everywhere I went. I so desperately wanted away from the chaos. But the fact of the matter was that I didn’t know how to operate in healthy relationships.





When I met Mel, I had just left my ex-husband. I had my goal of completing my education and there was nothing that would prevent me from finishing. Somehow, I just knew that education would make a significant difference in my life. What we soon realized was how very deeply rooted my lifetime of trauma was in my ability to function as a professional, spouse, mother, friend and family member. I honestly thought that once I left “him” things would go back to a healthier version of normal. But it absolutely did not! I would have uncontrollable rages that scared everyone that I came in contact with. Many times, I have no recollection of this happening. Then Mel started videoing me when I was like that to show professionals what was happening. She would also show me the video and I was horrified. I clearly remember telling her, “I would never do something like that!” But frame by frame I watched it happen repeatedly. Perplexed by the whole situation, I began trying to really understand my behavior. I didn’t have a therapist, at the time, who could tell me what was happening. I did eventually receive the diagnosis of Dissociative Identity Disorder which answered many questions.














The more I studied myself, the more that I realized that I was carrying on the cycle of past traumas. While my armor worked for many years, it had suddenly become very detrimental. I looked at Mel one day and said, “Oh My God! I’m treating you like he treated me.” To come to that realization was the defining moment of when I decided that I would be a “cycle breaker.” And what a terribly slow and arduous process it has been. I didn’t know how to think. I didn’t understand the intense emotions that I was feeling. And I couldn’t stop the rage no matter what I did. I saw the destruction that I was causing and the effects that it was having on both me and Mel. And it was honestly one of the most devastating points in my life.





I initially had a very compassionate therapist in Albuquerque. Though the depth of my trauma needed more specialization. So, I went to another therapist, who was extremely narcissistic, and began emotionally abusing me. She knew all of my trauma history, but she still dominated me emotionally. And I “cow towed” to her like I was still being controlled by the ex. I stayed much longer than I should’ve. And the damage that was done was colossal.






Mel contacted a professional at a facility and told her about how dire our situation was. It was over a year before I finally decided to go to treatment. I have had some horrible experiences with mental health facilities. And the trauma of that also made me strike out in fear and anger. It’s almost like having a baby with a colic. No matter where I turned, I was scared, and it showed. But through my trauma, I learned that nicely asking someone to stop or leave me alone didn’t work. What did seem to work was aggression. However, now there were no actual threats. They were perceived threats. I felt like I could trust no one. I was drowning in shame and regret. And I was literally dying.





The therapist that I would work with at that facility was absolute fire. She sat with me and truly made a place that was emotionally very safe for me. She provided boundaries that were firm but compassionate. She didn’t show fear about the anger that I was exhibiting. And unbelievably, I was furious that she cared. Because in my mind, everyone has a dark side even those who say their “safe.” And this spicy lady knew her stuff. After my experiences, I saw where the power difference was threatening. I was scared to be vulnerable, yet again, knowing that I could get hurt.





That woman is someone I still call my “coach.” We have been working together for almost 9 years, and because I eventually stepped out into vulnerability and realized that she was truly a “safe” person that she claimed, I started wanting to change the person that I had become. I needed to know the love and compassion in a way that only a stranger can exhibit. And I needed to know that the difficult road ahead would not be one that I would walk alone. I needed to know that when things got bad, she wouldn’t leave me standing with the pieces of my shattered soul in disbelief that it could and would happen again. And she’s been my “ride or die” ever since. 














The process has been going on for almost a decade of trying to break the cycle of abuse. It has been more difficult than I care to admit. Along the way, many times the only thing I was able to do in a day was breathe. She stepped up when others said, “Hell No,” to helping me. And despite so many times that I have tried to push her away, she has stayed right there witnessing the miracle happening. 





Our families of origin often have problems with healthy functionality. Instead of addressing issues within the system, they say, “Oh we’ll just let it all die down and eventually the issue will go away.” But it doesn’t. In my experience of helping addicts who usually also have mental health issues, the families are often times sicker than the “problem child.” There have been generations of a one-way type of thinking that families think and assert their beliefs that it should continue simply because it’s familial. However, when you look closer the “cycle breaker” , they are sometimes seen as a troublemaker because they step out from the familial shadows and say, “Enough is enough. I will no longer buy into that way of thinking. I will no longer allow unhealthy behaviors to be swept under the rug  and conform like I’m expected to do.”





I have had members in my family that have looked at me crazy and run me in the ground for speaking my truth the minute I walk away. And there are some who won’t even acknowledge my existence. These issues never get resolved and are the perfect breeding ground for anger and resentment. And it has continued to fester in my family. Whenever you become vulnerable and stand in your truth, there will be those who inevitably do not like it. Because challenging unhealthy behaviors isn’t easy. It requires a level of vulnerability and self-awareness that most individuals and families want but aren’t willing to do the work to achieve it.





For me, breaking the cycle of dysfunctional thinking and living has been paramount to my survival. I realized that I had to be willing to look at some difficult areas of my life. And to understand many of their origins. I have cried more tears than I can count in doing this work. My relationship with Mel was severely damaged because I wasn’t able to undo the destruction that I had caused. No matter how much I didn’t understand it. No matter how much I didn’t want it to happen. It still did.














I came back from that treatment facility, and I told her, “She’s the one.” And about a year later, I told Mel, “If I don’t move to Texas and do this work, I won’t be alive much longer.” So, as difficult as it was to leave her, I left for Texas. I’ve never regretted my decision. I am living because I got “sick and tired of being sick and tired.” And now when I see red flags about chaos, I do my best to avoid it. However, I will not be pushed around emotionally. I will not have my reality questioned because others are not self-aware enough to realize their own dysfunctional behaviors. That, my friends, is all the confirmation that I need to know that, YES, I am a “cycle breaker.” I might not can change everything. But I can change me. I have the power to break the cycle, and I am doing it. It is becoming my greatest legacy for myself, my children and a little corner of humanity.





“It’s up to us to break generational curses when they say, “it runs in the family” you tell them, “this is where it runs out!”





–The Minds Journal





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			 darnold1975 		


		
What Are The Streets Saying? Pressed Pills
	


	

		

“The percentage of deaths with evidence of counterfeit pill use involving only illicitly manufactured fentanyl was more than double the  percentage among deaths without evidence of counterfeit pill use.”





(CDC.gov, 2023)





Light the charcoal. Sprinkle the sage. Negative energy go away. Okie dokie! Back to the streets. Today, I want to talk about one of the main reasons people are dying in record numbers due to the “fentanyl crisis.” The topic is “pressed pills.” 





First, we must understand what is a “pressed pill?” The DEA states, “Drug traffickers use pill presses to press fentanyl into pills, punches and dies to imprint markings and logos onto those pills, producing pills that look like legitimate prescription medication-like Oxycodone, Xanax and Adderall-when those pills actually contain Fentanyl, methamphetamine, and other deadly drugs (DEA.gov, 2024). Likewise the US Centers for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC) indicate that approximately over 100,000 drug overdose deaths in the US during the 12 months ending in April 2021. That was a 30% increase compared to the year before (Harm Reduction Journal, 2002).















“In 2023, the Drug Enforcement Administration seized over 79 million fake pills containing fentanyl-a more than 33% increase from the year before. DEA laboratory testing currently indicates that 7 out of 10 pills contain a potentially deadly dose of fentanyl.”





(Dea.gov, 2025)





The majority of the production of fentanyl comes from China. It is then, in turn, sent to Mexico or Afghanistan where cartels mix fentanyl into the drugs that they are manufacturing. Pills and other drugs are now often purchased through SnapChat, Gaming Platform “chat” functions and other dark web sites. And today, there are about 9,300 websites selling drugs illegally on the darkweb. They advise to check your kid’s phones for unusual words like Blues, Blueberries, Apache, China Girl, China Town, Dance Fever, Friend, Goodfellas, Great Bear, He-Man, Jackpot, King Ivory, Murder 8, Tango & Cash, f3nt, TNT, fluff, tabs, vikes, hydros, vitamins, ercs, or 30s. These code names change very frequently (adamsbroomfieldda.org, 2024.















Drug dealers also contact a China manufacturer directly and can purchase fentanyl and have it shipped straight to their door. Another synthetic opiate that can escalate overdose deaths is Carfentanil which is another fentanyl derivative that is 100 times more potent than fentanyl. Carfentanil is used as an elephant tranquilizer (Dea.gov, 2024). 





“Carfentanyl is 10,000 times more stronger than morphine”





(DEA.gov, 2005).





Illicit fentanyl comes in powdered, pll and liquid forms. The new trend is “Rainbow Fentanyl.”  It gets its name from brightly-colored fentanyl found in pills, powder and blocks that can resemble candy or sidewalk chalk. This presents a significant danger primarily to children who may mistake this as candy. The color variations indicate the potency. Fentanyl’s potency and cheap costs are reasons why drug dealers are mixing it into other drugs. And this is also the reason that most fentanyl deaths occur at home (maricopacountyattorney.org, 2025).





As is the culture of illicit drugs, when addicts find out that there has been a deadly batch of fentanyl, they scurry to find the dealer because they know that their product is strong. Call it crazy, but when you are in the grasps of addiction nothing is off limits. Since opiate withdrawal is so painful and unpleasant, a lot of addicts get caught in the cycle of wanting to stop but not wanting to be sick. So most continue using just to stay well.





Fentanyl is no doubt an extremely dangerous drug. And it’s only a matter of time before users will die from an overdose or poisoning. Stay abreast on the latest news and trends regarding fentanyl and other illicit drugs to help protect yourself, friends and family. If at all possible do everything you can to prevent another statistic.





***Don’t forget to watch the video below!***





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			 darnold1975 		


		
What Is My Purpose?
	


	

		

“Nothing is more creative…nor destructive…than a brilliant mind with a purpose.”





-Dan Brown





Light the charcoal. Sprinkle the sage. Negative energy go away. Okie dokie! Wow. I had no idea that I would write about this topic today. And it’s a concept that has haunted me for many years. What is my purpose in life? 





Is my purpose to see how many punches I can take and still walk out of the fire alive? Ok. I’ve done that and continued to do that on a daily basis. Is it to conform to societal standards of what “normal” is? That will never be me. Is it to tackle difficult subjects that make people cringe? You’re getting warmer. Well, let me see if I can discern the information that I know without a doubt. 





1. I love helping people. Helping people is a burden on your soul. You don’t decide to help people because of a dollar sign. Helping people whether on an ambulance or in an addiction facility has always been my niche. My actions are done because of a calling that I was born to do. If anyone needs help and I can provide it, I will. That is one of the things that my family dynamics impressed upon me.





2.  Helping and caring for animals. You also don’t just decide to have compassion for animals. Some people say these things and yet I watch them beat their animals without constraint. My ex-husband has always said that he was an animal lover. That is the farthest thing from the truth. I’ll never forget the screams of my animals when he would take a belt, in the middle of the night, and go beat them. And I was completely powerless to defend them. When I left that horribly abusive situation, my animals were killed. My animals and the other animals that I interact with are my kids. I learned a long time ago, that I could trust animals when I couldn’t humans.





3.  Speaking up about difficult topics. I have no problem talking about really difficult topics in society. Sometimes it doesn’t make me the most popular person. And I don’t care. The topics of racism, mental illness, addiction, abuse, medical cannabis, suicide, self-harm, sexual abuse, puberty, predators, LGBTQ+ equality, rape, parenting or any other topic that makes us cringe. What you don’t see is how sometimes I struggle discussing them. Part of that is because of how I was raised. In the deep south, we are taught to not create any waves as it might reflect poorly on the family. And to know our places as children which was to always respect your elders without question. But what if you are a bystander to something that is abusive, and you don’t speak up? That’s what keeps me up at night. The personal information that I blog about that has happened or is currently happening in my life isn’t always pretty. And I realize that I’m not the savior who can swoop in and rescue people. I can, however, do my part as a human being. And, yes, I still worry about things that I cannot control and still become obsessions.














4. Writing is a passion. I began writing out of necessity. When I left my abusive therapist, I felt completely broken. The person I went to for help betrayed me in a way that continues to affect me. And unless you have been abused, you have no idea the hurdles that would have to be overcome to continue moving forward. And the complete disconnect between your emotions and your brain So, I began writing about topics that were affecting me in that moment. And suddenly, I began to get relief even if I hadn’t found the answers that I needed. I finally felt like I had a voice that deserved to be heard. I was tired of remaining quite as I had been expected to do my whole life. That’s when I realized that I wasn’t all those names that I had been called. I was someone who had information and experiences to share in order to help others. I have always felt alone no matter how many people I was around or despite the number of smiles that I put on my face. Blogging itself is a platform to help others in similar situations understand that they are not alone. Had someone just explained to me that my situations were not ok and that millions of people, worldwide, suffer in silence as I have, maybe that sense of loneliness would’ve diminished. However, when it’s happening to you especially all of the manipulation and brainwashing that occurs, you cannot see past the moment. Abuse leaves you questioning everything about the next person and even those in my family. I knew one thing for sure, I could not remain quiet. 





5. Humor brings me enjoyment. Humor has always been one of my greatest coping skills. I go through life as a literal thinker. So, if someone has a “Freudian slip” I will laugh myself silly even if that slip up was from myself. Humor a lot of times was used against me to make me a public spectacle. And it was done in a very demeaning way. As a way of life, I learned how to beat someone to the punch on a smartass comment. I always try to see the humor in most situations. And when there is no humor, I will find a way to interject some of my own. This gets me in trouble sometimes because that’s not conforming to those around me. And I’m expected to just let crazy happenings go without acknowledgment. That’s like putting a plastic bag over my head and being expected to breathe when the air is gone. I will always point out the sometimes-ridiculous way a situation looks. And I’ll probably write a note about it in my phone to use at a later date. I’m not right or wrong. It’s just how I operate.





My passion and purpose is to help others understand that just because you have taken the broken road in life doesn’t mean that you still can’t achieve happiness and also help others. I write about a lot of maladaptive behaviors that I continue to struggle with. But I also share my experience, strength and hope with those need that need the validation that they are not inherently bad or unworthy of happiness, love and inclusion. I still struggle with that concept. If you are a human being, you will fail. You will fall. You will be forced to confront your demons head-on. And it will scare the literal shit out of you. You will be forced to look at your part in situations. If you do not, you will remain stuck. You except your responsibility and move on whether or not the others do the same. You are responsible for only your feelings and emotions that are constantly changing. If they don’t except their responsibility, then they will shift the blame back to you. Push that shit out of the way. Hold your head high. And leave those people like a boss. You are worthy. You are loved. And you are enough!





“Be a lamp, or a lifeboat, or a ladder. Help someone’s soul heal. Walk out of your house like a shepherd.”





-Rumi





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			 darnold1975 		


		
Did He Say Puberty?
	


	

		

“Other than dying, I think puberty is about as rough as it gets.”





-Rick Springfield





Light the charcoal. Sprinkle the sage. Negative energy go away. Okie dokie! Today, I want to talk about that horrible stage in life called PUBERTY! I know, I know. I feel like I just got acid dumped on me for saying that name. These days I have found the evil older sister called menopause. 





I personally don’t know how I got through puberty. I started understanding the confusion of being gay. The hormonal changes made me psycho. I began learning about relationships and how they change. I remember thinking that I took everything so personally. Horrible trauma was a constant. I became an addict in so many different ways. I was also incredibly impulsive. I don’t ever remember considering the consequences about anything. It was all about if “they” said no, DO IT! Little did I know, I would get permanently stuck in that developmental age. My body might’ve gotten older but I have not really aged emotionally. Trauma manages to stunt your emotional growth. And I was going through more than my fair share while my brain was still developing.





I was never taught boundaries growing up. I didn’t have any personal boundaries and perpetrators are boundaryless by nature. It was the perfect set up for things to go horribly wrong and they did. Our class went through so much trauma within about five years that we had to grow up incredibly fast. By the time I was a senior, I was emotionally searching for something that could provide me with some kind of hope. And that’s when my ex-husband made his predatory move. Many of us have become addicts in different ways. And sadly, many of my classmates have attempted suicide, completed suicide, died from drug overdoses or have gone to prison. It was so tumultuous, in fact, that I totally retract at the mention of the word.





As I have watched my oldest son, Marshall, go head first into that time period, I would be lying if I didn’t say how scared I am for him. The world is so much more violent. Bullying is much worse. Suicides and murders are out of control. School shootings are happening all over the country. Predators show even less restraint. Depending on where you live in the United States being free to express your sexuality can also be very traumatic. Pressure about having perfect grades and being accepted into top college programs has stolen the happiness of a child’s developmental process. And then there’s fentanyl that tops it all. I hate to sound like an old fart by saying that the world was just different then but it was. 





I think now there’s more emphasis on developmental mental health which is always a positive. Cell Phones have been able to record evidence of some of these covert things especially with abusive teachers. And finally these kids have the proof that administrators can’t blow off. But the shame and rejection by families and society doesn’t make life any easier. Perpetrators whether they be peers or adults still operate in the same way. Threats and intimidation is what keeps kids silent and in constant fear. And you put all of that onto a teen and they just can’t handle it. I have overheard people talking about suicide and the person said, “Sometimes life is just too damn hard for these kids.” I know my kids well and I pay attention to everything that I can while co-parenting with their other mom and her partner. We all have a very open type of relationship. However, it scares the absolute shit out of me, because most people thought that I was perfectly fine. And I was the farthest thing from that.





You can follow all the latest research and suggested ways of raising a child but they can still carry with them their own darkness even in plain sight. I would hope that my boys would come to me for anything. But the truth is, that may or may not happen and the consequences can be devastating. And if that’s not resolved in a healthy way then they carry that emotional weight into adulthood. It will be interesting 20 years from now to see the problems that these kids have as adults. Because the struggles that kids are facing now will resurface in some way.





I have laughed many times at the funny sides of puberty by watching my kids. Especially when little brother,Copeland, and his frustrations with Marshall. Sometimes it’s just plain hilarious. At 10 years old, he asks his own questions about puberty. I try to be mature about some of it but it’s a futile effort. Sometimes I laugh so hard that I can hardly breathe. Copeland loves to call his brother out anytime he gets the chance. Not to mention the fact that bathing is an evil necessity and seems to be the main thing that gets in the way of their happiness at this moment. Here is an example of a conversation that I witnessed one day:





Me:  “What’s that smell?”





Copeland: “Probably my brother.”





Marshall:  “Why did you say that?” 





Copeland: “Because it’s true! Momma Mel said that you stink and it’s a sign of puberty. Even if you don’t have hair on your balls yet.”





I made a quick stop to the bathroom because my bladder can’t handle as much laughter as it once did. Whew…I met it half way.  I had to laugh into a towel. 





I asked them:





Copeland: “Puberty and why he stinks.” 





Me: “What are y’all talking about?”





(I start giggling) 





I cannot seem to be mature about certain topics. And this was a stunning example.





Copeland: “Momma Mel says that you get hair everywhere.”





Me: “Yep one day you’ll have hairy tits, pits and a ball-fro on your cherries.” 





(We all laughed.)





Me: Now who wants the shower first? Nuts and butts!!! Let’s go!!!





At this time in my life, I do my best to still laugh at their innocence. We take one day and one argument at a time. I correct them when I need to . But I also let them have the freedom to say what they feel that they need to say within reason.  And I help them the best I can to deal with feelings. I also let them know that feelings are just feelings and they don’t last forever. So that when they’re almost fifty years old they don’t have to suffer with not ever knowing that the concept ever existed. So, maybe, just maybe, they can begin to understand that emotions aren’t terminal. And that all the power that they need is found from within themselves instead of in all the temptations on the outside that lead to even bigger problems.. And they won’t be forever stuck in an insufferable and totally self-obsessed hell.





“Raising teens is like nailing jello to a tree.”





-Unknown





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			 darnold1975 		


		
What Are The Streets Saying? Krokodil
	


	

		

“Krokodil is a flesh eating drug”





(opustreatment.com, 2024).





Light the charcoal. Sprinkle the sage. Negative energy go away. Okie dokie! Today’s topic for What Are the Streets Saying? I want to talk to you about a drug called Krokodil. This drug is especially dangerous as compounds can make wounds on the skin resemble those of a flesh eating bacteria.





This drug was first reported in Siberia in the 2002. It then spread to countries such as Ukraine, Georgia, Uzbekistan, Kazakhstan, Czech Republic, France, Belgium, Germany, Sweden, Norway and the USA. And it’s victims are usually young people between the ages of 18-25. Typical clinical presentations of the same type of skin, muscle and bone infections are treated with IV antibiotics and wound dressing changes. The damage caused by this drug is resistant to these types of therapies (calpoison.org, 2023). And this is why these types of infections are associated with use of this drug is oftentimes a very painful and fatal outcome.















Krokodil, is the street name for desomorphine, is an injectable opiate with severe dermatologic effects. The drug is a codeine derivative. And to increase the addiction and hallucinogenic effects, toxic agents are added to the already dangerous substance. This is an older drug but one that is able to be manufactured at home within minutes. (Journal of Drug and Alcohol Dependence, 2017.)  The chemicals typically used to manufacture are paint thinner, gasoline, hydrochloric acid, iodine, red phosphorus (scraped off match striking boxes)  and/or white phosphorus (The American Journal of Medicine, 2014). This drug is considered semi-synthetic and is known as “poor man’s heroin” because of how cheap it is. The drug is about five times cheaper than heroin. These pills are comprised of codeine and acetaminophen tablets, which were OTC in Russia, and could be bought with $3.71 USD for 10 tablets. The tablets which are now not available OTC have raised the price to $15.46 (Journal of Drug and Alcohol Dependence, 2017.) To me, this is still extremely inexpensive compared to a lot of illicit drugs.















Its  street names “Krokodil”, “Crocodile”, “Croc”, “Flesh eating heroin” , “Drug of the poor” “Russian Magic” “Flesh-rotting drug” or “Krok” from the discolored green, black and flaking skin on users that resemble that of a crocodile. Users typically die from gangrene or other infections within 3 years.(Journal of Drug and Alcohol Dependence, 2017). Also, the toxic chemicals show up as skin necrosis, advanced pyoderma and ulcers that expose bone, muscle and tendons (opustreatment.com, 2024).





This is another drug that is so incredibly dangerous and deadly. This might be the one drug out there that I never have an interest in trying. Again, take what you can use and leave the rest. But most of all, I hope that you have learned about another illicit drug that can and does take down individuals and families that doesn’t discriminate on age, race, sex, gender or socioeconomic status. Stay safe and thanks for reading!





***Don’t forget to watch the video!***





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			 darnold1975 		


		
You’re Not My God
	


	

		

“At first, addiction is maintained by pleasure, but the intensity of this pleasure gradually diminishes and the addiction is then maintained by the avoidance of pain.”





-Frank Tallis





Light the charcoal. Sprinkle the sage. Negative energy go away. Okie dokie! Today I want to talk to you about a topic that is very near and dear to me. The topic is Addiction. I have been on all sides of this issue. I have been an addict that began to struggle early on in my teen years. I eventually went to get my bachelor’s degree in Psychology. Then onto getting my Master’s degree in counseling. And then went on to work in the field of addiction. And I have seen the havoc this problem has caused both in my own family and in other’s as well. 





As a thirteen year-old, I was subjected to horrible verbal and emotional abuse at the hands of a teacher. The abuse was absolutely the most stressful time of my life up until that point. I was given a set of rules that I had to follow that was not reciprocated by the adults who set them. I can’t tell you how emotionally and physically trapped I felt sitting in that closet and berated every single day for a year. I was also humiliated in front of my class of peers. I was also sent to the office with disciplinary forms for things that I did not do. That’s not to say that I was completely innocent. I would verbally strike out at that teacher a few times intentionally in order to get in-school suspension just to get a day or two break from her verbal aggression.  Knowing now how underdeveloped a child’s brain is in this time period helps me understand the whys and hows of this horrible behavior and how it begins and continues. 





My first time using it was during an emotional time that was so chaotic for me. The “perfect storm” had started brewing previously for approximately two years before I ever began. And as it appears, I wasn’t the only teen in my graduating class who would have some of the same struggles. I had suppressed a lot of the memories about my molestation at an early age. I always had a smile on my face and was laughing as much as possible. However, the underpinnings of addiction were looking for a way into my soul. And it would be the disaster that would follow me into my adult years. 





In my life, addiction would not begin as a few substances here and there recreationally like some stories. My situation presented itself at a time where I could no longer handle both the wait of depression and ongoing trauma. I felt emotionally that I was trapped and that no one was there for me in any way. So, I took my first opiates and I was in love. I would be in this type of committed relationship for many years to come. I didn’t see the horns and pitchfork that it carried. I saw it as the best friend that always provided relief and was non-judgmental. It was there to comfort me when comfort was not around. And for the moment, the evil words and actions of that teacher would be drowned out even if it was only for an hour.





I have had several people since then say to me, “Why didn’t you tell someone about what was going on?” The truth is I did and no one believed me. I told my principals but my reputation for being a “class clown” was apparently stronger than the actual truth. When the teacher received word that I had told them, nothing was resolved. The abuse only got worse. Eventually not only would I develop a chemical addiction, I would also have a process of addiction by way of self-harm and eating disorders.










When I began self-harming I was, once again, sent to the office only for the object that I had been stuck into my hand to be covered up and sent back to class. Once I got back to class, I was put on display in front of the class and made to feel less than once again. To those that always say that self-harm is “attention seeking” behavior I can tell you this. I never wanted a trophy for the number of scars that I wear on my body today. I wanted the pain to stop. Not every behavior is about a Tik-Tok or Facebook challenge. And it certainly wasn’t for me. Maybe it was a cry for help. However, those cries fell on deaf ears. 





I had begun to notice the amount of anger that was building inside of me daily. And I was scared to death of what that might look like if it ever got free. Sitting with those intense emotions might get buried for the moment, but they will surface. And no matter how much you try to further suppress them, they come out on whoever happens to be around when the “straw that breaks the camel’s back” gets laid down. The scars that you can now see are plentiful. But it’s the scars that you can’t see that outnumber the others by a long shot. 





I continue to struggle hard with addiction despite a vast knowledge and experience working with other addicts. Addiction isn’t something that you can outthink. And to those that think it’s about “willpower,” consider it “willpower” the next time you struggle with diarrhea. You cannot imagine the hold that it can have on you if you’ve never had that hold on you. And if you can socially drink and use and it doesn’t reach the point of addiction consider yourself lucky. The bad part is that you don’t know if you’ll become addicted until you try it. And I cannot think of a more perfect game of russian roulette to play. A little felt good. And a lot was not enough.





The fact that I have not died of addiction and others have left me in utter bewilderment. And yet I know that there is a bullet with my name on it each time I pull that trigger trying once again to just be comfortable in my own skin. Addiction is so cunning, baffling and powerful in ways that many don’t understand. And I have seen it ravage the lives of people and those they love to a point where my jaw drops. Even with all of that being said, I still don’t have a healthy fear of addiction. And I’m not sure that I ever will.





As a parent, I can only hope that my own children will choose a way that is more healthy even when times are difficult. And that if they are in some way being harmed that they won’t stay quiet and be covered in shame the way that bullies and perpetrators expect them to be. Get help immediately if you see that you or someone you love has an addiction. I have been in therapy for several years now and I still struggle with this horrible thing called addiction. The name just the label that is given to the substance or behavior that presents itself as a caring and compassionate friend that is waiting to cut our throats. 





“Recovery is not a race.You don’t have to feel guilty if it takes you longer than you thought it would.”





-Anonymous





***Don’t forget to watch the video!***





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			 darnold1975 		


		
I’m Only Human
	


	

		

“I am just a human being trying to make it in a world that is rapidly losing its understanding of being human.”





-John Trudell





Light the charcoal. Sprinkle the sage. Negative energy go away. Okie dokie! I want to clarify one thing before I get into the topic for today.  This blog is more like an online journal of sorts. I write about things that affect me at this moment. Many topics repeat and that’s perfectly ok. Each thing I write about is in some way me moving forward even if at a snail’s pace. Trauma is not one of those things that you can talk about today and it will be gone tomorrow. Those who have never been in therapy or are from a generation where therapy was not an option don’t get this concept. And truthfully neither did I. Heck, even though I grew up in the 1980’s therapy was only for the lifestyle of the rich and famous. Nevertheless, the trauma still left its mark.





All of this has been a process that doesn’t have a set time limit. And to think that I can process some of these gut wrenching problems on Monday and then on Tuesday be able to say and believe that the hurt and pain won’t resurface is only a pipe dream that leads to disappointment. You have to have a therapist who is compassionate and patient to say the least. And with my coach that is exactly what I got.  And the time it takes to find a therapist that is a good fit sometimes involves more trauma.  And it certainly did for me. It took me over forty years to become dysfunctional to this extreme. So, to think that all of that can be wiped out with even a few years of intense therapy is very unrealistic.





 Today I want to talk about imperfection. The holidays are so incredibly stressful for me as with most people. I think it’s just all of the emotions of being around more people than I’m used to.  And when the Frat Pad is in full swing with our crew it can be exhausting.  Don’t get me wrong, I love hanging with my boys and friends. However, after all of the holidays are said and done I am completely exhausted.  Maybe it’s because when we are all together we are all on such an emotional high that when it’s all over with my mind and body say, “Dana, What the hell were you thinking?  You don’t have to do everything to extremes!” For the last several weeks I just can’t seem to get my energy back.  I can’t sleep. I have been in a horrible depression.










As a child we don’t really think about the concept of “imperfection.” We go through our little child life learning from our mistakes on a daily basis. And that’s the way it should be. As we grow, socially, emotionally and physically everything begins to change. We begin to form our own view of the world and expectations that we have for ourselves. Maybe it’s just a combination of societal, personal, environmental, and familiar experiences that begin to teach us that ‘perfection” is the only way to be.  Not all are affected in a negative way. 





My life was affected negatively because of my experiences. When you are very impressionable at a young age simultaneously, your brain is still underdeveloped. You begin to see life for what it is either negatively or positively. If you are exposed like I was to narcissists who only told me that no matter what I did, I would never be good enough, my life began to play out just like that. I learned very quickly that not being perfect meant that my life was not as worthy as others.  Little by little this core belief that I was inherently unworthy of good things continued to chip away at me until waking up every day became a punishment rather than a gift. And since  the age of 13, I have been chronically suicidal. I still completely disregard dangerous and impulsive behaviors that are very detrimental at the very least.





When I was married to my ex-husband he took my whole feeling of inadequacy and belief that I wasn’t worthy of love, acceptance and compassion to an all time high. Instead of taking the information that I told him about my life to show me everything that I had been missing, he used it as a weapon to have ultimate control over me. Not to mention that he was also nineteen years my senior. I was so naive that I held onto his every word as truth. The “truth” however was that he was and still is a very sick man who was also horribly abused by his father. And to my knowledge was NEVER told that he was loved by him. So, if he wasn’t in control including his perfectionistic ways then he felt completely out of control. And he perpetuated that abuse onto me.





One of his favorite things to tell me was, “I’m not the one with the mental history.” And the fact of the matter is this, he has never gone to see a therapist for any of his issues. His mental illness has just never been diagnosed. It doesn’t not mean that he doesn’t have a mental illness. Therapy also requires a level of rigorous honesty about yourself that he is incapable of being. I will be the first to tell you that therapy isn’t always fun. However, it is necessary regardless how far down the spectrum you may go. When I needed therapy in my teens therapy was not possible.  So, even though I began seeing a therapist in 2009 my work didn’t truly begin until about 8 years ago. At the time, I was undiagnosed with a very serious trauma related disorder that not just every professional knows how to treat.  It goes way beyond basic depression and anxiety issues. The problem was so much more complex than I had any concept to be able to understand at that time. And let me just point out that any level of depression and anxiety are in their own way completely miserable.





I had a therapist long ago tell me when I was in despair about always making mistakes tell me, “Welcome to the human race.” And I never understood what that meant until years later. I still make a lot of mistakes as a human being. I take as much as I can and I fall.  I still get angry and say hurtful things.  And I also still go to bed many nights with tears in my eyes. I’m now learning how to embrace my whole self mistakes and all. And I’m trying not to  let the opinions of those who bled out on me for crimes I didn’t commit determine my self worth. My  imperfection is what classifies me as being “PERFECTLY IMPERFECT.”





“I don’t have to be perfect. All I have to do is show up  and enjoy the messy, imperfect and beautiful journey of my life.”





-Kerry Washington





***Don’t forget to watch the video***





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			 darnold1975 		


		
“My Sarah, My Friend”
	


	

		

“Death leaves a heartache no one can heal,love leaves a memory no one can steal.”





-Unknown





Light the charcoal. Sprinkle the sage. Negative energy go away. Today marks the 10th anniversary since Sarah died. Recently, I have done some work in therapy about her loss.  What I’ve learned is how traumatic events never seem to lose their power. While it’s always been very upsetting to me to live without her. Re-experiencing those moments with the full force of emotions is decapitating my soul. And I truthfully, had no idea that I carried that much emotional exhaustion.  





I have been asked before “why do you refer to her as like a God?” To me Sarah wasn’t just a friend. She was so many things to me. But most of all she was my hero. I sought her guidance as a struggling alcoholic/drug addict. But years later and the respect for a seemingly genuine woman progressed to a relationship where I experienced unconditional love and acceptance for no other reason than because I existed. I just needed someone who cared on all levels. And it was her.





I hungered for the peace that she seemed to carry around in her soul. I watched her from all angles and she was the most authentic person I had ever seen. And I was very intrigued. She was the same no matter where she went. Our very close relationship was like a “maternal mentor.” I wanted to learn everything I possibly could about her “road to peace and serenity.” There was a mutual space that we held for each other with the utmost respect. She was my “safe person.” 





We spent many hours talking about life and the broken roads we had both taken. And I saw how she had risen. And how I was barely breathing. Over the years she became my “Mr. Miyagi” and my “Yoda.” Every Time I was around her I learned another lesson about life. And it was exactly what I needed. And I flourished. I had begun to rebuild my shattered self-confidence, self-worth, self image and the idea that I was entitled to love, happiness and belongingness just like everyone else. 














I continued to struggle with addiction for a while. And Oh the boundaries. Anyone that knew her also knew that she was a boundary setting “queen.” Boundaries were placed before me many, many times. That was just something else that she taught me. 





It wasn’t “rules” coming from an authority figure with her. It was simply teaching me about boundaries and standing up when they are tested. And she also taught me about our own boundaries and why we deserve for them to be respected. I realized that my way of thinking was courtesy of generational patterns of insanity. She praised individuality, autonomy and authenticity.





I began to notice that I was changing.  My thinking, heart, conscience, was all changing for the better.  I needed the stability of someone who was loving and consistent. And I’m sorry but there are just not that many people like that who possess both qualities. And I thanked God everyday for the blessings I received that allowed me to be open enough to experience “love” for the first time since stepping onto the gravel of my broken road.  





I had, once again,  found that passion for life and the ability to succeed which was lost for many years. I began excelling as a student. And I realized that I was not too dumb to learn. And about the symbolism of the Phoenix in Greek Mythology. The symbol of the camel in 12-step recovery. And about living life on life’s terms. And about her walk with Jesus. And how life is about acceptance even if it’s not the hand that you wanted dealt. The woman I speak of I would’ve laid down my life for. And I still will at the speaking of her name.  





And when she died, I’ve been unable to move past my grief.  Instead I burned every bridge that I could. And I found dreams and ambitions in the safe confine of isolation slowly withering away. I guess over the years I never saw having to live life without her or her guidance.  But here we are. And her absence is more than I can bear.





I exist but I no longer live. I keep chasing the monster that keeps chasing me. Again I am the shell of who I used to be. Shouldn’t her memory and advice propel me past that? Shouldn’t living a life that I know would please her give me the energy to help me carry on?  Maybe. But my heart feels none of that. I am paralyzed by fear, grief, loneliness, sadness and debilitating depression. But I do have my memories. I guess sometimes, though, the wounds are just too great. 





“The absence of your loved one will lead to a profound wound of their loss that will never completely mend. But they will forever reside in your heart and will remain partially broken.”





-Unknown





***Don’t forget to watch the video at the end!!!***





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			 darnold1975 		


		
When I Am Cut (Poetry)
	


	

		

Looking at me with that sharp and metal stare.





It smiles at me as if I was not there.





I know it sounds crazy but I’m not thinking about an end.





The one in the darkness that comforts me like a friend.










It came to my rescue when I was just a kid.





In that dungeon of a closet where she thought she had me hid.





The first time I did it , it brought me so much peace.





The act was automatic and I got a much needed release.










If you could see past my scars, I’m just another person.





You don’t know the hell I’ve experienced, its made me who I wasn’t.










He called me names and broke my spirit and said, “it is all my fault.”





But what he didn’t know, was that I was planning my next assault.










The towels and the bandages are always part of the game.





But when you look into my eyes, I’m just another name.










My story means nothing to most as they think it’s all a lie.





But I spent another 14 years just trying not to die.





The memories are so extreme but you don’t even care.





That’s ok I don’t need you because my blades are always there.










They comfort me in the morning and tuck me in at night.





Because it comforts me and brings me peace in this debilitating life.










Long sleeves in the winter and in summer too.





I don’t want you to see them because it’s the evidence of my truth.










You don’t understand it and I hope you never do.





This isn’t attention seeking behavior what if it was you?





#Thispuzzledlife





***Don’t forget to watch the video!***










	




			
				


	
			
					
	

	

		

			 darnold1975 		


		
Dear Anxiety
	


	

		

Dear Anxiety Lyrics





I wake up, puddle of sweat
I have nightmares, and I get back into bed
It’s like these voices just keep playing on repeat in the back of my head
And I can’t get them to leave me alone
Thirty-years old but still hates being alone when I’m home
Because that’s when the voices get the loudest
Opening up like this is a moment far from my proudest
But these demons keep pressin’ me, I swear they’re the foulest
But I’ve grown comfortable with their presence, my conscious is calloused
My dreams are their playground, my thoughts are their palace
I tried to evict them, they returned with more
Anxiety isn’t an item you can return at the store
I was 10 the first time I had a panic attack
Like a punch to the stomach, there’s no planning for that
And I didn’t tell anyone because I was too scared about what they’d say
And I knew deep down that there was nothing they could do to take it away
It was my fight to fight and my battle to face
I remember that house I grew up in and how those demons would rattle that place
I’d lay awake at night just staring at the ceiling
I’ve spent my whole life trying to run from that feeling
That feeling of being lonely, that feeling of being lost
That feeling of being sick when the lights turn off
That feeling of being depressed, that feeling of being anxious
That feeling of screaming to God begging Him to take this
Only to get silence in return
I’d lay in that bed crying, and I’d toss and I’d turn
And I turn and I toss to this day
The doctors gave me medication, the pastor said pray
I tried both, and this anxiety still hasn’t gone away
So forgive me if I fantasize about being gone today
I’m an actor who got really good at being on today
But when I turn off, I go right back into the shadows
I’m in the deep-end now, but I started in the shallows
And I might just drown myself in these waves
Suburbian hell, these homes are all graves
Everyone’s coping with something but won’t admit it, they’re all too afraid
And these kids are glued to watching me, what do I say?
If I’m honest with them, maybe they won’t think highly of me
Everything they want me to be is what I’m dying to be
But everything I really am is what I’m not trying to be
I want them to know that they’re not alone in their struggles
I wake up in tears and fall back asleep in those puddles
And I don’t ever think I’ll get out of this valley I’m in
Terrified that all along God has tallied my sins
And if He has, the number must be astronomic
My life is a joke, and you keep reading, just pass the comic
Because everything you think that I am is far from the truth
I wish I could open up to you and just let loose
But my vocal cords get tight when the Devil pulls on this noose
And then I’m back to keeping everything bottled up inside
But he’s not gonna keep me from pulling the throttle back this time
He’s not gonna keep me trapped like this
I can’t get out of bed, I was never made to act like this
I’m packing up my bags, and he can’t stop me from running fast like this
I’m not gonna be a slave to these voices of anxiety
I’m shoving the Devil back for every time that he lied to me
And I’m taking a belt to these demons who whisper despair in my ear
And I’m ignoring every naysayer who stands and stares when I’m near
I’m moving forward out of this slump
I took my bruises, I took my lumps
I fell down, but I got right back up
So give me a torch, and let’s light that up
I’m setting fire to the Devil, and I’m dousing these demons in gasoline
Look at you now, now you’re not laughing at me
Now who’s the one who’s being tortured and punked?
Now who’s the one closing every door that I want?
Now who’s the one watching the other burn the ground?
Don’t look away from me, you better turn back around
I’m not done talking to you now
I’m watching your moves
I’m on your back, and I’m stalking you, too
And when you try to ruin some other kid’s life, I’ll be stoppin’ you, too
You took thirty years of my life, and I can’t get that back
You told me to end my life, and I nearly got killed for that
You took me down, but I bounced right back
I was lost then, and I got found like that
And everything you told me I wasn’t someone new told me I was
And everything you hated in me someone new told me He loves
And when you tried to kill me with depression and anxiety
He reached in and placed hope deep inside of me
So I’m done listening to you and letting you control me
I’m announcing it now that the Devil can’t hold me
I’m walking away from the old me
And I’m demanding a refund on every lie that you sold me
You knew I’d find a way out sooner or later
And I found my escape in the form of a Savior.





***I’m not there yet but I want to be.***





***Don’t forget to watch the video***





#Thispuzzledlife










	




			
				


	
			
					
	

	

		

			 darnold1975 		


		
Nobody But Me Part 2
	


	

		

“To become authentic we require a thirst for freedom.”





-Don Mateo Sol





Light the charcoal. Sprinkle the sage. Negative energy go away. I love the smell of burning sage. Mentally it somehow provides a bubble that no one’s negativity can penetrate. Even if only for a moment.





I have been shamed by many entities, friends and family for being a lesbian. I have two superhero children that came out of that relationship with their other mom. And my children have also had that held against them as well. Was that selfish of us to bring children into the world knowing that? No. I believe that God saw that we had two children that were absolutely perfect for the situation. We brought those children into the world loving them and wanting to be parents. We have always told them that families look differently with race and gender differences. And is in no way right or wrong. It just is. I’ve also been asked, “Well, what if they come out as bisexual, gay or heaven forbid in a relationship with another race?” My response has always been, “Then what a great and very diverse family they will have to be a part of.” I have told my boys from the beginning, “I will never hold against you who you love. If you can find someone who truly loves you for who you are and respects you, go for it! I will have a problem if they are abusive buttholes.”






I lost my sanity trying to be what others told me that I should be. And being a part of the LGBTQ+ community oftentimes we are “forced” to make a family outside of our families of origin. Not as a choice but as a necessity. Me and my children have always been seen as less than. We have not been included or have been treated as “sloppy seconds” because of who I loved. And how they were conceived because personal beliefs on the topic.













I have watched people through the presidential election and the horrible crimes of P. Diddy destroy relationships. One thing I’ve learned is that I’m not going to agree with you and you will not agree with me. So, what’s the point of arguing just for the sake of arguing? However, what I have made abundantly clear is that if you see something done that’s illegal or wrong and don’t speak out, then you’re just as guilty. I have learned some very difficult lessons about being scared into silence. My life has been largely influenced by narcissists. And the only title that fits perfectly is “emotional vampires” and “masters of deception.” The narcissist that I was enslaved by always called himself “a local celebrity.” To put it very bluntly, these kind of people are very scary. And cause colossal damage to their victims.





It doesn’t matter if you’re from a small town, politician or celebrity. Wrong is wrong. I can spot a narcissist a mile away. And there is no place in a society that harbors these type of criminals that often operate in the shadows. Just because you don’t see them in this role, doesn’t mean that it doesn’t happen. They are more concerned with their image than your well-being. If you’re operating openly then I have even less respect for those individuals. That just tells me that you’re even more dangerous. The commonality between narcissists is the fact that their egos are much bigger and stands out from others. They feel that they are untouchable. And they also believe that money, popularity, fame and scare tactics keep them safe from others that oppose their stance. They are the “god” of their own universe. I have also had family members that are narcissists. Most don’t change because they don’t see themselves as doing anything wrong. The ones that do change only do so because of “scared straight” tactics. And the only thing you can do is keep your emotional distance. 





The abuse, for me, only got worse when the doors were closed. If this doesn’t fit your opinions, then take what you can use and leave the rest. It’s the beauty of living in a “free society.” I speak only MY truth. And pain changes people. I’m not here to coddle anyone’s delicate feelings.






When I was a child, a teacher was allowed to unmercifully abuse me. Yes “ALLOWED!” I spoke with school administrators 20+ years later only to be told that they knew the abuse was going on but they couldn’t do anything about it. Let that sink in for a minute. They knew that a child was being abused and did nothing about it. I fought adults on my own. Not one adult stepped forward and said, “This is wrong! She’s a child and you’re committing crimes!” GUITY! GUILTY! GUILTY!






Granted the science about childhood trauma and its effects on adulthood functionality was in its infancy at the time. Unfortunately, I am only one of millions of adult children who now know the harsh realities of just how deeply abuse can effect someone. In this day and age, ignorance can no longer be used as an excuse. Science is everywhere. And so is the research and studied outcomes of how negatively shaming affects a person’s entire being.












I don’t try and paint life and this world as a beautiful oasis where nothing goes wrong. I don’t tell my kids many specifics about my trauma history. But make no mistake they know who “the mean man” is. And they know about that mean teacher that locked me in a closet. They also know, see and experience what it’s like to watch their mom struggle from the consequences of abuse. And also what can happen to another person when we don’t find a way to heal our own wounds. And if that makes me a bad parent because they are prepared for the difficulties of life, then so be it. I used to have a real complex about having a mental illness that is trauma induced. But then I realized that what I saw when I looked the eyes of my children was that I was raising advocates.






As a parent, my job is to protect my children as much as I possibly can. That does not mean smothering them with my own personal beliefs. We are to teach them how to think. Not what to think. Teach them how to make educated decisions. And sometimes allowing them that freedom is very difficult knowing that there is a great potential for growing pains. We learn through our mistakes or we don’t.






I allow my children to make their own decisions within reason. I tell them, “Here are your choices. Whatever your decision is comes with either positive or negative consequences. Make your decision.” When they come to Camp Frat Pad I tell them both, “If you want to stay up all night that’s fine. But, if you’re a butthole tomorrow you will get in trouble.” Both boys go to bed at a decent hour most of the time. I also allow them to have the freedom to dress and cut or not cut their hair anyway they want. All in an effort to assert their individuality.






That’s a dream that I wished I had been allowed to live. My individuality always seemed to have some type of constraints. I’m not the kind of person that conforms to social “norms.” I am very ok with who I am. And the more you try to force your hand and make me conform, the more I rebel. I will also not be a part of sitting idly by and watching my children be treated differently because they come from a minority family. How can I expect them to stand up for other individuals’s differences if I don’t stand up for them? I have watched many people claim that they’re one way. Then tuck tail and run when it comes to the statement that is not popular among others in their peer group. I’ve watched that many times. And those people will not admit to any wrong doing. They just want only you to change. I don’t need to change that part of me. I have no problem being gay.





I will not ever silence MY truth because of someone else’s uncomfortability ever again. My children are watching me to see if I am who I say I am. And that I am. Nothing more, nothing less. And I make absolutely no apologies for being authentic. Because I can’t be nobody but me!






“If you want to know where to find your contribution to the world, look at your wounds. When you learn how to heal them, teach others.”





-Emily Maroutian





***”Don’t forget to watch the video!***





#Thispuzzledlife





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			 darnold1975 		


		
Nobody But Me Part 1
	


	

		


“To be nobody but yourself in a world which is doing its best, night and day, to make everybody else-means to fight the hardest battle which any human being can fight; and never stop fighting; and never stop fighting. Stay true to yourself, yet always be open to learning.”
-E.E. Cummings, A Poet’s Advice to Students






Light the charcoal. Sprinkle the sage. Negative energy go away! Ok that feels much better. This is a blog that I’ve been wanting to write for some time. For the last couple of months, I have been in a depression that has been absolutely debilitating. Maybe it’s been due to the stress of recent surgeries. Or maybe it’s been a combination of that and coming off all of my psych meds. Yes, you heard that correctly. I am now off of my meds and the mood swing has snapped! Run! Right or wrong. I took myself off in a rather drastic way. When I get an idea in my head that I’m going to do something, write it down. It will get done. Now I don’t advise coming off psych meds all at once. However, I wanted it done immediately. So, I put myself through absolute hell. I was so sick physically that coming off heroin would’ve been easier. Nevertheless, It’s finally over. And things mentally and physically have come alive again. And I do mean everything.






I remember looking at myself in a mirror saying, “Well hey you! Where have you been?” I don’t have any problems with the idea of antidepressants or any other type of psychiatric meds. For me, though, I was tired of taking them and constantly having to worry about copays to community mental health providers that I truly didn’t have the extra money to afford. I have also been on the state’s cannabis program for a couple of years with the goal of one day coming off those other meds. I’m just too impatient to go through the slow process of convincing professionals to continue tapering. And being that I’m a “street pharmacist”, I just decided to do it myself. I still struggle with severe insomnia that has somewhat plateaued at the moment. My cannabis spreadsheet is finally complete! Which means that I now tailor my “green meds” to what I need. Instead of also having to factor in traditional meds and their side effects. This might not work for everyone. So, do you boo-boo.






What this has also done is find the backbone that I knew I once had. Antidepressants make you much more tolerant of criticisms and everyday frustrations. Now I just smoke a bowl or do a few dabs and it does the same thing instantly. One thing that I’m constantly having to adjust is medication for pain management. That, in itself, has been quite the adjustment. 





Doctors, no matter the issues, are just not willing to help with pain management enough to help keep people comfortable. I didn’t say keep them high or addicted. With “Big Pharma”, though, that’s how they line their pockets. 












While living in New Mexico and Texas, my lack of pain management led me straight back to the streets. And that always leads to either jails, rehabs or the grave. There’s just too much Fentanyl out there for my comfort level. I can honestly say that being on the cannabis program previously and now that my addiction issues have not reared their ugly heads in this area of my life. Trust me, when addiction wants to take me, I go seemingly very willingly. In other areas of my life I am still in the grasp of addiction. Regardless, life continues to be brutal. And parenting doesn’t get easier either. It just has new challenges.






In therapy, everything ebbs and flows. Sometimes it’s easier than others. And sometimes you seem to plateau. Recently, I have had my most painful trauma hit me at my weakest point. I was literally awake for five days and crazy as hell. I know what a fabulous time to abandon medication and its requirements. I have always taken the difficult road in life that this time was no different. Dangerous? Probably. To me, doing things safely just takes way too long. And I’m not willing to wait.






I have always been a people pleaser. I have done what others wanted regardless of what I wanted to do. I felt that I have always needed to somehow strive for perfection that could never be attained. I’ve always tried to be for others, losing the vision for who and what I’ve wanted and needed to be. I’ve attempted to be straight knowing full well that I’m not. I have dressed in ways others wanted me to. Acted in ways expected of me. I kept my hair cut in ways to only pacify others. And I lost myself in the process.






I won’t ever say that “coming out” has been an easy process. It’s very different for every person. It’s probably the most difficult process I’ve ever had to go through. And more painful than you can imagine. Think about this for a second. If you wake up in the morning as someone who is sexually “heterosexual”, imagine what you would do if someone told you, “No, you must be gay.” You can try and do your best to be gay. You might even speak the lingo. But in your heart, you have always been straight. You just can’t be gay no matter what you are told or what you are shamed for. So, one day you just stand up and say, “I don’t care what gender you think that I should be with. I’m not nor have I ever been gay!” Imagine how freeing that would feel, for once in your life, to be who you know that you are. If you can’t comprehend a scenario like this then be glad you can’t.





It’s kind of like individuals who don’t understand why the LGBTQ+ community has gay pride celebrations. How many times have I heard the comments like, “Well we(straight) don’t have “straight pride” celebrations.” The Stonewall Riots were not about having “Straight Pride.” They were about the freedom of being a member of the LGBT community without the fear of being arrested. The idea of “straight pride” is ignorant. And you will look stupid trying to argue that point. So don’t get jealous every year when June rolls around and all of the rainbows, glitter, unicorns and individual pride colors come out and the LGBTQ+ communities are beautiful and flamboyant. Be glad that you don’t have a reason to celebrate “Straight Pride.”





I “came out” in my 30’s as gay. This has presented many problems including lost relationships, shunning by family members and loss of jobs. The list goes on and on. And so do the whispers and backbiting. As scared as I was to make that step forward, I did it! And I have NEVER regretted my decision a day since. I finally stood up and proclaimed who I am! People will call you all kinds of names. It’s the ones you answer to that counts!






“Authenticity is the daily practice of letting go of who we think we’re supposed to be and embracing who we are.”
-Brene Brown





***Don’t forget to watch the video!***





#Thispuzzledlife















	




			
				


	
			
					
	

	

		

			 darnold1975 		


		
The Soul Journey with Sarah Moussa
	


	

		

She has two faces.
One face that she shows the world, loved ones, and in public.
The smiling one.
The happy, friendly, and talkative one.
The confident one full of laughter and positivity.
The face that everyone is used to.





The second face is the real face.
The one she tries not to show anyone.
The face behind closed doors, when she’s alone away from the world, in the security of her own emotions that she doesn’t want to show anyone else or have to explain them.
It’s exhausting trying to look happy and like nothing is bothering you.
The face that stares off at nothing or patterns on the floor or drapes.





The face that cries in the shower, in bed, car rides alone, cries sitting on the couch, or doing things around for house.
The sad face that stares back at her in the mirror and looks nothing like she used to be.
Well to her anyway. Others say she looks the same. The face that looks strong to the people she knows, but is really just shards of broken glass inside.
Yes, the girl that was there for everyone, and strong for others..is now split into two.





Two faces, one broken spirit.
She can’t bear the losses.
It feels like a chapter of a wonderful book closed never to be open again.





All she has are memories and visions in her head that she plays over and over.
Nothing is the same to her.
Everything is different. She can’t cope with daily life, her Doctor said. So she writes to help herself, and she has her two faces.





What’s funny is, the sad face is the face worth a thousand words underneath in the depths of complexity.
While the happy face full of laughter, love, positiveness, and fun..is a straight shooter.”





-Unknown Author





**Don’t forget to watch the video**





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			 darnold1975 		


		
I Was Afraid Of Being Rejected Until I…
	


	

		






I was afraid of being rejected
Until I learned to never reject myself





I was afraid of being abandoned
Until I learned to never abandon myself





I was afraid of the opinions of others
Until I learned that they held no more weight than my own





I was afraid of painful endings
Until I realised that they were
also new beginnings





I was afraid of appearing weak
Until I realised how strong
I truly was





I was afraid of being seen as
small and unimportant
Until I discovered my
true power and potential





I was afraid of being
perceived as ugly
Until I learned to fully
appreciate my own beauty





I was afraid of failure
Until I learned that
it was an illusion
When viewed through
the eyes of love,
growth and learning





I was afraid of feeling low
Until I learned that it was
the birthplace of brilliance
And where my greatest
transformation occurred





I was afraid of change
Until I realised it was an
inevitable part of life
In a world full of things
temporary and fleeting





I was afraid of being alone
Until I learned to fully embrace
and appreciate my own company





I was afraid of my uniqueness
Until I learned that it was
where my greatness lay





I was afraid of the darkness
Until I remembered that I was the light





And I was afraid of life
Until I remembered who I was.





-Tahlia Hunter





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			 darnold1975 		


		
The Pain That Never Ends: The Final Chapter
	


	

		

 “Courage doesn’t always roar. Sometimes courage is the quiet voice at the end of the day saying, ‘I will try again tomorrow.’” 





—Mary Anne Radmacher





Light the charcoal. Sprinkle the sage. Negative energy go away! I never thought that I would ever see the end to this set of blog posts. With it being such an incredibly difficult topic, I chose to take my time and release anything I needed no matter the pain. 





Fast forward to 2012. I eventually underwent a total knee replacement in my thirties. It was the most excruciating pain imaginable. The care I received from my orthopedic surgeon’s nurse practitioner mentally transported me back to the days and specific events associated with my ex-husband. The flashbacks were unsettling.  I would be ridiculed for crying again, this time by a medical professional. I vowed to avoid doctors for the rest of my life whenever possible. I wish I could say that I would not be treated that way in the medical community again. However, this has occurred repeatedly.





I was so upset at an urgent care facility that I accidentally wet myself. The practitioner made fun of me yet again.  I believe that in various areas of education, when the topic of “transference” is discussed, the idea is often conveyed in a manner that causes students to negate the humanity of themselves and others. They often lose sight of the Hippocratic Oath, which states, “First, do no harm.”  





In the United States, from 2003 to 2014, 8.8% of approximately 120,000 suicide victims have chronic pain. And has appeared to increase over time (Petrosky et al.,2018)





Within the last ten to fifteen years, I’ve also had neck surgery, two back surgeries, gall bladder surgery, trigeminal neuralgia known as the “Suicide Disease”, elbow surgery, a hysterectomy, spinal cord stimulator, left knee bone graft where I also had blood clots in both my leg and lungs. Additionally, I experienced COVID-19 several times while simultaneously being dealt another blood clot in my lungs. I now also have asthma as a result of contracting the virus.





Within the past year, the local orthopedic facility has seen me many times. Each time I consulted various practitioners, they consistently informed me that there was nothing wrong with me. But I was determined to be the squeaky wheel until I found help. I was compelled to seek practitioners in a different state.  Through my tears, I have persistently sought answers for my pain with the guidance of my dear “coach.” The suicidal ideations have been continual while going through this long, arduous process. A portion of the PTSD I experience is related to these and other situations. And to think, it was entirely preventable. This is one of my favorite quotes that pertains to this very topic is..





“If you don’t heal what hurts, you’ll bleed on those that didn’t cut you.”





-Anonymous





I am also about to undergo my thirteenth knee surgery. It is a revision surgery for knee replacement in which the prosthetic is loosening from the bone. This means that It has to be removed and another one installed. I have received only thirteen of the thirty years that would provide me relief. .  I am now absolutely terrified of going through this surgery again. The physical therapy will be challenging, and I will likely cry during every session as well. 





Needless to say, pain is a significant trigger for me. It elicits a variety of reactions, both visible and invisible.  I have also come to realize that Dissociative Identity Disorder may not respond well to anesthesia either. I have been trapped in a mental prison, and chained to each of my perpetrators. But I must honestly say that it was all an illusion.  What I have come to realize through many years of abuse is, “YOU CANNOT, IN ANY WAY, OWN OR POSSESS A CHILD OF GOD!” That was his disillusionment.










“Anyone can hide. Facing up to things, working through them, that’s what makes you strong.” —Sarah Dessen





**And as always, don’t forget to watch the video below!**





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			 darnold1975 		


		
The Pain That Never Ends Pt. 3
	


	

		

“The more you trust your intuition, the more empowered you become, the stronger you become, and the happier you will become.”





-Gisele Bundchen





Light the charcoal. Sprinkle the sage. Negative energy, go away! Ready. Set. Blog! I hope this blog has brought insight and the knowledge that you are not alone. And that just because someone can’t see your emotional wounds doesn’t mean that it’s not there.





While he psychologically manipulated me, I hung on his every word as if it were scripture.  I accept full responsibility for all my actions. But the situation seemed to be escalating exponentially. We married four years later. I do not distinctly remember feeling genuinely happy about it. I just thought that marrying was the next logical step. I remember thinking “no wonder people are miserable when they’re married.” Secretly, though, I was terrified that I was making the biggest mistake of my life. And that is exactly what I did. Nevertheless, we were soon legal. I saw flashing signs warning of potential danger ahead. But I was steadfast in my determination to make it all work. 





My belief, at that time, was to just to try and love him. I eventually realized that I would never be able to get that close to him. Soon, though, everything was beginning to make sense. His ever-increasing controlling traits were only getting more aggressive. He would call me names. He would humiliate me away from others until it became overtly obvious. I thought, “Why was seeing it all so foreign? I wouldn’t understand for several years later. The reason that it was so foreign was because I had never seen my daddy treat my mom that way. My daddy is one of respectable men in the community. And I never once saw him disrespect my mom even one time.  I was looking for a good man just as he had always been. Not one angry word or action had I ever seen. 





He made me do things without my consent. Turn on for him, maybe? I was secretly so miserable. He would rape my mind just like he would my body. He belittled me, stalked me, had total control over what I ate. I felt like it was a prison.I was told that I was stupid so many times I no longer feel as sting when I’m degraded. I bought into all this “perfect” life he was selling. Hook, line and sinker. I soon realized that the safest thing to do was to just do whatever he asked to get through the moment. I had become his emotional punching bag. I was also systematically being pulled away from family and friends. He was going to slowly transform me into his image of “perfection.” And no matter what I did,  I would never  I couldn’t achieve that unattainable goal. When you’re in a relationship with a narcissist, they see theirselves as “The” God of universe. They never see any need for improvement in any way. Because the only one who needs improvement is you. There was absolutely “zero” concern for both my physical and mental wellbeing.










The initial injury compromised the blood supply to the lower portion of my femur. When I begin to regenerate new bone, it would flake off fragments that needed to be surgically removed to ensure proper functionality. Due to my delay in seeking medical attention, the bony structures continued to shred the cartilage, resulting in further damage to the entire joint. That made him very angry. 





There were no words of encouragement or empathy. Just incessant berating for something that I couldn’t control. He wasn’t much of a cuddler either. And after 14 years of abuse, neither was I.  If he did there were always ulterior motives. I can vividly recall crying when I was out of his sight, as the pain was so intense. The intensity of crying heightened every situation. Until I learned how not to cry. I was never allowed to take mood stabilizers or antidepressants because “what would people think if they found out that his wife was a head case?” To make matters worse, he would get so angry that he took my pains meds and threw them out into the rain. And I was not allowed to retrieve them.  My mom was standing right there and witness it all.





I also experienced severe kidney and bladder infections. I had fevers, hematuria, nausea, and vomiting. It was extremely painful. When he finally took me to an urgent care facility, we were informed that I was at a high risk of developing sepsis. He stated in front of the nurse and doctors, “I told her that she needed to be seen sooner, but she did not want to get checked out.” He then said, “I suppose you won’t do that again next time will you?” I accepted responsibility once more while knowing that the real reason for the delay was because I wasn’t being allowed to get the help. 





Things were getting scarier by the day. I was stalked, raped, verbally and mentally abused. I knew how to do one thing that had helped me in the past. Mentally just go to some other place. And let someone else fill in to help with this monumental task. I was made fun of anytime I hurt. I was called a hypochondriac. And eventually I was told that my medical needs were too costly, and that I would just have to learn to deal with the pain. Specifically, I still needed more knee surgeries and procedures for simple wellness. And once again I endured pain in every kind of way you can imagine.





In the end, I lacked self-confidence in myself and was completely shattered mentally. It was fortunate that I left on my own. And I did it and came out alive. The abuse and manipulation I endured over the course of 14 years left me with nothing positive. I realized that I had lost “me” in the process. And I still struggle with my daily life. Let’s just say that relationships are not things that I excel in. 





I developed an incredibly high tolerance for pain. However, when I reach my limit, I take a sharp left at a “normal” reaction. My traumatic response is instantaneous. I am very apprehensive about visiting doctors. And it terrifies me to think that I could be berated again.





Maybe life isn’t about avoiding the bruises. Maybe it’s about collecting the scars to prove that we showed up for it.”





-Hannah Brencher





**And as always, don’t forget to watch the video below!**





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			 darnold1975 		


		
The Pain That Never Ends 2
	


	

		






“Triggers are like little psychic explosions that crash through avoidance and bring the dissociated, avoided trauma suddenly, unexpectedly, back into consciousness.”





-Carolyn Spring





Light the charcoal. Sprinkle the sage. Negative energy, go away! Ready. Set. Blog! Get comfortable because you need to finish reading this one. This took a few days to complete this blog. There is still a considerable amount of raw emotion associated with this topic. Okay, I will continue from where I left off.





When I encountered my next predator, I was 17 years old. He was 36 years old. He was nineteen years my senior. I acknowledge that the entire situation was chaotic at that time. Unfortunately, that chaos became the norm. I realized that I became terrified in the idea that when there was not chaos, I was terrified.  I was suddenly thrust headfirst into a harsh adult world for which I was unprepared. It was received like a “turd in the punch bowl.” 





Living in a small southern city in the “Bible Belt” region of Mississippi entails a unique set of rules. To put it bluntly, “Being gay should never be regarded as an accepted option.” You are expected to graduate from high school. Attend college. Consider marrying someone of the opposite sex. And to pursue careers while raising children.





I had no idea that my life would drastic 360 degree turn. I would  endure a 14-year reign of severe and traumatic terror. What I did not realize as a teenager was that predators can take on various forms, each uniquely individualized. I believed he was my “Prince Charming.” However, every day I looked into the eyes the devil. I entered that relationship with a deep sense of commitment. I was also trying to engage in the “heterosexual game.” And I realized that I was different.















 In the beginning, he had been a man with a silver tongue. He said all the right things, leading me to believe that he was a good man who genuinely wanted to love me and build a life together. That was undoubtedly the most misleading revelation of the truth. As he stated, “I was roaming the high schools looking for a wife.”  Why did I not find that creepy? Since then, I have asked myself that same question every day thereafter. But what was done, was in fact done. 





When I was an athlete, you recognize that pain is an essential component of your training regimen. It is an undeniable reality that managing pain is an inherent aspect of life. You consistently challenge your body in ways you never thought possible. Being in an abusive situation is fundamentally different.





 In the four years that we dated, I remember thinking, “Something doesn’t seem right.” I couldn’t identify exactly what “it” was at the time. But I soon realized the harsh reality. I began to realize elements of his likewise traumatic past. Living with a very controlling and abusive father I heard his horror stories. And until his father died, I can tell you that there was some part of him that still feared his father. An interesting fact was that prior to going to visit his father I was directed about how to act. I was so uncomfortable each time. I would watch and listen to how they would interact. And the stories that they both told had a lot of similarities. This was just paranoia, right? No. There were reasons to be paranoid and scared. And I was.





“Your gut knows what’s up, even if your brain doesn’t want to admit it.”-





-Anonymous





**And also don’t forget to watch the video below!”





 





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			 darnold1975 		


		
The Pain That Never Ends
	


	

		

“Living with chronic pain is like trying to get comfortable on a cactus sofa.”





-Sean Mackey, Professor of Pain Medicine at Stanford





Light the charcoal. Sprinkle the sage. Negative energy go away! Ready. Set. Blog! This is a blog that I’ve needed to write for a really long time. The topic of chronic pain affects every area of my life.





I feel that having both mental and physical pain is too much to ask of a person. I’m not talking about the aches and pains of aging. If that were the type of pain that I experience, I would have no reason to complain. My pain started as a young child with horrific leg pain that would have me in tears. I vividly remember my parents rubbing my legs complimented with a heating pad in order for the tears to stop falling just long enough to fall asleep. And there were no guarantee that I wouldn’t wake up during the night in the same miserable condition. The pediatrician said that the pain was simply “growing pains.”  Could this physical pain have been a result of the trauma that I was experiencing? Maybe. Eventually, I would seem to outgrow the leg pains. In the late 1970’s and early 1980’s maybe there were no other answers. And I can accept that. Subconsciously, no one believed me because the depth of my pain couldn’t be seen. However, the mark that was left on the psyche of a small child is one that has left a permanent mental disfigurement.



















The next time I remember pain being an issue was as a 13-year-old. The traumatic situations that were occurring left me with horrible headaches. It was at the time that I began having suicidal ideations. The one consistent message coming from my “loud thoughts” was that I wasn’t worthy was unworthy of life. The trauma of that year continues to pound the same messages in my daily life. I just couldn’t see a way out in any direction. It was one agonizing day after another for an entire year. And again, no one believed me. I would also suffer a kneeinjury that I’ve never been about to truly recover from. I’m still dealing with it now in my late forties. When you abuse a child mentally, it’s so easy for them to believe it. To deal with it all, I began “grasping at straws” trying to find 5 minutes of relief. And I did! I found drugs, alcohol, eating disorders and self-harm.





Then I moved into high school. But the previous year continued to torment me. Not only was I caught up in the cycle of addiction, but I was also starting to die from them all. Anyone who says that addiction isn’t painful are lying. It doesn’t matter what type of addiction. It might not seem to hurt in the moment. However, if you are a human being with a conscience, it will hurt at some point. And when it did, I kept using “it” out of guilt and shame. My hopes and dreams were going down the drain. And I had no idea how to make it all stop. I wasn’t my own boss anymore. It was my boss. I would also have another knee surgery, maybe two. And then, I met him…





“Almost everything will work again if you unplug it for a few minutes, including you.”





-Anne Lamott, author and writing teacher










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			 darnold1975 		


		
The Promise Part 2
	


	

		

“When [Jesus] saw the crowds, he had compassion on them, because they were harassed and helpless, like sheep without a shepherd”.





Matthew 9:36





Light the charcoal. Sprinkle the sage. Negative energy go away. Now I’m ready! I thought I could finish writing this later. But No, cigar! Now is as good a time as any other.





I keep coach very up to date with my thoughts and close attention with my “parts.” My main protector has been upset for quite a while. She’s willing to try to derail me in any possible way. So, naturally, I wondered why? Like most teenagers, she has once again, began striking out in fear.





I don’t typically do well with guided imagery. In the past, I’ve gotten tickled and would create some type of comedy. I’m always the one in the room when therapists start with creating a scenario like, “walking into the woods and becoming one with your senses.” What do I see? What do I hear? What do I feel? And then I’m the dufus and speaks up by saying, “It was me that stepped in it! I’m sorry for the smell!” And as if that wasn’t enough I would add this one in just for giggles. “Oh No! It’s a tornado in the distance! It’s coming straight for us! Run!” I know it’s silly. Since working with my coach, I haven’t done anything like that. You begin to realize when you take things in perspective. All I know is that I was tired of constantly trying to run away from things that are much bigger than me.












I settle in and begin breathing while coach guides me to facing the pain.  My protector had a death grip on that baby. Vowing to protector her at all cost I thought, “Oh boy! Here we go again.” I’m doing my best to stay focused when I heard, “And just imagine that Jesus is standing there.” I froze while watching the interaction in my mind. Jesus spoke up and said, “Bring me the baby.” The protector surprisingly froze and all the angry words leave as soon as they had appeared. She slowly walked to Jesus and hands him the baby. The angry protector doesn’t say or do anything in protest. And for the first time in my life, the baby is calm and falls asleep on Jesus’s shoulder. The protector takes her cue by turning with Jesus’s hand on her shoulder. She too had a calmness that many have been unable to achieve. And she says only in a way that fits her perfectly, “Don’t worry. Jesus has our back!” Jesus then says, “Go ahead. You’ve been waiting for this your entire life, my child. I will provide all the protection that is needed for all of them and you.”  I felt calm and reassured that I was making the right decision.





 During, “The Passion Of The Christ” diamond painting project, I was told that he would never leave me. And had left me to help in securing my insecurities. And I remembered that I heard something that was said in an earlier encounter, “Me and the father will give you the strength you need.” And I realized that the gift in this encounter was that No one said that it would be easy. Jesus upheld his promise that he was not abandoning, any part of me, no matter the number. And so me and my parts begin the difficult road of healing the most difficult part of our trauma.





It is through these seven gifts–wisdom, understanding, counsel, knowledge, fortitude, piety, and fear of the Lord–that we grow in holiness and are continually reminded of God’s loving presence within us and around us.”





– John 14:26 





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			 darnold1975 		


		
The Promise
	


	

		

“Don’t be afraid to celebrate a promise when kept. In doing so, you’re the potential for a better world.”





-Unknown





Light the charcoal. Sprinkle the sage. Negative energy go away. Ok, much better. Today I am going to write about a recent occurrence in therapy. Through some recent events, therapy has led in the direction to tackle my core issues about my adoption. Truly I can say that it’s not a day that I have been looking towards with excitement. It is so necessary, in fact, that I still shiver about how painful it will be. For those that don’t know, it is a topic so strong and powerful that the thought of it makes me want to vomit. However, it’s something that has caused a dark cloud to follow me in every facet of my and for the majority of my life. The very mention of the topic causes a retraction that is so instantaneous and powerful, that I don’t feel that I have a weapon in my arsenal strong enough to stand a chance against its negativity. 





I have trusted my coach on so many occasions for when it would be the appropriate timing to tackle different traumatic events. But the timing of this one, I would soon realize that no matter when she would decide on that “perfecting timing” it would never be convenient. I have written and spoken about it many times. And most of the time, I do so from my brain instead of my heart. I knew instantly that it would require a level of trust that I struggle to accept. After 8 years of doing therapy with her, I should know and feel that it’s been long enough to tackle the “primal wound.”  And I ashamedly still don’t know if I’m ready. I get some specifics about the plan, and I sit with the idea for a few days knowing that coach has never led me astray. And she ALWAYS has my best interest at hand. 












A few days went by, and I decided that no matter how scared, I would at least try. Seeing the strength and compassion in her eyes that I felt when I first met her told me that everything would be “ok” despite the agonizing pain. The biggest protector in my “system” of many distinct parts of myself is held by a 13-year-old that would give anyone a run for their money. She has protected me so many times from total annihilation on so many and very distinct levels. And this time would be no different. Once she realized that I had agreed to do the work, she immediately began throwing up roadblocks. The infant part of me is the most ferociously defended of any type of perceived threat. And I told “coach” what has been occurring. This defender is “top notch” at keeping me safe. But will also sabotage things out of fear. Some of her tactics were immensely helpful during traumatic events. However, she is still reactive during peace time. And this causes therapeutic roadblocks that can throw a “monkey wrench” in about any plan.





Coach and I begin the session with some guided imagery that helps me to prepare for the monumental task before us. What I begin to see is that this “protector” is holding hostage the newborn baby part. And she has always been inconsolable. No matter the situation, this little baby is like a an infant with colic. There is nothing that has helped her agonizing cries EVER! There is no amount of compassion that has been able to comfort her. She is non-verbal but her emotions are so uncategorical that I am not able to capture it with words. I am not able to listen to lullabies or tolerate the sound of a baby crying. When the boys were little their cries flew all over me. But at that time, I didn’t know how to do anything but run from the situation. I thought to myself, “How do people deal with a baby crying both inside their heads and as parents. What I didn’t know, at that time, was that “normal” people don’t hear things like that. I wouldn’t understand my pain until I understood the reason for the crying. And then one day the “A-HA” moment happened. She was retracting from the pain that occurred when me and my “birth mom” separated.





When I met my birth mom many years ago, she said to me what I had always feared, “You were an inconvenient then and you still are!” I can’t tell you how bad that hurt. And I still can’t understand how that must’ve felt like for a newborn baby. I could, however, understand what it was like for a 30-year-old adult. It was absolutely the worst pain imaginable. The rejection was like no other situation that I had experienced. And to put that much fear and pain on a little bitty baby was something that I would have to find healing from at some point. 





I tried everything I could think of to fill that hole to bring me some level of comfort. I have tried drugs, alcohol, self-harm, relationships and nothing was strong enough. Coach would have the answers. But would I have the courage to step out on faith and take her hand as guidance once more? Not long ago I would speak with a resounding, “NO!” What I didn’t know was how very quickly I would change that lifetime of pain with a different answer.





“Faith consists in believing when it is beyond the power of reason to believe.”





-Voltaire





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			 darnold1975 		


		
When I Was Working On Jesus, He Was Working On Me
	


	

		

“Pain insists upon being attended to. God whispers to us in our pleasures, speaks in our consciences, but shouts in our pains. It is his megaphone to rouse a deaf world.”





―C.S. Lewis





Light the charcoal. Sprinkle the sage. Negative energy go away. Ok, I’m better. I have become obsessed with diamond painting and how soothing it is for me. And so is writing. I was working on a custom designed painting which was 15 inches x 23 inches. It consists of 40 assorted colors. And it was my first portrait. The design is, by far, the most intricate design pattern I have ever done. I spent close to 80 hours and around 50,000 pieces. I was very skeptical about how it would turn out. And my greatest fear was that I would put all the time and effort into only revealing itself looking like and melted and hammered moon pie. The shading was also nothing that I had experienced. I had already decided that no matter how it turned out, I would keep this one for myself. And from the beginning, it proved itself to be monumental. I had gotten into the mindset that I would pace myself. Taking my time is not usually something with which I can connect. I always want to get everything done in the first 3 hours. There were around 15-20 assorted colors and symbols being used sometimes one after the other. And I had an exceptionally long way to go. So, I decided what the best approach was and turned on the documentaries.





I’ve only shown a couple of people during the progress. I wanted it to be a surprise for everyone who saw it. I would hold it about five feet away so that I could try looking at the shading and definition. I must admit that after about ¼ of the way through I was thinking to myself, “this thing is going to be a disaster.”  I kept looking at the full picture on the side of the fabric thinking, “this makes no sense.”  Frustrated, I stayed to my plan and tried not to judge. But, rather, I stayed consistent.





Again, I re-evaluated at the end of the day or night. After a couple of days of work, I looked at it again. And it was finally taking shape. At that very moment, I said, “this is going to be epic!” I began noticing a great sadness come over me. And it took me a day or two of sitting with and deciphering what it all meant. The tears began flowing and before long I began understanding my biggest issue. I began sobbing as though I were a child. I pinpointed what I felt was an overwhelming since of despair. I soon realized that it was “the fear of abandonment.” This time it hurt more than I had experienced in quite a long time.






**It’s the glare of the light reflecting.**






When you deal with the effects of a trauma filled life your mind begins, at some point, it begins to purge itself. And it’s usually at the most inopportune times. Tink and Coco always walk in circles and begin meowing when I cry. And while one is always rubbing up against me, the other is pawing at me. I put my diamond tools to the side, and I took a few minutes just to try and figure out what was going on. I begin saying, “why do I always feel alone?” The sweetest and most loving voice speaks, “Look at what’s directly in front of you.”  I looked up to see my brown, wooden cabinet with my scrapbooks in it. And, of course, cat tunnels. The level of compassion that I experienced I had never felt before. I love my coach dearly. And she is one of most compassionate people I’ve ever met. This was almost other worldly. And I’ll admit that it scared me initially. I even searched my head mates and asked, “Which one of you said that?” It was not a voice that I recognized. They all just looked at each other and said nothing. I began getting angry because it felt like a joke gone bad. And when you get rebellious teenagers together and they’re silent, it’s remarkably like when a toddler leaves the room and becomes silent. For safety reasons you must go check things out.





Again, I said, “I’m all alone, no matter how many people me are around! Now leave me alone!” The voice said one more time, “look directly in front of you.” I start looking around. And then I saw what the voice was telling me. The diamond painting that I was working on was a picture of Jesus holding onto the cross bloody and beaten after the scourging seen from the movie “The Passion of the Christ.”  That was what I had custom made. I was speechless. I had a sense of relaxation that I have never felt. The voice said, “I never left you. And you were worth it.”





I’m still in shock about what I experienced. I felt a sense of safety that through abuse you don’t feel. I’m not a big religious person. I have been on all sides of it. And in many of my experiences with religion have been used as a weapon. But what I felt was not “religion. It was love.





“Let your conversation be without covetousness; and be content with such things as ye have: for he hath said, “I will never leave thee, nor forsake thee.” Hebrews 13:5 (KJV)





#Thispuzzledlife










	




			
				


	
	

		

			 darnold1975 		


		
Paranoid and confused
	


	

		






“Paranoid? Probably. But just because you’re paranoid doesn’t mean that there isn’t an invisible demon about to eat your face.”





Jim Butcher, Storm Front (The Dresden Files)





Since I have decided to write again, I have looked at some of my therapeutic roadblocks. Easily I would say that paranoia and anxiety are two of the most disturbing. Regretfully, this has taken me down some dark places and terrifying moments in life. And it is getting worse. It’s an immediate divergence that strikes fear in every part of my being. Let me explain how I’ve gotten to this point.





When I was a young child the guys that molested me, who I thought were my friends, decided it would be fun to step out from behind bushes wearing a mask and a black cape. They would begin walking towards like a scene from the movie Halloween. And it absolutely terrified me. As a middle school student with a very openly aggressive teacher, I was accused of things that I didn’t do. Falsifying instances about my behavior and sent to the office kept me in a state of panic that it would happen again.












Later in life, I was stalked for 14 years daily. And when things were going good inevitably bad things would begin to happen yet again. I was being followed constantly by some of the individuals that I wouldn’t identify until much later. Conversations that I had with people were known even when the conversations were benign. I was set up several times being told that we would talk openly. But when I would show up, the police officers were called without any provocation. I was found by one of my perpetrators at a domestic violence shelter by way of his professional job. Once found I was asked to leave because it posed a threat to everyone else. I was handed back over to my monster and subsequently lost faith in a system that promised me safety. I feared for my life every single day. The mind games were how I was held captive. I was also sitting in my car at another arranged meeting only to have those same men jump out from behind bushes. They got into my vehicle choking me until they took my keys, leaving me on the pavement, stunned and panicked at what I never saw coming. I was also held at gunpoint arranged by those same two men. During this same era, I was followed home by an employee that I worked with. As unnerving as it was, I told my husband only to be told, “You must’ve had something to do with it.” Little did I know that the individual was a convicted rapist. 





At another job, to get some overtime hours, I had to work closely with a man that scared me to death with his advances.  Once again, I told my husband. Instead of compassion and support, I was accused of having something to do with that as well. I took it to the upper management only to be told, “That’s absurd. We know that it was more likely you because of the way you met your husband.”  I was devastated at their comments. And was soon out of a job.





Several years ago, when I was living in Albuquerque, NM. I stopped at a redlight where there was construction, bumper to bumper traffic and only one lane. An obviously sick drug addict jumped into my car demanding money. Terrified that I would lose my life I tried to remain calm, and he eventually got out of my car after pleading with him to let me go home to my wife and children. He eventually got out of my car, and I quickly sped off. There was also a situation that occurred right up the road from our house that involved a shooter going into a females’ job site fatally wounding her and others. We lived on the military base which provided a sense of security with my fear of being found by former perpetrators. However, there were frequent security threats that would occur often. And we were living in a safe area since we lived on the base. However, right off the base it was called, “The war zone.”  I downloaded an app to identify registered sex offenders in our area since we had our first child. I kid you not. It looked like we were living in “Rapeville.”  While it was a beautiful part of the country. It was an extremely violent city.





I moved to Texas for a few years to do therapy and the fear of being found stayed with me daily. I eventually cut off contact with most people in my life. And I left the unsafe safety of four walls in my private cell only to go to therapy. I had gotten to the point where I was terrified of driving in that big city traffic and needing a driver to get me from place to place. The years of being scared had taken their toll. 





And when I finally moved back home to Mississippi where my trauma originated the years of fear and paranoia still has me in fear of everything. I have come face-to-face with perpetrators since living here. And it feels every time like the day it first happened. I question the motives of people that I should not question. I read into situations that never need attention. And the very few places that I do go usually end with me sweating, panicked, terrified and wanting to get back to my house as quickly as possible. I will go with close friends to eat occasionally. But I’m never relaxed. Even though I limit the amount of news I see, there is never a shortage of school shooters and other violent crimes that are seen on any type of news media. Has anyone laid a hand on me in a long time? No. I don’t fear “what is.” I fear the “possibility of what can.”





How do I learn to trust and continue with my life? I have absolutely no idea. I’m not even sure if that concept is feasible. I try so hard to trust the coach. But often my fears take over. How do I begin to relax from a life that seems to have always been chaotic and in crisis? I used to always be eagerly looking for the next confrontation that had become a way of life. But today I fear confrontation, people and life. I have always wanted to be free from the bondage of many different things. 





I hide a lot of fear with a smile as I have for many years. But there are still days where I must have an escape plan just going to the mailbox. Maybe some of my fears are irrational to others. But conditioned I am. How do you go through things like that and not remain fearful of seeming innocent situations? The idea seems impossible. Do the kids who went through Columbine proceed without doubts and fears? No. Survivors are still plagued with ptsd and the fear that bad things can happen. I am in no way comparing my trauma to the same level as a victim of Columbine massacre. But I wake up every morning staring fear into the eyes of my own reflection. I’m not hanging onto the past. The past is hanging on to me. And I always wonder what is the next thing that I’m going to have to try and survive?





““Chronic anxiety is a state more undesirable than any other, and we will try almost any maneuver to eliminate it. Modern humans are living in anxious anticipation of destruction. Such anxiety can be easily eliminated by self-destruction. As a German saying puts it: ‘Better an end with terror than a terror without end.”





— Robert E. Neale, “The Art of Dying.”





 





#thispuzzledlife

	




			
				


	
			
					
	

	

		

			 darnold1975 		


		
The Cat’s Meow
	


	

		

“One small cat changes coming home to an empty house to coming home.”





 –Pam Brown





The last few months has been about change.  These changes have been both externally and internally.  Moving back to my hometown has been difficult coming back to very vivid memories about my abuse.  But I’ve also gained a healthy relationship with an animal that, for the last few months, has been just what the doctor ordered.  Coco is my cat that I adopted a few months ago.  I have already written about her in an earlier post titled Yay Team Coco!!!  So, this is not another introduction post about her. 





This is a post, however, that is about things that I’ve noticed about her and us as we learn how to function as a team.  It has also taught me how to work better with my system and to have more patience while we continue to heal emotionally.  Coco is my “ride or die” companion and has brought me a big helping of love in a way that has made me flourish amid all the growing pains.  Nothing upsets her more than me crying.  She’ll pace around me meowing until I let her know, in some way, that I’m ok.  If I’m not ok, she’ll walk up to me knowing that I need to pick her up and to get a hug in a way that only she and I connect emotionally.





One of the many hurdles I’ve had to overcome in therapy is doing something as simple as picking up the phone and calling my coach when I need help.  After seeing a very abusive therapist for 2.5 years, being able to make a phone call was monumental.  I do, however, remember a time when sending a text was next to impossible.  I don’t pick up the phone very often and make that call.  But sometimes is better than no times.  I credit the relationship that Coco and I have built together with the ability to learn to trust again in different areas of my life.

























Coco does have her cuteness ways about her that I’ve noticed.  There was one day when I was going through more moving boxes and I opened the box that had all my stuffed animals.  One by one I tossed them on my bed paying very little attention to any particular one.  I threw the box out and went on about my way.  A little while later I look to see that Coco had one in her mouth carrying it across the room.  It was a homely looking bunny that had suddenly become her personal stuffy.  And oh, how she loves her bunny.  More than once I’ve caught her sleeping with bunny with her paw gently securing her by her side. And She will also take the time to groom bunny as well. 





Most of the time it’s me and Coco having conversations about what she needs to quit doing and developing her cat manners.  This is what we work on until she decides that a break is needed from watching the outside world.  This is when she jumps in the crate covered by her favorite blanket and takes a much-needed nap complete with bunny in tow.  And when therapy time rolls around her job is to be close to me in whatever way that looks like.  And for me…. I keep putting forth the effort to continue getting better knowing that sometimes it takes passing an emotional kidney stone to make that happen.





#thispuzzledlife

	




			
				


	
			
					
	

	

		

			 darnold1975 		


		
You Never Mattered (poetry)
	


	

		
You Never Mattered


You forced me to list and now it’s my time.

Your abuse has made me feel like I can’t be real in life

You destroyed parts of me that once thrived

And you sucked me into your grasped by being very kind.


Once everyone was gone you made your first move

Showing me the side of a human that most must prove

You dehumanized me in so many ways

Until I’ve learned to live life mostly in a trauma filled haze


But your days are over, and my days are near.

Oh, and the truth that everyone shall hear

About your venomous actions forced on to children, teens and adults

All you’ll be able to do is sit back and sulk


I won’t be sad for because you hurt me so

But what you shoved into the ground has now begun to grow

With growth you need water and those are the tears I shed

While I try to undo everything, you put into my head


I went to everyone looking for help

And it made it all worse and you hurt me more until I yelped

I didn’t know it then because I was just a kid

Because I matter now, and you never ever did.

#thispuzzledlife

	




			
				


	
			
					
	

	

		

			 darnold1975 		


		
I Am The Problem And The Solution
	


	

		
I Am The Problem And The Solution



“Dana, if you would get out of your own way, you could accomplish anything.”

—Sarah Pardue


One of the topics that keeps my stomach in knot is how I am both the problem and the solution of my own life. I can be the solution for my trauma. But I can also stand in my own way as the problem. Anytime I give into my addictive behaviors I have become my own problem. I will take and destroy anything that I work so hard for because of this. Things that I hold sacred I will unknowingly destroy because I feel that I’m not worthy of good things. I am also the solution to the problem of fixing anything that comes before me. This I have proven time and time again. I have both the knowledge and the power to change anything unhealthy. I just must dig deep and pull out all the teachings and reverse not give into what seems to be maladaptively comforting at the time.


What I must do is to reverse the messages that were taught to me through abuse. And stand up face-to-face with it and say, “today I choose to live differently.” And make the change better. I haves versus how I live which is to breakdown and give into that train of thought. I deserve better and want better. I have worked hard to be who I am and deserve a better life of constant abuse that I continually replay through my own behavior.


Invictus


Therefore, I chose the topic that I am the solution and the problem. Sarah and Coach have both taught me that I can’t give away what I don’t have. If I keep giving my recovery away or interfering in the process of changing, then how do I expect to be healthy and pay it forward by giving it away to someone else who I might meet that is also struggling. The choice is up to me. Not, Sarah’s teachings nor Coach’s current teachings. I treasure them all. So, the greatest give that could give them both is to see me overcome these old ways of thinking that were engrained in my thinking by perpetrators. I will be the solution even through tears and a heavy heart at times. Remember…. I’m the comeback kid.


In closing I can say that if I can ever turn around and have a positive self-image and love myself, as much as, other people love me, I will accomplish great things. Maybe my writing will help and maybe it won’t. But loving oneself is not something that happens overnight. It takes continually telling myself that I AM worthy of great things.


#thispuzzledlife


 

	




			
				


	
			
					
	

	

		

			 darnold1975 		


		
The Fear Of Eating Is Real(poetry)
	


	

		
Fear Of Eating Is Real

Food is a topic that makes me very sad

And I barely remember of normal days I had

He took away a relationship that was full of hope

Now when someone says food all I say is Nope!!!

His words constantly criticized me so much decisions come with tears

It hasn’t happened for days but for many, many years.

I’m scared to eat because he was there for a long time

Right over my shoulder to criticize me while I ate every single time

I want to be able to eat without solitude and tears.

In private I’ve eaten food for many years

Most take this action for granted and just eat with nothing to say

But the person I was abused by never had anything nice to say anyway

So, don’t make comments while I try to learn this skill

Because the fear of eating food is something that’s for real.

#thispuzzledlife

	




			
				


	
			
					
	

	

		

			 darnold1975 		


		
PTSD (Poetry)
	


	

		
PTSD (Poetry)

You wake me up to show me things that haunt me;

You don’t care who you hurt even with crying pleas

Slowly you take me to another place and time;

And honestly you should be charged with a horrible crime.


You visit me all day and all night long;

Can’t you see that I did nothing wrong?

Flashing of pictures stuck in my head;

No wonder so many people end up dead.


You don’t care and you hit my psyche with precision

Just another wound causing an incision;

But you’re persistent if only people could see;

You’re a killer of a disorder called PTSD

#thispuzzledlife

	




			
				


	
			
					
	

	

		

			 darnold1975 		


		
Angelica (poetry)
	


	

		
Angelica


She was still one that no one wanted around


Being kicked aside she was found


But no one had know her job


For she stepped up and sobbed


She was treated like property and chained like a dog


Submissive she was but she drew the short straw


Some would label her as an outgoing whoreface.


And she would have a scarlet letter she always wore


No one chose to get to know her only a label assigned


But she would soon get a new name designed


Her name would be Angelica and all she needed was grace.


For this would be the new name for her delicate and child-like face


#thispuzzledlife

	




			
				


	
			
					
	

	

		

			 darnold1975 		


		
Freedom In My Eyes (poetry)
	


	

		
You start a war on your hands and knees


Crying and begging for help shouting PLEASE!


There were days were I was tired and sore


And even more days I could do nothing but crawl on the floor.


But that floor was my lonely highway of healing


Not knowing if I would live through the work because it was so grueling


I was getting some much needed schooling


But hope and determination powered me forward


And the daily work sometimes leaving me scarred


This time I was still leading a team you see


Because the athlete would activate the wolf in me




I was changing into something I would need


But this time it would be the real and authentic me


Coach was guiding me to a beautiful life


Working hard once again to be a mom and a wife


This time I look in the mirror I don’t see tears


For the first time in many years


There are no screams or cries


Because this time I see freedom in my eyes.

	




			
				


	
			
					
	

	

		

			 darnold1975 		


		
What IF?
	


	

		
What If……



“What” and “If” are to words as non-threatening as words can be. But put them together Side-by-side and they have the power to haunt you for 

The rest of your life.”

—Unknown


These are two words that haunt me day in and day out. I think “what if” I had never tasted abuse in any kind of way. “What if” I had never crossed paths with likewise hurt individuals who decided to keep the cycle of abuse going? “What if” my career had never ended? “What if” I had never been exposed sexually in ways that make me wretch at just the thought? What if I had never met Sarah? What if I was never was able to be privileged enough to call myself a parent? What if? What if? What if?!!!!!!

Recently, coach has asked me to think about a few things. How am I exhibiting behavior showing that I’m still a victim and still under the control of my perpetrators? This is a very loaded question. Every day I seem to allow myself to be chained to a past that wants me more than I want it. However, I’m an addict in ever since of the definition and word. I still struggle with eating and self-harm issues. Every meal I skip, every time I purge and every time I engage in any kind of maladaptive behavior, I am still being their prisoner.


change the world


Do I consciously want to remain there’s? Hell no. The addict in me still wants the comfort of the blades and the pain as justification for what they did and for mistakes I have made. God how sick does that sound? These behaviors are what have always been there for me. With them I’ve never been lonely. I gain absolutely nothing more than additional isolation by staying chained to them so why do it?

So now I sit and ponder what life could be like IF I wasn’t still their victim? The only way to look at that is the direct opposite to how I feel living now. I would be one that lived life with passion. Life would be such a gift. I wouldn’t be living life scared and tortured by my memories and feelings. I could live life enjoying being around my wife and children. I would simply be an active member of society instead of a prisoner of my past.

I still have a lot of hurdles to overcome and self-harm in many different forms are behaviors that still stick with me. When the adults ganged up on me? My razors were there. When I was raped repeatedly. My razors were there. When I was put on display to be made fun of a belittled….my razors were there. I get up every morning just to try again. So, if I continue to engage in addictive behaviors and thinking I’ll remain their slave…BUT WHAT IF?

#thispuzzledlife

	




			
				


	
			
					
	

	

		

			 darnold1975 		


		
Confucius Says…
	


	

		
Confucius Says….


Ok so it’s difficult to find quotes about fortune cookies that are better just called stale cookies. I have mostly used them as entertainment to amuse myself. Anyway, since moving to Texas I’ve begun to keep my fortunes from the cookie which my alters all seem to need. What makes a cookie more delicious than having an expiration date of 1994, a slip of paper with a random fortune that will never come true and some fake lottery numbers. I haven’t found a number yet that was as lucky and a random set of keys to a brand-new house showed up in the mail for me.


I have several fortunes saved. Nowhere near as many times as I’ve gone to eat sushi and left there feeling like a frenzy feeding sharks on Shark Week. But some of the fortunes have by paranoia alarms going off and alters running for cover. When some of the phrases sound like Brene Brown wrote it that’s when a philosophical conversation breaks out. Yep, I have a head full of sporadic philosophical geniuses. And let’s face it, I’ve been a little too serious and emotional lately.


IMG_2046


The alters’ that love the fortune cookies the most are the ones that lay close to 1980’s music and culture. They also like to read them in the voice of Mr. Miyagi for added effect. My favorite fortune cookie must be the one pictured because we were all caught off guard at the thought of sleeping cookies. They’re so stale that they are more like “dead cookies.” I’m telling you that most people who live alone are literally alone. Not me…. I’ve got want-to-be comedians going all day long entertaining any and every one that I come in contact with.


It’s times like these when I wish that I could be silly with Marshall and Copeland playing and acting silly. Even they know that we play when momma can play because the swing always goes the other way. I try to take things as they come like if I was given the opportunity to duck I wouldn’t. Geez…. really universe? So, I don’t just write lighthearted blogs to help you. I do it to help me and to deal with life as it comes. I take some dark and lonely roads sometimes and get lost trying to get out. She said, “It will be worth it. Not easy.”

#thispuzzledlife

	




			
				


	
			
					
	

	

		

			 darnold1975 		


		
I Matter Now (Poetry)
	


	

		
I Matter Now

You forced me to listen and now it’s my time.

Your abuse has made me feel like I can’t be real in life.

You destroyed parts of me that once thrived

And you sucked me into your grasp by being very kind.


Once everyone was gone you made your first move.

Showing me the side of a human that most have to prove.

You dehumanized me in so many ways

Until I’ve learned to live life mostly in a haze.


But your days are over, and my days are here.

Oh, and the truth that everyone can hear.

About your venomous actions forced on children, teens and adults.

All you can do is sit back and sulk.


I won’t be sad because you hurt me so

But what you shoved into the ground has begun to grow.

With growth you need water and those are my tears I shed.

While I try to undo everything, you convinced me of in my head.


I went to everyone looking for help

And it made it all worse and you hurt me more until I yelped

I didn’t know it then because I was just a kid

Because I matter now, and you never ever did.


#thispuzzledlife

	




			
				


	
			
					
	

	

		

			 darnold1975 		


		
The Hurt Child (Poetry)
	


	

		
The Hurt Child


6.2.2019


After 30 years I welcome you to see


A vision of the devil you carved out of me


I took your hate as a child the very best that I could


But these days I awake saying, “Bitch, I wish you would!”


 


Your words have haunted me all of these years.


And I lost count years ago on the number of tears.


That I shed for myself when no one else would.


Of course not around you but alone I could.


 


I’ve been very patient and it’s been a chore


Because while you’ve been enjoying your life, I’ve been fighting a war


One where not all of the wounds can be seen.


My smile has provided for me a social smoke screen.


 


It was my fault that others continued to get hurt.


I told no one, spoken was not one single word.


Columbine was much later and aren’t you glad


I regret not walking back into that school


for you because your ass I would’ve had.


 


You have hurt my kids through me and also my wife.


And that your you changed the course of my life


You’ve taken everything I worked so hard for and left me with nothing.


I sit here smoking weed trying to survive the memories just huffin’ and puffin’.


 


I’ll make that trip no matter what, so call me a hater


I don’t call it “revenge” I call it, “returning the favor.”


The day I show up you won’t know what to do


Because that 13 year-old hurt child is coming after you.


 


By: Dana Landrum-Arnold


#thispuzzledlife

	




			
				


	
			
					
	

	

		

			 darnold1975 		


		
Who Will Cry For The Little Girl?
	


	

		
Who Will Cry For The Little Girl?


6.13.2019


“The worst type of crying wasn’t the kind everyone could see–the wailing on street corners, the tearing at clothes. No, the worst kind happened when your soul wept and no matter what you did, there was no way to comfort it. A section withered and became a scar on the part of your soul that survived. For people like me and Echo, our souls contained more scar tissue than life.”

― Katie McGarry, Pushing the Limits


Recently, there seems to be some type of shift that’s taking place in therapy. Coach and I have been working on a few things with “my guys” and that’s where it seems that the shift started. I can’t do much explaining other than my personal opinion because right now my job is to trust and let the fairy dust fly. The player/coach relationship that I had with my coaches was always considered very sacred to me. So, you can bet your ass that the “therapeutic relationship” that I have with coach is one that is very sacred and protected as well.


Tonight I was suddenly stopped in my tracks with a big dose of anxiety that instantly had me in tears. A lot of old and extremely painful feelings have been nipping at my heels and tonight was the breaking point. Crying in front of a therapist again has taken some getting used to. I didn’t say that it was comfortable but what it has been is……SAFE. After years of being made fun of, ridiculed and belittled for my tears, it makes doing what seems natural appear impossible at times. I can’t begin to explain how damaging abuse and “bad therapy” can deeply impact someone. What I can tell you about is the relief that is felt after months and, in this case, a couple of years watching so many things about a therapist and finally taking that chance again with my tears and not getting hurt. The unspoken message between stares that says, “I’m not going to make fun of you” instantly makes the tears fall faster. There’s not a monetary value that you can put on an experience like that. Your heart feels a pleasant but guarded relief and overwhelming grief all at the same time. Since that day a deeper level of trust and openness was achieved and therapy continues to evolve. Leaps and bounds is the Speed at which I’m doing work.


        complex traum


Last night I found a picture album that I had forgotten that I had stashed away in my room. Curious what pictures were in there I looked and felt a lump in my throat when I saw it was pictures of Marshall when he was younger. I was just being a proud momma until the pictures of him as a preemie in the NICU. Feelings ran hot/cold from head to toe. I felt the same fear that I had experienced when I was unable to hold him initially. I couldn’t understand why this was happening with our new baby. The guilt and shame was incredible then and still is now.


There were approximately 30-40 more pictures each with heavy emotions attached to each one. I sat there in the quietness of my bedroom and let the anxiety and 30 years of shameful grief overtake me. The tears were not gently rolling down my cheeks. I was “Snot crying” like a toddler in Wal-Mart.  Each picture’s emotion was like it had been felt for the first time. I held my stuffed animals and wished for anything but aloneness. I needed someone to tell me that grief will not kill you.  And that I couldn’t possibly cry enough tears to be seen in the emergency room for dehydration.  Maybe I could try and understand it my way that I could make sense of things.  The best possible explanation was that I was losing water weight.  Yep…I got it after that.  The grief I was feeling was just too much. Those pictures needed a better place to stay until they don’t have quite the sting that they do now.  And I’m proud to say that those pictures have a new temporary home placement.


After adjustments were made with my guys a couple of weeks ago, the freedom for better communication has been allowed. What a sense of freedom and a new level of understanding I’m experiencing with my alters. Emotions are still very overwhelming for me. They’re almost always very intense whether or not they are positive or negative.


pretty please

IMG_0176


dont speak


I began to feel the individual feelings that my alters experience daily. I have been coasting on laughter and anger for so many years that I seem to have forgotten how to experience some of these feelings on their most basic level. And just me, my stuffies and my guys would be here to deal with them all……ALONE. I was soon overcome with grief, loss, guilt and shame not for myself but for those children, teens and adults who were so mistreated. I know it’s weird hearing someone talk about different parts of themselves like they’re the poor, pitiful neighborhood kids. But to me they are all individuals.  They just all live under one roof…MINE. Just roll with it.


I began to cry for the fear that each one experienced at a level that’s not easily put into words.


I cried for all of the anxiety, from the years of stress, that has left its permanent mark on my body physically.


I cry for the secrets that the children were forced into silence thus preventing help. And for the teens and adults that still keep secrets now because they still feel that they aren’t worthy of being helped.


I cry for the person that I use to be before the damage of the abuse showed such overwhelming evidence.


I cry for the children and their lost innocents.


I cry for those that needed and wanted help and it never arrived.


I cry for the fear of having relationships with people because when I was younger relationships came with an “OWIE.”


I cry for the adults who experienced every level of pain in a relationship for many years that was supposed to be one where love and protection were a natural reality.  Unfortunately, though,  relationships now equal fear.


I cry for the ones who had relationships with those trusted and respected people who have since died that had such a positive impact on us all.  But the loss was so great that the impact can be felt with every failed relationship since.


I cry for the one that hurts so deeply over losses that she will sabotage anything good.


I cry for the ones that miss out on the joy of being able to enjoy food and eating.  Because those times were used for target practice by others.


I cry for the little one that cries continuously. Her pain cannot be soothed.  She has a hole in her soul that was created from rejection and abandonment. She craves security and safety that was lost in 1975 and 2015.  Nothing and no one but me and the universe can hear her piercing cries.


And I cry for everyone who is doing their best to realize that love and compassion aren’t supposed to hurt.


And those who are also very slowly beginning to allow both empathy and compassion to collectively soften and re-warm the hearts that were tucked away for protection that have grown cold and necrotic.  With the re-warming comes new and healthy growth.  Hearts with healthy tissue begin to mend. The soul energy that had become so depleted will be renewed.  Tears go from the color red back to clear. The masks of the clown and the devil will not be the only two available because there won’t be a need to looked through the eyes “masking” pain. That determined athlete will have a renewed sense of purpose and a new set of trusted and loved teammates. And a new coach who’s words of wisdom gets absorbed and held onto with a death grip.  Self-worth and value become realized and then actualized.  Scars begin to fade from fresh battle wounds to the scars of the war once fought.  New and healthier ways of protecting myself will become the new breastplate that will be worn with pride knowing the work that was done to earn it. And another dynamic “coach” that will have motivated and pushed me with fairy dust to be the best possible “ME” that I could be.  But the greatest gift that will be gained covers it all……AUTHENTICITY.


Who will cry for this little girl? The ones that live inside of me.  She matters and so do they.


“I define connection as the energy that exists between people when they feel seen, heard, and valued; when they can give and receive without judgment; and when they derive sustenance and strength from the relationship.”

― Brené Brown


#thispuzzledlife

	




			
				


	
			
					
	

	

		

			 darnold1975 		


		
All I Have To Offer
	


	

		
All I Have To Offer


“When you’re just like everybody else, you’ve nothing


to offer other than your conformity.”


—Wayne Dyer


Lately, I’ve been adding some poetry that I had saved on my phone.  What I’ve learned about having relationships with my internal guys is how to listen to them.  If I get a wild hair and need to either write a blog or poetry it usually means that someone is needing to be heard.  Write it down and then ask questions later has been my motto lately.  What I’ve realized is that chaos and confusion are minimized and open, honest and direct communication has been encouraged. Trust me….this is one big process of learning how to build and maintain relationships with “head mates” that have seen a lot of the evils of mankind. I would like to thank Hobby Lobby and Michael’s Crafts for allowing me to buy supplies from them in order to do projects that enhance the building of a better relationship with my alters.  Ok….now I’m being silly.


I usually start getting silly when I become uncomfortable in some way.  And well, “Coach of the Year” has assigned me to write about what I have to offer as a person.  I don’t always like the “assignments” but I love the lessons and answers I get from them.  To put it all into perspective, growing pains are called “growing pains” because growth doesn’t always feel good.  Likewise, growth as an athlete requires constant practice and learning the ins and outs of playing the game.


One of the greatest lessons about playing ball that I remember was when we were learning how to run bases. Stay with me because this part can get confusing. You don’t wait until you’re all the way down the baseline to the base to look at your coaches for direction about what to do. You ALWAYS keep your eyes on your coaches.  Half way down the baseline to 1st base you start looking at your first base coach.  If he or she thinks that  you can take another base they will point in that direction.  Half way to 2nd base you begin looking for your 3rd base coach for direction on either to stay or go while also listening to your 1st base coach from behind you about whether or not to slide.  If your 3rd base coach signals to take 3rd base he or she will also be rounding you to home or telling you to “get down” to beat the throw at the base.  If you start rounding 3rd base and head to home plate, you look to your teammates on whether or not to slide.  So, from the time the ball hits the bat you look for direction and trust that your coaches are making the best decision for both you and the team.  Either way, you’re not alone…ever. You’re simply being directed until you’re back to the safety of home plate.  They direct you but they don’t nor can they bat for you individually or as a team.  The work has to come from you.


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Artist: Celeste Roberge


It’s the same way for me in therapy.  I’m always looking to coach for guidance.  I don’t want anyone to do my work for me.  I hunger for her guidance and fear the unknown.  But I also trust her and know that decisions will be made in my best interest.  And from having been mistreated by a therapist previously,  being able to trust her to not hurt me or to not have ulterior motives is really kind of a big deal.  It has take now a solid 17 months to try to work through a lot of the fears surrounding the therapeutic process. I haven’t conquered them all but when I moved here I hadn’t conquered any. Getting hurt in therapy by a therapist has caused more issues then what I was prepared to deal with.  I had no idea how hurt I was but Texas has a way of revealing all kinds of things.  Yep….a modern day “Mr. Miyagi” she certainly is.


All of this ties into the original topic “What I have to offer?”  It’s embarrassing for me to discuss this kind of topic.  After years of being told by different people that I wasn’t good enough as a human being and the fact that I’m a total non-conformist, it’s really difficult to say, much less believe, that I have anything to offer this world.  I totally stick out like a sore thumb with the problems that often arise in public (tics, switching, emotional outbursts, aggression, etc) regardless if I can’t control them falling short in society’s definition of “normal” is not easy.


Having limitations like this certainly makes life incredibly more challenging.  The eyes that you view the world with after abuse seem to be put into place without knowledge that it’s happened.  The confidence that I worked so hard to gather and maintain as a child was completely dismissed and destroyed through the hatefulness of others.  The compassion that helped to build my confidence as a child didn’t seem to be able to shine through the darkness.  Slowly, I began to lose my spunk for life and likewise pieces of myself.  I could no longer offer those qualities in myself that I lived with daily that made me proud to be a part of the human race.  I no longer saw people that I welcomed around me as a precious commodity.  I now saw them as potentially harmful, shady and very scary.  I kept my jovial demeanor that everyone loved until the hurt I was hiding became the new clothing for my soul.  And my big heart that had always been one of my greatest assets had gone into hiding in order to also protect itself.  I looked up one day and had no idea who was looking back at me from my reflection in the mirror.  My arms were severely scarred.  Eating had become a necessary evil.  And my dreams and goals for what I had worked so hard to achieve had disappeared like grains of sand that slipped through my hands never to be seen the same way again.


  sand through hands


I had become emotionally feral through my own survival.  I seemed to have changed right before the eyes that had supported me for so many years.  And now, I had become not only someone I didn’t recognize but also someone that other people who loved and respected me didn’t recognize.  I simply had morphed from an individual that people loved into someone that people feared.  It was heartbreaking to know that this emotional freight train was going through destroying everything in my path and I was powerless to stop it.  Mel and I searched for answers daily for years in hopes of finding anything to help explain why I had become this aggressive monster that even she feared.  She fell in love with Dana who loved and cherished her unconditionally.  And almost overnight the Dana that she knew was gone only to be replaced by an aggressive, disrespectful, scary, immature and seemingly much younger version of herself that Mel didn’t recognize or understand.  And frankly, I had no explanation for anything regardless of the evidence that would be presented to me.


We moved to Albuquerque and for me it was something that I had hoped that a geographic change would help to remedy.  It didn’t.  Once we got there free from the oppression of the deep south, we sought out counseling knowing that I had problems.  We had no idea how deep those problems ran but soon we would.  I could offer nothing to anyone.  I felt I was being drained of my “goodness” and all the positive attributes that made me the compassionate and loving person that I had always been. All I felt was hurt.  And all I seemed to be able to offer was more hurt.  So, my only solution to stopping the hemorrhaging was to end relationships and to isolate myself, as much as possible, from society.  That way no one would have to suffer pain through my own doing anymore.


Enough-abuse-campaign


Again we would come in contact with another hurtful human being in the form of a therapist.  The only thing good that came out of the 2.5 years that I saw her was the correct diagnosis.  Other than that she was incredibly damaging for me therapeutically and emotionally.  I soon wanted nothing to do with professionals and became even more aggressive to make sure that no one wanted to help treat me.  The truth was that I wanted so desperately for someone to help me.  I, however, was so scared of having another hurtful professional that the fear paralyzed me and sabotaged any type of help that might’ve been offered.  My new motto was:  “No one would ever hurt me again professional or not.  And I would do everything in my power to make sure that happened.”  True to my word I became a patient in facilities that people hated to deal with.  I gave a whole new meaning to the term “non-compliance.”  I trusted no one and hated everyone.  But my fearless and loving wife still searched for answers while trying to raise our two little boys despite me often times being in a condition where I couldn’t even get out of bed to take care of my basic hygiene needs.  And yes, there were times that she had to bathe me because I just wasn’t able to at the time.  That, my friends, is a example of love.


She would find a facility in Texas that she thought I needed to try.  For two years, she pleaded for me to go and I wouldn’t.  I eventually showed up and set the aggressive tone early just to prove that I could hurt and scare people just like they had done to me.  I finally met the therapist that would work with me while I was there.  I was determined to run her off too.  What I didn’t count on was that she would be able to see past the anger into the pain hidden behind the spewing and venomous rage.  I tried to end the caring and compassionate look in her eyes and couldn’t despite my greatest efforts.  This peaked my interest but the fear of her position as a therapist took over.  I knew that I had finally met my match.


Within 1.5 years of this experience I moved to Texas as a last ditch effort of trying to save myself from an assured death.  I didn’t come here believing that things would change and get better.  I came here because a rare find showed me compassion despite my self-destructive path.  So again….what do I have to offer?  For me, I’m still in the process of finding out what those gifts have the potential to be.  My sense of humor continues to be one of my strongest and best qualities.  I have an education that allows me to speak to people about the damaging power of abuse.  I have the emotional knowledge to be able to reach teenagers and to know the struggles of living life feeling emotionally trapped.  I have the knowledge and firsthand experience of seeing how compassion and love can topple the effects of abuse by soothing the pain and hurt.  I know and can feel what it’s like to be loved by someone who will sacrifice everything to make sure you’re safe because they want so desperately to help find the one they fell in love with.  I know what it’s like to make sacrifices as a parent to protect two little precious beings that still call me mom.  I know what it’s like to still be coachable after being a washed up “has been” athlete from 20+ years ago.  I have the experience and know how to continue to pick myself up and keep going when I’ve pushed myself way past my limits in order to survive.  I know what it’s like and fully understand the fear of letting someone in to help when allowing someone to do that caused so much hurt and pain.  I know the feeling of not being heard.  I know the agony of silent screams and the language of pain that can take on so many different forms. And I have the Experience, Strength and Hope of someone who’s been fighting a war my entire life without being in the military and not ever having to leave my homeland.


One thing that Sarah taught me many years ago was this, she said, “Dana, you have the capacity and ability to do great things.  But you can’t give away what you don’t have.  Recovery is what you need and what will make great things possible.”  So, I say this to you now…recovery is a marathon not a sprint.  You don’t ever reach the finish line of being “recovered.”  I still struggle emotionally on a daily basis and I still don’t yet have all of the answers I want.  I am, however, slowly receiving the answers I need.  Healing wounds is not easy nor is it comfortable.  And unfortunately, it’s also not instant.  It took me 43 years to become this damaged and dysfunctional and to think that it can all be changed overnight is unrealistic. One thing I never allow life to come between is me and my therapy.  I have my heart set on once again being a functional part of my family and to help my one and only soul mate raise our two little boys that we fought so hard to have.  And today I can say that the parts of my destructive self, no matter how slowly, have begun to be silenced.


“Mentors don’t just have to be people


who are older or more experienced that you are.


 Mentors are people who really care about you, know you,


and want to offer feedback and advice to help you grow.”


—Jennifer Hyman




#thispuzzledlife

	




			
				


	
			
					
	

	

		

			 darnold1975 		


		
Happy, Joyous And Free (Poetry)
	


	

		
Happy, Joyous and Free


All I want is to be left alone,


To hide in a tomb as my home.


But traveling this path requires company


If I expect to come out of this mess triumphantly.


 


The deathly silence that I now crave


Is the same thing that will take me to an early grave.


Too afraid to pick up the phone and no fault of her own


The one that hurt me is already long gone.


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Being around people it makes me hurt


I stay trapped inside barely surviving while I do this work.


I try and I try but all I can see


Is failure upon failure that keeps following me


 


Allow me my silence because I’m working hard


Crying tears daily just walking in the yard


Because I understand who I use to be


Living my life and being totally free.


 


All Those days have come and gone


And now my life revolves around the inside of my home.


This work has to pay off at some point for me


Because I hunger to live life again happy, joyous and free.


 


By: Dana Landrum-Arnold


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			 darnold1975 		


		
Please Help Me!!!! (Poetry)
	


	

		
Please help me!!


I tried but I wasn’t enough


With every bite you just wouldn’t give up.


They never heard your words but i still do.


I wanted to please no one but you.




You raped me with your voice,


And I never had another choice.


Haunted by your abuse


I knew there was no use.


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Try and try I did every day,


Slowly pieces of me would begin to fade away.


I sit here with razors and something to drink


Wanting to do something anything besides think.




But you return with every bite of food


And every decision.


Just like before with your narcissistic precision.




The memories are too much for me to bare


Everyone says, “just eat who cares?”


I do and with food comes many tears


With so much of your abuse from so many years.




I hate food and this is me pleading,


Please stop and let me learn about eating.


You’ve had your turn And now the time is mine.


It’s time I leave your mean ass behind.




You’ve taken part of my soul with which you played with like a toy.


But all it was was one of your narcissistic ploys.


You tried to mold me into something I could never be.


My cries are loud and screaming, Please someone help me!!




By:  Dana Landrum-Arnold


#Thispuzzledlife

	




			
				


	
			
					
	

	

		

			 darnold1975 		


		
Life With The Plant
	


	

		
Life With The Plant


“It doesn’t have a high potential for abuse, and there are very legitimate medical applications. In fact, sometimes Marijuana is the only thing that works… It is irresponsible not to provide the best care we can as a medical community, care that could involve Marijuana. We have been terribly and systematically misled for nearly 70 years in the United States, and I apologize for my own role in that.”


—- Dr. Sanjay Gupta / Neurosurgeon


Where our society and medical professions have advanced from the days of lobotomies, bloodletting, hydrotherapies and many other dehumanizing ways of treating mental illness, many attitudes and stigmas still remain the same.  And still, there are those affiliated with religion that seem to think that mental illness is punishment for moral transgressions.  And yes, I have also been told that even though trauma induced, my alters are actually demons that do not deserve a voice but should be cast out instead.  I chalk a lot of this up to ignorance but still the target was me.


While living in Albuquerque Mel and I would come to realize, unbeknownst to us at the time, the complications that living with a mental illness would entail.  I had lived with severe depression and anxiety since childhood which few people from school days realize.  Even as a child and teenager I was well liked and was one of the favored clowns much like today.  Before we left Mississippi there was very clear evidence that something was definitely wrong.  Finally, breaking free of a 14 year abusive relationship just seemed to complicate life more than either of us could’ve ever imagined.


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Albuquerque was a place where we could break free from the overly conservative south to have a relationship and family, or so we thought.  With each passing day, though, my “quirkiness” would soon take on a life of its own.  By the time our oldest, Marshall, was born it was like the flood gates had been opened.  We were already seeing a very loyal and trusted therapist.  I was now losing time for days and weeks.  I was hallucinating and becoming increasingly suicidal and my behavior was becoming more erratic and at times very scary.  I had also started becoming very aggressive which led to horrible rages.  The scariest part about it all was that I had no memory of these things happening.


The level of trauma that I held within me was now bursting at the seams to a point that I couldn’t contain it.  The harder I tried, the more I failed.  I was seeing a psychiatrist and had run the gamut of psych meds and their subsequent unpleasant side effects trying to find some combination that could provide me, Mel and our new little baby some relief.  I had been given several different diagnoses that never quite seemed to fit.  And each time I would have to be hospitalized the re-traumatization just grew in intensity.


I eventually became toxic from all of the meds and was seen in the emergency room because the doctors thought that my kidneys were shutting down or that I might’ve had a stroke.  I was admitted to the hospital but the next morning the doctor that came to see me was yet another psychiatrist.  Again, it seemed, no one wanted to believe us.  I politely told him he could leave and that I was going to leave as well since nothing was being done and the bill was going higher and higher.  Mel and I left the hospital completely defeated and our trust in the system that was designed to help was becoming depleted.


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Mel would soon begin capturing some of my strange behaviors on video in order to show the doctors exactly what was happening.  Doctors and other professionals still didn’t seem to believe us despite the captured evidence.  No one believed that it was possible to have these types of  behaviors and  to not be able to remember doing them.  When Mel would show me the videos and tell me other things that I had done, I was appalled.  There’s no possible way that I was treating her or our new baby this way.   In some instances, after seeing the footage, I would collapse with grief.


After returning to my psychiatrist following the debacle in the hospital he said, “Hey, how about we try the medications again?”  I simply replied, “You’re crazier than I am if you think I’m going through that shit again.  I almost died from your pharmaceutical poisons.”  Psych meds didn’t help they seem to complicate and exacerbate my symptoms but most of the time left me feeling “robotic” and unable to feel anything. That’s when I was put on medical cannabis and it has been a lifesaver every since.  Anytime, I’ve had to be hospitalized for mental health issues I ALWAYS refuse the medications unless absolutely necessary like for sleep.  The meds have never helped me because most of the time I feel so bad from the side effects of the adjustment period that I’ll just quit taking them.  They simply made me a “chemistry experiment.”


For the first time in my life, I was able to have some type of quality of life while we searched endlessly for someone that could treat my complex traumatic past.  Cannabis has its limitations just like any other medications.  But, for once, something was actually working and “Big Pharma” just couldn’t compete with nature.  These days I don’t ask for permission or have the willingness to wait on an already corrupt government and the decisions of the narcissist clown that currently runs the country to tell me when it’s ok to have a quality of life.  I just simply do what I have to do to survive the best way I know how and most psych meds are still not a part nor will they ever be a part of that formula ever again.


I have taken much criticism for using cannabis as a medication to treat PTSD.  Again, it’s ignorance that seems to fuel these criticisms.  Until you have almost from synthetic medications then maybe an alternative way doesn’t seem feasible. Even as a recovering addict I have yet to have a single problem related to addiction with cannabis.  Hands down this plant has and is continuing to save my life from some incredibly debilitating symptoms.


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For some people cannabis seems to be the only answer.   I take a medication that can replace any combination of psych meds.  There are those times, though, when symptoms seem to just shoot through the medicinal ceiling of the plant.  And this is when I will usually have a backup plan for anxiety meds and sleep meds.  Some people mistakenly think that medical cannabis “cures” PTSD.  I politely tell them that it’s a medication just like any other medication to treat the paralyzing “symptoms” of the disorder only it’s much safer and works better for me.  Unfortunately, it doesn’t have the ability to “unbreak the plate” of the traumas that caused the PTSD to begin with.  You still have to do therapy.  You still can’t go around the issue to reach a resolution.  Painful as it might be the only way for that to happen is to work through it.  Cannabis helps with the very frightening flashbacks, migraines, insomnia, anxiety and any other unpleasant symptom that can lead to suicidal thoughts and behaviors.  So while the presidential pumpkin and his posse are busy playing politics and searching for the next horrible hairdo. I’ve got therapy and a lifetime of trauma to work through.  I and many others don’t have the luxury of being able to wait for them to get finished rolling around in the bed with “Big Pharma” and pass federal legislation so that this medication is legal everywhere. I, not anyone else, will die from my PTSD symptoms unless they’re controlled.  Sadly, many people, as well as, returning soldiers have died by their own hand because of lack of access to a medication that can save lives in so many different ways.


I will always back this highly stigmatized and demonized plant that has helped give me some type of quality of life despite some people’s ignorance about the topic.  My wife will tell you that being put on the cannabis program has saved my life.  And even though functionality still fluctuates heavily sometimes from the disorder itself, it’s still so much better than it could be and has been thanks to a plant called exactly what it is….weed.  Cannabis has had such a positive impact on my life that living without it seems inconceivable.  And the only side effects I have to worry about these days are sleepy, happy and hungry.


#Thispuzzledlife

	




			
				


	
			
					
	

	

		

			 darnold1975 		


		
Acknowledgment Of Strength And Courage
	


	

		
Acknowledgement of Strength and Courage


“Being deeply loved by someone gives you strength,


while loving someone deeply gives you courage.”


—-Lao Tzu


Lately, there has been a request to identify strength and courage from within myself.  And, honestly, the answer is not very easy for me to identify nor to convey.  I haven’t written since early April and couldn’t have written if I had wanted to.  Sometimes I seem to get lost in my own world not knowing how to get back to the present date and time.  The words “strength” and “courage” seem to be ones of perception rather than having a concrete definition that fits most people and situations.  Hang in there with me.  I promise there is a point.


One of the more difficult things in my life has been to accept compliments.  The ones I did get from perpetrators always seemed to have some form of abuse attached to them.  Growing up and developing as an athlete I regularly received compliments from my coaches.  I not only developed confidence but the discipline and hard work were always worth the effort.  I received compliments from my parents, the parents of friends and teammates.  When the compliments began to take on a more sinister tone and action from some people, I began to fear the very thing that only years before seemed to propel me into a healthy confidence and feeling of safety.  Kind words, in their own way, can now cause instant fear and embarrassment unseen to the naked eye.


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You can point out that survival of all the abuse is an example of both strength and courage.  However, my stance is simply that I did what I had to do to live.  Is this a great example of minimization? Well of course it is.  But emotionally this is truly how I feel about my story of survival.  So…..to identify examples of each I am forced to look at these things from another angle.  I identify these by looking into the heart and eyes of my alters.  This has truly been a process that has now led me to a position and attitude of gratitude.  Trust me, it has not always been like this.  For years I’ve been stuck continuing to try and deny the depth of my mental problems and diagnoses.  And what this has led to for my system are feelings of denial and minimization of their strength, courage, bravery and existence of them both individually and as a group.  This has led to anger, resentment and a whole lot of unneeded and hurtful chaos from them at times. They have had a general feeling of being unneeded and unwanted after years of wading through a life of blood, sweat, tears and the evilness of others.  They have never wanted a  war medal but rather just acknowledgement of the abuse and their efforts.


“Confront the dark parts of yourself, and work to banish them with illumination and forgiveness.  Your willingness to wrestle with your demons will cause your angels to sing.”


—August Wilson


Me and “my team” or “my guys” as they are commonly referred to are not expendable.  These children, teens and adults stepped into some very frightening situations when my mental and physical limits as an individual had been reached.  Their actions often times with accurate precision led to self-preservation with the ultimate goal to preserve life.  Their strength and courage doesn’t seem to have limits for which I’ll am eternally grateful.  Their existence was created out of fear, pain and necessity. Mel will tell you that there have been times when physically and emotionally I shouldn’t have been able to function on any level.  But you could also look up and standing before you would be someone who seemed to be functioning almost completely normal. The quest for my education while undergoing abuse, sometimes daily, is a stunning example of this very thing.  Now several years later the answers as to how this was even a remote possibility are very clear.  My guys stepped in and helped to make sure that my goals were achieved despite always being told that my dreams were nothing more than under achievable pipe dreams.  To me, they are a living testimony of strength, courage and bravery that cannot be matched.  And maybe my story is changing from one of survival to one about redemption.


“I never said I wanted a ‘happy’ life but an interesting one.  From separation and loss, I have learned a lot.  I have become strong and resilient, as is the case of almost every human being exposed to life and to the world.  We don’t ever know how strong we are until we are forced to bring that hidden strength forward.” 


—Isabel Allende


#thispuzzledlife

	




			
				


	
			
					
	

	

		

			 darnold1975 		


		
Lessons Learned
	


	

		
Lessons Learned


“There are certain life lessons that you can only learn in the struggle.”

― Idowu Koyenikan, Wealth for All: Living a Life of Success at the Edge of Your Ability


I have been asked more than once since writing these blog posts how I decide what to write?  The truth is that I don’t always know.  Sometimes it can be a topic that has embedded itself in my gut.  It can be a topic that I continually search for answers and/or the meaning in my life.  But, I often times will begin writing without any type of direction.  Maybe it’s even some type of struggle where writing is my way of asking the universe for a lesson to be taught.  And my thoughts have always been to sit back and wait for my answers to be revealed.  Whatever the “reason” or “lesson” my intent is to be open and receptive no matter how difficult.


I have always been one that has taken the hard road out of necessity. Mel will be one of the first to tell anyone who asks that “Dana has to see something for herself before she will make a decision.  You can tell her all day long the easiest way to go but until she sees things for herself she won’t budge.”  This is not a fact that I deny.  Maybe the hard truth is the only way I learn.  If you wait for me to read between the lines, I will most assuredly leave you frustrated.  Being incredibly hard headed and coming in 2nd place only to my Nannie, has never really made the “easy way” a workable option either.  I must have questions answered and the questions about the questions answered.  I might still reach the same conclusion but it will have taken me twice as long.


As a young child and then a mouthy teenager if I was told not to do something you can write it down that within hours or minutes I would be doing the very thing I was told not to do.  This is where playing sports and having coaches who had the ultimate authority taught me discipline.  As an adult and without their sometimes harsh discipline I seemed to go through life hungering for direction.  Also, through this same discipline I was taught how to pick myself up and keep going.  Because it wasn’t all about me, it was about our TEAM.  This team concept is one lesson that I have never lost.


lessons learned


At 43 years-old and a difficult adult life, I’ve had to take some hard looks in the mirror and some much needed soul searching that would’ve had the ability to piss off Gandhi. Go a step further and do this in solitude with the daily worries of a mother and a wife and it doesn’t take long for someone to start questioning whether or not the chip on my shoulder is actually worth carrying.  It also has the incredible ability to lessen the teenage arrogance in my walk and anger written on my face all seemingly hidden by a smile and a few jokes.  Because when you don’t have the daily distractions of life there’s nothing that can bring forth an argumentative yet very sobering day like the one staring back at you.


There have been many times that I have stared in the mirror only to see the one looking back almost as if to say, “Really?  Smiles and laughter are all fun and games until you get a really good look at yourself when the clown isn’t on stage, isn’t it?”  I continue to look in the mirror at the stern arrogance of the one who, in recent years, has been able to provide intimidation whenever needed.  I look down at my hands remembering how much damage can be done to a room in a fit of rage.  I then look at my forearms and hear the familiar taunts from 30 years prior and the feeling of words spoken as though they were being said for the first time. The adult that was to educate her never raised her hand in anger because the muscles she used as a weapon could also cause damage.  I look up as tears begin to stream down my face wishing, for that moment, that someone would make the pain in my chest cease.  I search for a laugh or a smile to be instantaneous medicine as it has been for the majority of my life.  Instead, however, were a set of eyes belonging to a very hurt teenage child who is fixated on the guilty memory of the unknown mother who said, “She hurt my son too.” Through the tears she tried but couldn’t convey the language of her pain.  Pain, as she would discover, wasn’t always spoken. And on this day, the lessons were learned.


#thispuzzledlife

	




			
				


	
			
					
	

	

		

			 darnold1975 		


		
I AM RESPONSIBLE
	


	

		
I AM RESPONSIBLE


“Hate is the complement of fear and narcissists like being feared.


It imbues them with an intoxicating sensation of omnipotence.”

― Sam Vaknin, Malignant Self-Love: Narcissism Revisited


The term “Responsible” has never been a word that most people use to describe me especially in my teen years.  There are those teens who are very responsible driving, their studies and extracurricular activities.  I personally got caught up in the comedy of the situation from start to finish even if it was actually more dangerous than funny.   As a teenager when my well thought out teen ideas would emerge like going to bonfire parties with fellow classmates and upper classmen and seeing how many times and how much we can throw up in one night without dying; or driving like a bat out of hell with gasoline panties on down what was known as “Thrill Hill” outside the Petal, MS city limits at speeds where those that drove down it should’ve all met our demise; or  and this is the best one…..we as a softball “team” on the eve of a “hot as crotch” practice we thought it would be a great idea to get drunk as a team would help with team unity.  Guess who DID NOT buy that explanation?  Nope…as I recall the next day we ran, and ran and ran and ran until your hangover was gone or there was no more puke left to let loose.  I, for one, never drank the night before a practice EVER again.  I’m usually the one cheering on such outrageous ideas and had already begun planning jail commissary meals made with Ramen Noodles as somewhat of a “celebratory being handcuffed” gesture if needed.  Guilty your honor!!!!!!


The thought of coming in contact and being held emotionally hostage for the next 14 years never crossed my mind.  My main goals, at the time, was to stay as high as I could and not eat.  Both somehow seemed to soothe my heart from my 8th grade disaster only a couple of years prior.  But now we as a student body and a community had been gut punched by the disappearance and alleged murder of our classmate Angela Freeman.  As I’ve mentioned before our graduating high school class  and subsequent classes were pummeled with tragedies.  I felt like the combination of school and home where death and illnesses were always imminent in my daddy’s large family.   We just never got to recover from one thing before something else happened.  I was beyond mood swings.  I was like a mood theme park.  I just remember feeling different, alone and trapped.  Obviously, my theory about being able to do WHATEVER I wanted to do, as an adult, also had some flaws waiting for their time to appear.


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When I jumped full body into adulthood before my time that’s when I understood “keeping secrets” at the fullest.  I literally was taught so many lessons about life, at that time, that I couldn’t sit back to study and understand them. I was busy learning all about malignant narcissism without knowing the full meaning.  And since this was prior to when I decided to go back to college,  I also thought that domestic violence was all about physical abuse.  I was busy surviving and not really knowing what that meant either.  I knew that I never saw or heard things between my parents like I heard every moment of every day with him.  Heck, I just thought this was the reason people were so miserable being married.  I thought this was just the way things were suppose to be. Oh how my immaturity and naivety was drunk driving my way down the highway of life at that time.  I still look back in total astonishment at how I made it through the early days of abuse.


In the late 80s and early 90s, abuse against children and how it would affect their ability to function as an adult was not known or seen as important.  And the ability to go to therapy was more of a luxury item rather than one of necessity. Affordability was practically nil to many children and families.  I would also be willing to bet that there were no mental health benefits on an insurance policy either.  So, for me and other children and teens that needed the help early on would not and could not be provided with the help we so desperately needed.


“Stay away from lazy parasites, who perch on you just to satisfy


their needs, they do not come to alleviate your burdens, hence,


their mission is to distract, detract and extract,


and make you live in abject poverty.”

― Michael Bassey Johnson


I’ve been told many times that the teacher that abused me was treated the same way by her father. My ex-husband and his brother were horribly physically and emotionally abused by their father.  The excuse that has always been given when I asked him about the abuse was justified by him saying, “We might’ve been scared of him but we weren’t out running the streets getting drunk or high either.”  I could also see very clearly how the abuse had affected him and how he still feared his father each time we went to visit him.  I was told what I could and could not say or do around his father.  And I always found it strange that he and his brother called his father by his first name rather than “father” or “daddy.”  The clearest point of view I saw about the abuse they went through was by how I was treated by them.  Both of the grown little abused boys over the years had also become their father.  These 3 people that I’m talking about were not “crazy” they were and still are just mean.  And to my knowledge have never had a day of therapy in their lives.  What they did do successfully was to perpetuate onto me and other people just like it was done to them.  And they go through life never having faced their on responsibility in acknowledging how the abuse affects and continues to hurt people through their aberrant, coercive aggressive, threatening and other overt and covert behaviors. This works down their intended target until the individual believes their lies as though it was part of the gospel.  And then ANYTHING that goes wrong is their victim’s fault no matter what.  Every weekend the ex-husband would go play golf as his favorite pastime.  I use to pray hoping that he played well. If not, somehow it was my fault that he didn’t play well.  People have asked me many times why I didn’t leave sooner.  The problem lies once they get you mentally to believe all of the lies that they tell you it rewires your brain and you wake up one day and everything you use to believe about yourself and the world has now become what they think and believe about the world.  Your beliefs were stupid and you were too dumb to have your own belief system anyway.  Therefore, we cling to that relationship with everything we have because being without them would mean total annihilation for us or so we believe.


The important part


Here’s the whole point of this particular blog.  These people and their behaviors are characteristic of transgenerational trauma in both families.  However, they have all chosen to pass this abuse on and do nothing about it.  With the traumatic life that I’ve lived, I have chosen to do some very emotionally painful therapy in order to stop the cycle of abuse since my abusers didn’t have the guts to do their own work.  They might can make it continue wherever they are now.  In my family, though, the cycle of abuse ends right here.  I have been carrying the abuse of the boys that molested me.  I have been carrying the abuse of my ex-husband and brother from their father.  And I have been carrying the abuse of the teacher that always has a “I just caught the stomach virus” look to greet you with.  Plus, I have been carrying trauma and abuse unrelated to them and that’s my own stuff.  Your baggage that I’ve carried for you for so many years will be waiting for you at the nearest dumpster where it belongs.  Ya’ll have had control of my past and present but the future is MINE.


I can’t even begin to fathom our children having the same fears that I had as a child, teen and adult.  And I would run in to rescue my sweet Mel if I saw any signs of this and that’s exactly what I’ve done.  Moving to Texas is exactly how I was able to rescue them thus far from the abuse.  I looked up one day and I was saying some of the exact same hateful stuff that my ex-husband said to me.  I have 3 people desperately wanting their other mommy and spouse to be able to come back together and to function as the family and couple like we set out to be.  And for that I AM RESPONSIBLE.  The one who was “too stupid to think for herself” was taking very detailed notes those years with you.  And once you study a system and the way it works you can also find the flaws in the system.  The night I got up and walked out I had just beaten the “ALMIGHTY NARCISSIST” at this own game.


“How starved you must have been that my heart became a meal for your ego.”


—Amanda Torroni


#thispuzzledlife

	




			
				


	
			
					
	

	

		

			 darnold1975 		


		
The Collar (Poetry)
	


	

		
The Collar


When I was with you,  you made it seem


Like you would always treat me as your queen.


You set the line and patiently waited


Wanting to see if I would take the bait.


I took that bait as soon as it hit the water


He was whispering under his breath


“HaHa! Now I’ve got her.”


 


A few years later the child bride would be of age.


And this was what he needed to secure her fate.


She didn’t smile much on her wedding day.


Because at the altar she knew she was making a very big mistake.


Instead of a ring she was given a collar


It was suppose to make her obey and if not she would holler


It kept her in line with him at the controls


He told her what she could eat and where she could go.


slave collar


 


 


 


 


 


Maybe on their Honeymoon he would find a way to chill out


My assumption was wrong and that very night she would find out;


because he told her she would kick him complete out


That night she would hear that her teammate was dead


But instead of hugs she was forcibly raped.


She learned how to cry in ways that he never saw.


And many times he never saw her tears fall.


 


She wasn’t his queen nor his bride


Because all she wanted was to run and hide


From his abuse she would understand a new life.


One where orders were obey and eggshells were walked on day and night


She did not want this life of hell


But this was the life where she chose to dwell


 


His hateful words and scary threats


She doesn’t understand why he does this.


She could never do right so how can I leave.


With tears in her eyes She screamed, Stop it! Stop it! Stop it please!


“It’s Your Fault!! You So Stupid…..You can’t do anything right!!!


Oh my God how do I leave?! Help was nowhere in sight.


 


“When she gets enough she’ll finally leave” is what they would say


They didn’t understand that she had wanted to leave long ago


“You’re my bitch and all four you go.”


And I made you my legal ho.


I was nothing to you but a junkyard dog.


IMG_1372 (1)


The door to my freedom Somehow managed to swing open.


But all I could do was sit in my house that became my prison


I don’t care that you called me hog


But what I had really become was one of Pavlov’s Dogs.


 


Many screamed get out and go


I couldn’t bring myself to leave him because that was all that I know.


It was comfortable because I knew that routine.


And I bet you guessed that I seldom was ever treated like a queen.


 


I thought long and hard on making a plan


I had to hurry just as fast as I can


the time came to leave him like many times before.


But this time I would keep my eyes straight ahead


and not look back at that door.


 


He followed close behind to my car and called me everything in the book.


And with every word he said I trembled and shook.


I’m leaving him and I must be crazy.


I would never again be called fat and lazy.


I could also remove that horrible shock collar.


And as I left him for the final time I was was terribly scared


Because I just walked out of my prison without a collar;


Finally free to eat what I want to eat and to Go anywhere I wanted to go.


By: Dana Arnold


#thispuzzledlife

	




			
				


	
			
					
	

	

		

			 darnold1975 		


		
Code Of Silence
	


	

		
The Code of Silence


“The predator wants your silence.  It feeds their power,


entitlement, and they want it to feed your shame.”


—Viola Davis


When I first begin getting to know someone, the very first thing I look for is their level of snitch. What do I mean by this?  Snitching is when you tell on someone to get yourself out of trouble.  Another word for a snitch is a tattletale.  To be labeled as a snitch socially is to be ostracized.  In other circles being labeled as a snitch can get you killed.  And snitching is a predator’s greatest enemy because that exposes secrets.


As a small child the term snitching wasn’t used yet. I did know what the term tattletale meant.  And what hurting my friend’s feelings and damaging a relationship because of telling secrets meant.  It meant people would be mad at me and I would have no friends.  Even teachers at daycares can get tired of all the tattling.  Step inside any daycare and you’re liable to hear, “The next child that tattles doesn’t go outside and play.”  These are two dichotomous examples of telling information.  My question to think about is are we teaching our kids the best and safest message?  There are always exceptions to the rule.  By the time these children are teens there’s an unwritten “code of conduct” around telling information whether it be relevant or not that might save lives.  This will also get someone labeled as a snitch.


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I can expand more about teens later, however, for the sake of this blog post I’m going to refer to myself as a young child.  My first lesson in keeping secrets that should’ve been told was around 5 years-old.  I was molested many times by my neighbor’s youngest and middle sons.  These boys were around 13-15 years old and old enough to know better.  The way I was held emotionally hostage was through threats like “the police would come and I would have my parents taken away.”  I was also told, “that I would make people mad and no one would want to be my friend. And it would be all my fault.”


This little girl named Dana would do everything possible to make sure both she and her family was safe.  From a child’s point of view, I hung on to every scary word spoken.  And afterwards they would tell me how beautiful I was.  The searing pain that would burn my body would leave an imprint on my psyche even today.  The pain and fear would start and I would leave somewhere in my mind where pain was not felt.  Still to this day, I’m very confused in just about every way in regards to having been molested.


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People  that seek power over other people instill in their victims that telling about abuse is a sign of weakness.  As a teenager, anytime I told or tried to tell about the abuse to the school administration this information would get back to the teacher making the abuse worse.  The message I got from doing that was to “forget asking for help and save yourself.”  After the abuse of my 8th grade year, I vowed that as long as I was around to witness someone needing defending or help I would step in and protect in whatever way that I could.  This has bought me unnecessary trouble with coaches and friends but to me it was worth it.  I could then lay my head on my pillow at night and sleep.


One night after Mel and I had been speaking to a class at the college, A mother from that class asked me where I went to middle school.  I told her Petal Middle School and she asked about the teacher that was so abusive.  Because her 8th grade son would come home from school every afternoon with tears in his eyes due to being called names in front of his classmates by a teacher. She told me the teacher she was speaking about and after my heart dropped into my stomach I said, “Unfortunately, ma’am that is who I was speaking about.”  She asked, “What should I do?”  I told her, “Tell someone and get your child in counseling like yesterday.”  I don’t know whatever happened to that mother and her child’s situation.  The information I shared with her helped she and her son?  However, a big load of shame and guilt was dumped on me as penance for that child and any other children after me that I kept the secret about the abuse ,consequently, leaving the predator unscathed and in the driver’s seat to handpick her next teen victim with ease.


The small little southern city with air tight politics and a nose for people’s business other than their own was to my detriment that year.  I was told many years later by one of the administrators that worked there my middle school years information that still burns my ears.  I was told, “You were a child at that time and I couldn’t say anything especially due to the politics.  But I can tell you now that she should’ve never been around children.”  The disappointment must’ve been written all over my face when she saw how perplexed I was.  She said, “Is there something I can try to clear up for you?”  I stood there for a moment not knowing what to say but burning with questions.  “Yes ma’am.  I do have a question…..So you all knew she was abusive and shouldn’t have been around children and you let her teach anyway?!”  “I was her verbal punching bag and her abuse has affected my education, my career, my relationship with my wife and children, my relationships with others and above all the relationship and image of how I view myself as a human being!”  I was mad but I couldn’t stop then tears.  She hugged me as we said our goodbyes and went our separate ways.


IMG_1354


 When I went to my own vehicle and unlocked the doors, I sat down and shook my head and said, “They knew the whole time and didn’t try to stop her.  Didn’t they know how badly it all hurt?  Did they even care? Yes, I fought every way possible to make it through that year in school that still shows its ugly scarring.  No matter what adult I tried to tell that year I got no help from the abuse.  And “snitching” never did me any favors.  Had someone look past the labels and protected me from the backlash of telling the truth about the abuse my life could and maybe even would be much different now.  That one year of school affected a few other teenagers in ways that are still damaging to them.  The most visible are the scars that line the forearms of those teens with 30 years of thick scarring  from the one thing that would listen to us all then…..razors.  I also had the experience of eating disorders (anorexia, bulimia), alcoholism, drug addiction that were all there with their arms wide open to help shield me from the unwanted torture of abuse.


The “Code of Silence” protected by perpetrators in a way that I had no defense.  And as a very young bride, I would face abuse again for the next 14 years.  That “Code of Silence” that was used as an intimidation factor all those years worked.  It kept me silent and the perpetrators innocent.  I go to bed scared every night and the first emotion I have in the morning is fear.  This shame based silence that seen as normal or acceptable is very hurtful.  Maybe protecting offenders because of “snitching” isn’t the problem. And maybe listening and helping to protect children and teens when they tell should be handled first instead of politics and reputations.


“We must take sides.  Neutrality helps the oppressor, never the victim.


Silence encourages the tormentor, never the tormented.


–Elie Wiesel


#thispuzzledlife

	




			
				


	
			
					
	

	

		

			 darnold1975 		


		
“Bruised Inside”
	


	

		
“Bruised Inside”


“You’re gonna have to go through hell, worse than any nightmare you’ve ever dreamed.But when it’s over, I know you’ll be the one standing.  You know what you have to do.  Do it!”


—Coach Duke, Creed


In my blog I repeat several different views about the abuse I went through.  It might be from a different angle but repeating will inevitably happen.  If this is a problem then read elsewhere because this blog is about MY healing and when I’m struggling or laughing about something worth sharing, that’s exactly what I’ll do.


This is a great therapeutic tool that I developed out of necessity several years ago.  At that time, it seemed to be just what I needed that listened and was non-judgmental to whatever problem I would write about.  Whatever the issue was, I wanted and searched for my answers to some of my strange behavior at times.  I was simply searching for where the “old Dana” went and who in the heck was this “new Dana” in many different pieces that is trying to emerge?


IMG_1630


The one part of life that I’m very strong in is protective instincts.  This means protecting those I love even if the protection is from me.  I can’t say that I love someone and then when the situation calls for this protection I not be willing to do just that.  I’ve ended a relationship recently for this very reason and it has been one of the most difficult things I’ve ever done.


Looking for answers as I’ve always done, I went to the library to see what I can find about a topic that has been bothering me “Bullying at school by teachers.”  Most books on this topic usually lead to bullying from other students.  But this day, I found a book that would seemingly have some much needed answers and validation that has been lacking.  The book is titled, “Teen Torment by Patricia Evans.”


IMG_1335


I opened the book to a random page with the title…..


In this passage I found this….”In a culture that overlooks verbal abuse, teens who are tormented by it face difficulties accomplishing developmental tasks such as independence, identity, and career goals.  When teachers put them down or rage at them these students lose the confidence to become independent. And one of the long-term consequences of verbal abuse is that it disconnects teens from their emotional self.”  Essentially, what happens is that the teen learns how to feel nothing in order to withstand the abuse.  “The teen then can’t figure out who they really are versus who they’re told they are.  Consequently, they look for their identity outside of themselves making up an image that seems more acceptable since they’ve already been told many times that who they are is not adequate as a human being.  They might develop an appearance so that no one really knows what has happened to them as a safety measure.  They will go to any lengths to maintain this image which to them seems safe.  Instead they end up losing their own interests and talents because all of their thoughts about who they thought they were have been told time and time again that they’re wrong.”


IMG_1336


Indicators of Verbal Abuse


    

  • Show a noticeable change in behavior
    • 

  • Become isolated and withdrawn
    • 

  • Pull away and refuse to talk
    • 

  • Seem depressed
    • 

  • Cry easily or often
    • 

  • Not have close friends
    • 

  • Have bad dreams
    • 

  • Complain about going to school
    • 

  • Cut classes at school
    • 

  • Refuse to go to school
    • 

  • Throw up before school
    • 

  • Seem to daydream a lot
    • 

  • Have trouble concentrating
    • 

  • Get much lower grade than usual
    • 

  • Seem to have lost enthusiasm for anything
    • 

  • Become self-critical
    • 

  • Hurt themselves, cut themselves, eating disorders and pull their hair
    • 

  • Act aggressively towards siblings, peers or parents
    • 

  • Get angry often
    • 

  • Lash out at others
    • 

  • Get in many fights (Teen Torment, 2003).
    • 



When I was abused by this teacher everything that I was being taught, by my parents, about respect of another human being was confusing to say the least.  She told me so many negative things about myself as a human being and through negative body image that I was almost guaranteed to sprout the eating disorders anorexia and bulimia that I still struggle with daily after 30 years.  I’m tormented by her words and actions daily.  I can hear them as clearly as the day she said them.  And as sad as it seems, I hold onto my eating disorders and other self-harming behaviors with a death grip because somewhere along the way they were the only part of my life that seemed safe and something I can control.  But this “control” is a false control just like addiction to a chemical.  It’s also behaviors that pretend to be your friend until you realize that that “safe friend” has taken everything away mainly your sanity.  Self-harming behaviors of any kind have negative social implications which have made me a prisoner of my bedroom.  Most people don’t want to hear excuses for why you don’t want to eat.  They just see it as a disrespectful gesture and will think twice before inviting you again.  And God forbid if they happen to see your scars from cutting.  They think they’re hanging out with a psychotic monster that has the possibility to lunge at them with a razor blade at the dinner table.  My thoughts have always been, “If you only knew what caused these scars to appear, you’d think before judging next time.”


IMG_1338


When I finished reading only about 10 pages of information I laid my book down in my lap and began sobbing.  Finally, I had found some information that spoke for me what I couldn’t.  I saw on those pages validation for that horrible year of abuse with information about what it did to me.  I was called all the names and was told that I was stupid and fat among other things that children should never have directed at them by anyone much less from a “safe person” in a position of authority.  That year affected me in ways that I still can’t fully understand.  This book and it’s passages tend to make me retract from some of the information because of how close to home it all is.


As a teenager, I had much difficulty with emotion regulation.  I’m torment by her words and actions of that year.  Her negative body image comments have me fearing everything related to the topic.  I can still feel the bullets of her malignant words she shot my way directly into my still developing brain.  And to her I can say this, “You don’t matter and you never did.  I’m succeeding despite what you did.”  And for you I have a surprise.  What if it’s simply calling you and confronting you about what was done?  This kind of discussion needs to be in public where we both feel safe and can speak openly.  It could be that simple. Would you listen and deny any wrong doing?  Either way a surprise there will be because every day I wake up I’m bruised inside and you are the only one who can heal that wound.  Wouldn’t that be a nice surprise?!  Maybe that’s the surprise I’m waiting to hear and hold on to.  Maybe the surprise is something different. Only I know.


IMG_1337


Every single day I choose to work on some type of behavior or action that most people take for granted.  As much as I would like to re-gift this “gift” of surviving apparently it was meant for me.  And I’ll carry this burden with the hopes that my own children don’t have to taste this type of life and that monsters are just pretend instead of real as I and many others know them.  Carrying the trauma of the boys that molested me, my teacher, my ex-husband and his brother, a trusted therapist will end with me.  I will either win or die trying because when it comes down to it it’s all about leaving everything you’ve got physically and mentally in the ring, on the field or on the court.  Whatever happens my wife and boys will know that I gave everything I had until I couldn’t.  I wasn’t coached to give up until I had left it all on the field and could feel proud of my efforts whenever that day comes.


Rocky Balboa talking to Adonis Creed before his first fight….


You’ve never been in front of this many people….that don’t matter.


You’ve never been this far away from home….that doesn’t matter either.


What matters is what you leave in the ring


And what you take back with you is……PRIDE.


And knowing that you did your best and you did it for yourself.


You didn’t do it for me; Not for your friend’s memory but for you.


I can see in your eyes you’re going to do it…..Go Do This Champ!


#thispuzzledlife

	




			
				


	
			
					
	

	

		

			 darnold1975 		


		
But I Still Made It To Texas
	


	

		
But….I Still Made It To Texas


“My basic principle is that you don’t make decisions because


they are easy; you don’t make them because they are cheap; you don’t make them 


because they’re popular; you make them because they’re right.”


—Heodore Hesburgh


As I count down another 365 days in my life, I also look back on holiday traditions and 2018 as a year of struggles and lessons.  Yep, I’m too lazy to write separate blogs about Christmas and New Year’s.  Did you catch that or is it just me? Ha! Ha!  At this point, I’m just glad that I still have the ability and “want to” to write publicly about my struggles as an individual, family, therapeutically and as a system.  Honestly, my first thoughts about the year 2018 all revolve around my middle finger.


In January, I started my new path alone by moving to Texas.  The importance of this decision was realized only a couple of months prior.  Mel and the kids needed to live in a place that was familiar and where they could regain their own sense of balance and security that I could not help provide in my condition at that time.  And I needed answers and healing from my own demons and dark past.  Sometimes life gives you a way out but only for a limited amount of time.  Our life in New Mexico had finally come to an end complete with two little boys that make our hearts beat.  My mental health issues were becoming increasingly dangerous and the toll it had taken on Mel and the boys was almost irreparable damage.  If love was all that was needed to “fix” everything that had been damaged there wouldn’t have been a need to leave.  Mel and I both saw the need and the importance of me moving somewhere that answers could be found but only with the right practitioner.


I had set my sights on moving to Texas in 2016 but actually taking that step without Mel and the kids wouldn’t happen until January 2018.  This was a decision that kept tugging at my heart.  I knew it was the right decision but I didn’t have any way of proving that to make the decision easier to make as a couple.  It would be one of those Please don’t be the wrong decision! Please don’t be the wrong decision! moments that was so scary I couldn’t put into words.  She and I knew that without long term help of some kind I wouldn’t have a relationship with them anyway.  I was just dangerously out of control mentally.


armadillo  texas flag  longhorn


By March life would once again be full of new struggles.  My 2006 Honda Pilot that I brought with me on my new endeavors would be totaled in an accident.  Not knowing the extent of my injuries I would run to the vehicle that hit me to help the driver as I had done many times while working on an ambulance many years earlier.  Once the emergency vehicles showed up and I had returned to the opposing side of the highway where my own vehicle turned its last wheel the searing pain in my neck, back and legs would make its way into a form of uncomfortable permanence.  The days of having good medical insurance was left in the deserted high mesa of Albuquerque, New Mexico. And now I was just another American leaning on Medicare for help. I would also soon be driving an 18 year old black leather 2000 Pontiac Grand Prix that would come to be known simply as “The Hot Pocket.” Let the frustrations begin!


Learning who I was as an individual is still a process that I continue to learn about every single day.  But I was learning since moving here in January that I had a very large trigger that I had never even considered.  In Albuquerque we were left most times to fend for ourselves no matter where we looked for answers.  When I moved to Texas I was greeted with a large outpouring of love that most would welcome.  I, however, was terrified by all the help that was awaiting.  I honestly didn’t know and still don’t really know how to receive help without there being a price for it.  I suddenly became very triggered and left a stable living situation only to “couch hop” for the next few months until I looked up and I was homeless.  This would mean that I didn’t have the privacy and quiet that I longed and hungered for.  No one seemed to understand especially me.  Being in public and around people all the time seemed to make me feel like I was boiling in hot water.  No matter how hard I tried to accept this form of love and acceptance…I just couldn’t.


My mental health issues soon began to show the ugly faces that I had tried to warn other about and all I could think was “Damn, not here.  Not to these good people.”  But trying to wish them away wouldn’t happen in Texas anymore than it had worked in New Mexico.  I knew that this meant one thing….people would get hurt and relationships would be damaged and lost.  I couldn’t stop it.  I had seen it 100’s of times and nothing good ever came of it.  I just knew what it felt like when it was about to happen.  All I could hope for was that it wouldn’t be too bad because this time I was alone without Mel and the kids. I prepared my heart for the worst like I had many times.  This time would be no different as I would lose the relationships of those that I loved and admired without even trying.


Physically I felt completely beat down.  Mentally I was a hot mess and I now doubted whether this move was in fact the right thing to do.  The true reason that I moved here, to do therapy with my new coach seemed to be the only thing that still seemed right.  I leaned on the many years of lessons that I had learned from Sarah to help me make the decision again about staying in Texas when I wanted to run because it was the right thing to do….and again I stayed.  It wasn’t because I had faith that things would get better.  I stayed simply because I trusted her and that she never led me in a wrong direction while she was alive.


Therapeutically, I thought moving here and working with “coach” would be an easy thing to do since I was so incredibly excited to be given the chance.  I was excited and I knew without a doubt that my decision of working with “coach” was still the right decision.  But “easy” was never in the realm of reality.  I had a decorated therapeutic past and it didn’t seem to recognize good or bad practitioners.  It only recognized “practitioner” and “position of authority” both which scared me to death.  I constantly reminded myself that I already trusted her on some level because I moved here to work with her.  But instantly trusting even though I was confident in my decision just wasn’t going to happen.


IMG_2410


When I looked at my new life the only place that didn’t seem to bring some form of unwanted and unneeded pain was the hour that I spent with coach in session.  Most days the money it would require to afford food was always an unknown.   I was not willing to forego a therapy session because for that hour I felt safe even if I was shaking with fear for the time I was in there. I would be scared of possible topics I might have to discuss and I fear her position as a therapist but I didn’t fear her as a person and that meant everything to me.  I wanted to be heard and my pain validated and the only place that seemed to happen was when I was in a session because I wouldn’t dare open up to others.  Life is hard and society can careless how I feel about anything in the present time much less 40+ years of pain and abuse from my past….but she did and still does care.


Coach knows what she’s doing and I have to continue to trust her.  She knew that the only way that I would find comfort is through consistency and compassion.  I was sloppy seconds of a very abusive therapist but I was looking and hungering for the help that I so desperately needed.  And that my aggressive nature had to have a reason.  Before long her compassion began to melt my very tough exterior and tears would form and begin to drop from the years of abuse.  Except this time my tears brought about more compassion and validation where, at times, tears were seen as a weakness and more abuse seemed to follow.


August 1st started the “intensive” that she and I would have for a month.  That month did a lot for me regarding trusting coach and the therapeutic process as a whole.  Before this started, though, I vowed to be completely focus, “nose to the grind” and completely secluded.  This was no phone calls except immediate family and my coach and no social media except for blogs and remembering friends who have died. Sometimes solitude is all you need to help regain focus on things that are important.  Because in solitude you have no one to look at but yourself.  Apparently, this is just what I needed because the changes that have occurred within my system are some that I never dreamed possible for a teenager who was simply not heard.  The key to her was something along the lines of a forced hug (not literally) to show her that everyone isn’t the same. And allowing her a voice preferably not a screaming one.  Yes that teenager is indeed coachable when others have often thought incorrigible.


Fall time for me brings about some pretty horrible memories and anniversaries. At some point, coach responded to a question of mine “being thankful for what I do have” was the answer.  I’ve thought about that every since the day that was said.  This fall I would finally understand what she was saying. Now that It’s towards the end of December I can say that I put her phrase into practice by being thankful for what I do have this year despite all the struggles:


    

  1. I made it to Texas where I was met by an awesome group of people.
    2. 

  2. I was involved in a wreck and injured but I wasn’t killed.
    3. 

  3. I ended up back in the psych hospital 2 more times but it didn’t hurt anything but my pride.
    4. 

  4. I ended up homeless but repaired the relationship with my parents.
    5. 

  5. I had two surgeries because of my wreck but I’m still walking and talking.
    6. 

  6. My time in Texas has been a struggle in every way. But….I Still Made It To Texas.
    7. 

  7. I don’t get to see my boys very much but there is Facetime.
    8. 

  8. I have several addictions that I struggle with but I’m still here struggling.
    9. 

  9. I never get to see my wife.  She was able to be here several days for my surgery.
    10. 

  10. I don’t get to spend holidays with my family.  Making the sacrifice to live in Texas without them helps to ensure I get to spend the rest of my life healthy and happy together as a family.
    11. 

  11. I just embarrassed myself and my wife because I “flipped my wig” coming out of anesthesia.  What a great education in mental illness behaviors the hospital staff got from me free of charge not once but twice.
    12. 

  12. Difficult decisions were made and tears were shed because it was the right thing to do.  Not the easiest thing to do.
    13. 



I always think about the holidays when I was little and prior to our family’s matriarch, my Nannie’s death.  I can remember the smell of the air and the damp fall leaves, our family traditions and how much they still mean to me.  I remember my daddy’s Christmas morning breakfast and the year Sarah and Doug sat at our family’s table and had breakfast with us.  I also remember how much holidays scared me when I was married to my ex-husband.  The day time hours were fake happiness and gifts.  And the night times were criticisms about what I had managed to mess up and how dumb I was.  Don’t think for a second that he didn’t criticize my appearance on those days too.


Recently, Mel came to Texas because I had back surgery as a result of the wreck in March.  This was the first time she and I had spent any significant amount of time since I moved here.  The experience was a disaster for both of us at the hospital even with my limited memory. The embarrassment for me personally has been a lot to bare.  But the tears we both shed before her ride picked her up to take her back to the airport because we both love each other and miss being a family were the ones that were the heaviest.  I asked her again now that it’s been almost a year since moving here, “Do you think we made the right decision?”  We both agreed and said, “Yes.”  Moving here was the right decision but it didn’t guarantee things being easy and so far that has remained true.  This year has been one of many ups, downs, struggles and lessons…..BUT…….WE STILL MADE THE RIGHT DECISION TO MOVE TO TEXAS TO DO THERAPY…..AND WE MADE IT HAPPEN!!!!


#thispuzzledlife

	




			
				


	
			
					
	

	

		

			 darnold1975 		


		
What December 4th Means To Me…..
	


	

		
What December 4th Means To Me…..


” Today, on her birthday, I am teary eyed about the other woman


who also remembers that today, 43 years ago, she gave life


to a child that is calling me “Momma.”


—Unknown


I must admit that my birthdays for a long time have carried with them a dark cloud. As a child, I remembered them being like most kids’ birthdays. Cake, ice cream, presents and if you were lucky a party at McDonald’s complete with a tour to the store’s freezer just to find out that it was cold. A paper birthday hat and the playground equipment that was fun only in spring or fall seasons because you didn’t dare play on it in during the humid summers of the Deep South for fear of being burned alive by the stifling hot metal. The consequences of being a child playing on metal playground equipment would remind you that next time maybe you shouldn’t.


In my teen years, birthdays usually consisted of The Petal Lady Panther Basketball Classic. Softball season would’ve ended by now and we were well into our basketball season. There were plenty of local “social parties” complete with a bonfire, alcohol and loud country music. I was also busy trying to fill an emptiness in myself that I couldn’t identify. I just knew that emotionally I hurt. I began treating that hurt with any substance or behavior that seem to soothe that pain even a little bit. Little did I know that I was already in the death grip of addiction by the time I graduated high school. The combination of both the physical and mental stress of addiction for a mere 4 years would take the dream of playing college ball of any kind away.


As a late teen and early adulthood, I wouldn’t only see the dichotomy in a person’s behavior. I would often times feel the shift in his behavior before it actually happened. It was also on some of those same scary nights that my birthday December 4th would fall. Apparently, there was an unwritten rule about what men, specifically my ex-husband, were entitled to on any day but celebrations of any kind were a guarantee.


jesus and baby


This “emptiness” was now identified as a void. And the void was the one thing that has haunted me daily since middle school….my adoption. The abusers in my life have always made sure that this particular topic’s wounding got a little deeper with their ability to hurt without touching. Each year that passes it makes this time of the year just a little bit more painful. I’ve always seemed in some way to seek out the love and acceptance of my birth mom that I’ll never receive. She, unfortunately, does not have it to give to me to satisfy that insatiable need that never seems to be filled.


In the process of searching, finding and being rejected again and years of abuse I’ve pretty much walled my heart off to most people including close friends and family. Each year it gnaws away at me until the thought of getting close to someone scares me so bad that I reach out and destroy that relationship. Now In my 40’s I walk around with such a thick and, at times, aggressive coat of armor that I run off a lot of people before they get a chance to really know me past my silly sense of humor. Several people know that my birthday is off limits in regards to contacting me. Social media is turned off and my phone is put on “Do Not Disturb” making it virtually impossible to contact me unless you’re here in person. Very grumpy I can be on this the one of the heaviest days of grieving for me all year long.


Coach has the uncanny ability to get me to do  “therapeutic assignments” that can have me stomping around like a toddler who was given the wrong colored cup. I have the ability to act just like that when I think my unhealthy ideas are much better and/or more fun. This birthday would be different though. I had to be receptive to her ideas and be trusting enough in her as a person and as a professional for her guidance to be remotely acknowledged on this topic. And by the end of the day after coach stirred the fairy dust and a few of my own tears fell, for the first time in many years when the sun went down my smile didn’t. It was genuine happiness and…..well….it was different but it was nice.


I guess what made the day even more special was celebrating my birthday with our oldest son, Marshall who turned 7 years old yesterday. I never understood how my birth mom felt. I heard the painful words she said to me. But when I laid eyes on our beautiful first born, I’m glad that I don’t know what it’s like to be her. Because I have two beautiful little superhero, “man cub” children that call me Mom and I get to call them Sons.


I can still say with much assurance that the impact my adoption has had on my life has been tremendous in both good and bad ways. There are many tears left to cry on this topic. And much more emotional healing that needs to occur because coach does more than blows a whistle…..she plants seeds.


#thispuzzledlife

	




			
				


	
			
					
	

	

		

			 darnold1975 		


		
Tears Of A Child (Poetry)
	


	

		
The Tears of a Child


I came into this world screamin’ and cryin’


Never knowing that the world would be lyin’.


Big hands that touched with searing pain


And it would only be for their perverted gain.


 


Surrounded by four walls I would cry alone


Until she opened the door and I was already gone


Locked inside I screamed, “Don’t Leave!  Help me!”


But I would never be granted any reprieve.


 


A Child bride I would soon become


The tears I cried inside were many but to the outside there were none


I would defend you and say that life was grand


But you would crush me without even using your hands.


 


The venom you spewed I would also come to use


Innocent family and friends….If they only knew.


That little girl screaming for help and they didn’t have a clue.


That which the little girl is surviving might make her turn forever blue.


 


“Mommy! Mommy!” were the words she always longed to hear.


But the innocent screams rang so loud and clear.


She looked for the one that helped rescue her


But she was another one gone.


How does she handle it now in this world all alone?


 


She screams, “Mommy!  Mommy! ” from somewhere deep inside.


She was always taught to keep quiet and hide.


She also longs for the one that gave her life


But she’ll never meet those precious boys or her beautiful wife.


 


This child she’s full of anger and hates most things she sees.


The words they can’t hear are her hungering cries of “Help Me, Please!”


Please help me and don’t leave me alone.


But again she looks up to see they’re all gone.


 


She keeps those tears buried deep inside


Just like when she was taught to run and hide.


If they knew and could only see


These tears of a child that continue to haunt me.

By: Dana Landrum-Arnold


#thispuzzledlife

	




			
				


	
			
					
	

	

		

			 darnold1975 		


		
The Party Of One (Poetry)
	


	

		
The Party of One


This was the day for 9 months that I longed to see


You were the one that was meant for me.


Instead I was thrown away and forever shunned


I began life solo as the little party of one.


 


I soon had a new mommy and daddy


To look at me I appeared very happy


And then the boys’ hands touched me and it was no fun


for the little girl was the party of one.


 


You were there to help educate our minds


not to tell us, “You’ll Never Be Anything!” time after time.


You lied and told them I was disrespectful and having fun


But the only party I was attending was the party you reserved for just one.


 


I took you as my husband and you took me as your wife


But what you had in store was not a beautiful life.


You monitored me daily who i saw; what I did and what I ate


All I did was develop more and more silent hate.


 


I did what you said but it was still my fault


Do you have any idea what lessons you taught?


You made me your dog and to you it was fun


If only they could see you brightly shining at this party of one.


 


I’ve tried and the answer is consistently…fail


I can’t make it as a friend, daughter or mom anywhere


along the trail.


I long to hear from you just one more time saying,


“I’m here and together we’ll prevail.”


But the grief is so heavy without you that I feel like I’m in hell.


 


I’ve wished for life to be anything but this


I’ve already fought so hard just to be here and for that I’m pissed.


You all stripped me of everything good and it’s seen everyone


And though we are many, we are still the Party of One.

By:  Dana Landrum-Arnold


#thispuzzledlife

	




			
				


	
			
					
	

	

		

			 darnold1975 		


		
The Lost Child (Poetry)
	


	

		
The Lost Child (Poetry)


People have seen me as feral


And needing to be whipped more as a child


One thing is for sure…..


She needs to be tamed and not allowed to run wild.


 


A gentle giant came into her life,


And taught her fundamentals and the power of a


smile.


To never give up is how an athlete lives,


Direction received by a lost child.


 


You broke her down brick by brick until she was stripped


almost to zero.


But you forgot the one thing that wouldn’t stop…a beating heart


that was looking for another hero.


The lies, humiliation and manipulation cut like blades on the arms of a child


How do you tame this child running wild?


 


Prince Charming is how he portrayed himself


But she wouldn’t be put up on a shelf.


For the bricks already torn down exposing her soul


Would further be destroyed and she would be left out in the cold.


 


Tears were seen as childish and weak


How do you hide that which hurts so deep?


Internally you step back and let your “new friends” deal with this creep.


Do what you have to do but don’t make a peep.


 


Getting an education would lead to freedom they said.


But no one saw what he had already done to her naive and vulnerable head.


“You’ll never be anything without me” he would say


She left him with the last bit of energy she could muster and got out that


very day.


 


Brave as she was most never knew


To leave and stay gone never to return to the hellish days with him, for she


was finally through.


Back to the world and running wild


She would still need guidance but only through love for this lost child.


 


Her ROCK she’s known for several years said, “some people can’t see the


beauty of a person” and with that she shed some of her first tears.


What would she do now with the freedom of a new life?


She would be introduced to her soul mate that she would later take as her wife.


 


Her passion she would do but not for long


The grip he still has on her was not yet gone.


Someone else she was becoming and started to resemble him


They would both feel the pains of having to sink or swim.


 


Two little boys would be the apples of their eyes


But when her ROCK disappeared she couldn’t silence her cries.


For she would be floundering with no direction and again running wild.


With a broken heart and hurting soul of a lost child.


 


How could she possibly heal from so many quickly leaving?


It appeared that she would be setting out on another road of more


painful grieving.


The decision was made to start completely over again


Not knowing what would happen or if she would ever again have friends.


 


Her life became a floor surrounded by four walls


In another state she would once again walk these new, dark halls.


For again she’s living a life and running fast and wild,


But her new coach would see past the actions and into the


heart of a lost child.

By Dana Landrum-Arnold


#thispuzzledlife

	




			
				


	
			
					
	

	

		

			 darnold1975 		


		
Footsteps To Freedom
	


	

		
Footsteps to Freedom


“It is fear that reinforces the walls we build, people are afraid to be swayed from their convictions, afraid to question their moral instincts and expose themselves to ideas that may challenge the fabric of their entire existence, but what are we if we are not seeking to better ourselves?”

― Aysha Taryam


During this month of incredibly intense therapy one of the things that I’ve come to realize is how terrified I am of change no matter the reasons. Over the years I have become accustomed to people naming my limitations and just accepting them. Being controlled for so long has created for me a life of imprisonment even though the doors of freedom were opened many years ago.


Eleven years ago I was granted the freedom legally from a very long abusive relationship where everything I did, said and felt were controlled by someone else. The control enforced for so many years was done so covertly that even I was blinded to my own reality. It was always disguised as “I’m just trying to make you a better person.” When in reality he did nothing to help make me a better person. He simply was destroying what was left of a good person. I was slowly mirroring his dysfunctional and abusive self through his personally designed program. I didn’t like this change because it hurt me in every way possible and to not accept it, as difficult as it was, could’ve led to my demise.


I was given gifts and compliments both in front of others and behind closed doors. What was never seen, though, was the high price of his momentary kindness. Anytime I was complimented or given gifts especially at holiday times or after arguments was then completely overshadowed by his abuse sometimes only hours later. What this taught me to do was to be aware when things were too “ok” that something bad would happen or would be taken away. Maybe this was his sick justification for his niceness. He seems like a nice guy to those that know him but behind the steel doors of my personal imprisonment to him on an intimately emotional level was a block of ice of a human being that cares about nothing but his own gratification in whatever way he can achieve it.


Since our divorce I still can’t accept comments, gifts or any kind gesture without thinking, “What do you really want for your kindness because everything comes with a price?”  What I have been conditioned to believe is that if things get “too good” or a time without chaos then he would, in turn, take those moments of kindness and hurt me with them.  Therefore, I have always felt that if these same nice events happen then I must destroy them because it doesn’t hurt as bad if I’m the one doing the sabotaging. This also affects my relationships with people. I don’t mind having superficial relationships but if I start forming relationships that are deeper then I panic and start pushing the person away until they want to leave.  I have become so accustomed to this that I have learned to disconnect emotionally so quickly and easily that most times I can’t even feel the pain of the loss.


footsteps to freedom


The essence of a therapeutic journey is about CHANGE. Maladaptive behaviors are very much a comfort zone and the thought of changing the things that continue to remove happiness and consequently leave me with a life unfulfilled and empty terrifies me. The easy solution to most would be simply stop doing what you’re doing and things with get better. And, truly, I wish it was that easy. I don’t love the behaviors and mental craziness that comes with it all. What I do love is the consistency that lies with what I understand and what seems to make sense even if only I can make sense of it. What would and could the possibilities of my life be if I were not chained to my compulsions, addictions and yes even his control and deadly way of life? The truth is that I don’t know. So instead of reaching out to grab a new way of life, I timidly sit back and watch everything positive and beautiful in my life disappear piece by piece. This is not something I enjoy. This is something that I’ve come to expect because this reality is something that I know.


Expecting good things is something so incredibly foreign to me. The cage door of my cell was opened but because I’ve been so accustomed to power and control that’s the only way I’ve known how to live. Without being told exactly what to do I feel completely out of control and very unsafe. In a way, I still feel like I need the one thing I feared about him…HIS control. Most all other forms of control in regards to authority figures and institutions, as well as, other social situations will most definitely bring out the werewolf in me.  I become very aggressive in many instances.  Given the opportunity to leave this continued imagined control which still seems to feel like he still presently oversees and I’ll stay put and wait for my next order.  This has me very confused and above all frustrated.  The dichotomy of these decisions leave me cowering and in tears.


As his child bride with him 19 years my senior, he set out to raise a wife.  I tried endlessly to become that which was envisioned which was the picture of perfection.  I had no idea, at the time, that I would be constantly chasing and trying to achieve something that never could be achieved.  Years later I still find myself chasing this same perfectionistic  life and image but now in solitude.  I have continued to allow him to be the overseer of my daily activities and thoughts from which I have yet to be able to break free.  I am still chained to my “master” in so many ways.  And seemingly by choice I continue to let him rob me of a beautiful life with my wife, children, friends and family.  The harsh reality of this weighs very heavily on me.


My “inside guys” are seeing and feeling this push for this realization and the action that comes with it.  Is there resistance?  Ummmm……am I breathing?  All they can seem to understand right now is fear and that is always considered unsafe in any situation.  Thirty years of teens being able to live life as they dysfunctional please. And 20+ years of adults not having voices and/or choices now being told they can create a life that WE choose not that HE chooses.  This is one concept that’s going to take practice even if, for now, it’s just about the radical idea that things can be different.


The need for change is why I moved here.  The importance of change is why I stay even though my heart wants me to run back to Mel and our boys.  But the fear of change is what  torments me worse than the memories and images.  Who will I be if I’m not defined by outside influences and behaviors?  With my tireless coach’s help and seemingly endless compassion maybe one day I’ll have those answers.


I’m still moving in a forward direction but I’m shaking in my boots. And it seems with every step forward a new tear drops.  Painful as this process is it’s still not as painful as the words and actions from the one who caused the tears to begin with.  Me and a certain teen see this process as “Footsteps to Freedom.”


“The secret to happiness is freedom… And the secret to freedom is courage.”


—Thucydides


#thispuzzledlife

	




			
				


	
			
					
	

	

		

			 darnold1975 		


		
The Long Drive Home
	


	

		
The Long Drive Home


“When the pain of where you’re at is greater than the pain


of where you are going, change will occur.”


–Anonymous


After therapy sessions on the long ride home in the Pontiac “toaster” attempting to live through Texas drivers is when I usually come up with new blog topics. I have a little while in my own thoughts accompanied by music to chew on the new lessons I’ve learned after each session.  This week “coach” stirred the pot with my internal brood. Topics were coming at me like tennis balls from a rapid firing machine. Each topic seems to resurrect other difficult topics until I feel like I’m playing “Whack-a-Mole: Therapy Edition.”  Right now I have to have total trust in “coach” because I don’t know whether to scratch my watch or wind my butt. Assignments that can have internal dogs growling for control and others hiding all in the name of “healing” have made the natives restless.


Once I leave therapy I want to go nowhere but to the safety of my “hobbit hole” of solitude and have down time or nap time whichever comes first. Today, I was headed home feeling like the week of “game play” has sucked the life out of me. Still somewhat shaky emotionally from our session I hop in the black leather “hot pocket” with my music going and begin my reflection. About 20 minutes into my drive and stress of the Texas speedway I begin feeling nauseous but try to ignore it. The traffic and recent emotional upheaval becomes too much and I feel the familiar tunnel starting to close in on me. Panic ensues and the roar and number of vehicles zipping past and surrounding me has me feeling like an elephant is sitting on my chest. The sweat now profusely dripping off my nose, chin and arms combined with the ever increasing nausea and diminishing senses has me paralyzed with fear. Afraid that I might wreck or puke in my lap I search for the nearest gas station looking for a moment of solitude to try to regroup. I pull over and start crying not really knowing anything more than I’m completely overwhelmed. I don’t know how long I was there but I realize that I’m now not at the original stop but somewhere completely different in a bad area of town as I overhear loud arguing. My first thought is, “Just get me home!!” I carry a disposable ice pack for such times when grounding is needed. I reach in my bag and activate the ice pack and start crying hoping and praying that no one sees me and tries to interfere with this another horribly embarrassing moment. The brisk cold helps with the nausea and then I fade away completely again. After several minutes I realize that the ice pack is now not cold but I think I can now make it home. What just caused this? Maybe it was the heightened emotions from the week. Maybe it was something physical. Or maybe it was both.


tunnel


With my car still running I head back out onto the speedway and eventually make it home. I stagger inside still dripping with sweat and my entire wardrobe for the day soaked. I change into dry clothes and collapse on my bed completely exhausted and still shaking from the fear that I had just experienced. Was this a sign of failure or healing? I don’t know.  I suddenly remember former coaches telling me, “Pace yourself but keep going.  We have a long season in front of us.” And with that I was able to find some momentary comfort.


This week had the spice of siracha and was muy caliente in therapy. It wasn’t all graceful but I’m still standing and didn’t have to do it all alone. Compassion keeps me going and every day a shattered confidence is slowly being rebuilt.  Coach is taking away my very comfortable “maladaptive binkies” and the grieving surrounding that and further unknowns has me scared not knowing who I will be without them.


This marathon is about rediscovering who I am among other things. I didn’t get this dysfunctional over night. To undo a lifetime of lies which were my only truth in search of my authentic truth simply takes time. The work is hard and exhausting on every level. And the long ride home is sometimes where I am forced to realize just how strong I can be.


“ Courage doesn’t always roar.  Sometimes courage is the little voice at


the end of the day that says I’ll try again tomorrow.”


~Mary Anne Radmacher


#thispuzzledlife

	




			
				


	
			
					
	

	

		

			 darnold1975 		


		
Play Ball!!!!!
	


	

		
Play Ball!!!!!


“I think the most important thing about coaching is that you have to have a sense of confidence about what you’re doing. You have to be a salesman and you have to get your players, particularly your leaders, to believe in what you’re trying to accomplish.”

–Phil Jackson, Basketball


In my years of playing sports, I was fortunate to have many different coaches each with their own unique styles of coaching.  I never had one coach that didn’t know how to effectively motivate me.  Their styles of coaching, however, were as individual to them as I was as an athlete.  When most players “age out” of a league inevitably a coaching change would also occur.  Luckily, I was able to keep the same coach for the majority of our summer softball league through high school. Playing varsity sports, however, came with new coaches and a new level of maturity as a ball player.


Anytime a player, for whatever reason changes coaches, that event becomes a brand new period of adjustment.  You have to develop the confidence and trust in the new coach just like the new coach has to develop the confidence in you as a player.  You both go through similar phases at individual speeds.  As a player, you watch your coach to see if his/her actions are congruent with the words they speak.  You watch to see if your coach’s words are truth or just empty promises that are spoken out of convenience.  Likewise, the coach watches behaviors of their players both on and off the field. They watch to see how individually motivated you are to play and to be a “team” player depending on the sport.  They also want to see if you’re going to put forth 110% effort or just try to skate by half-assed.  They look to see if you’re loyal to the sport and your individual game.  Having an “off day” isn’t the same thing as few players perform perfectly all the time. How you recover and are motivated from an “off day” is what differentiates the good players from the great players who develop into champions.  Through these observations you both have to decide if the person before you has the potential to be a part of a winning team.  They also watch to see to what extent team unity has been developed.  This is also when the coach sees if the “team” or individual is in need of some type of remedial work sometimes starting again with simply fundamentals.


players respond


In the game of my life things are incredibly similar.  “Coach” and I have gone through an adjustment period with not all of it “fun” but necessary.  She agreed to take this player on without having much information about the extent of prior coaching and essentially with an “AS IS” label among many others.  She would use her gentle force of discipline to teach this hardheaded player HER way of playing.  First, though, she had to determine at what level of functioning this player was performing.  She determined that a previous coach a few years ago was quite damaging and was too controlling to develop the trust with this player. It damaged the player almost for good and didn’t allow for growth of anything but resentment for future coaches and the hurt and pain that wouldn’t leave anytime soon.  Despite the rough shape of her new recruit, coach has seen worth where some others have not because this coach refuses to put down a horse for having a broken heart.  She knows that what this player needs is to start back with the fundamentals which include love, compassion and above all…..TRUST.


Coach knew that this player was hurt deeply but with time, patience, consistency and a relationship lacking in judgment this player might just begin to melt and the potential that waits in the shadows might one day be achieved just like she had envisioned.  Coach also knew that this process would be a marathon not a sprint and that both parties would have to be willing to believe that the process could work.  After all, a win is still a win even if it’s not done gracefully.  The biggest statistic that this player carries in her portfolio is that 199 times she has fallen and 200 times she has gotten back up. This player couldn’t and still can’t even begin to imagine the potential but coach can and that’s all that matters, as long as, this player is coachable.


fearless player


Practice after practice and with trust building on both sides coach began to see what she had initially envisioned for this player.  This player has shown that she works hard for every play and gives her all in practice because she hungers to be a champion again despite what she has been told and the already failed expectations of others that has left her with a broken spirit.  Coach saw that this player had aggression that needed to be tamed but would never hurt her again like some previous coaches did with invalidation.  Coach knows that on the other side of this untamed aggression and with additional love and consistent discipline is an incredibly loyal champion waiting to emerge.  How does coach know this?  Because she can see that covered by a sometimes nasty shield of aggression is the heart of a champion that is currently keeping her player alive.


Today begins the ball season that this player has been practicing endlessly for even when coach hasn’t been watching.  These “opponents” who are unnamed are those “teams” that left this player for many years scared, hurting and dysfunctional despite her best efforts.  This player is finally entrusting of her coach to stand side-by-side and to play against these opponents as she has been guided and will continue to do so until victory is achieved. The battle wounds will be plentiful and falling down will inevitably happen as this is part of being an athlete. But she’s determined to win or die trying.


She is told who her first opponent will be and she begins to shake with fear.  Her coach gently reassures her that her ability is there but that she is the only one who can execute for she is the player and that is her job.  Coaches teach and guide.  Ambivalence rolls down her cheeks for fear of yet another failure and this player takes the field to lead her team, as the team captain, like she has practiced many times.  But not without turning to look back to make sure her coach is still there as promised just one more time.  Standing there is her coach in the shape of that familiar and long sought after diamond.  And once again this player has the confidence to show her trustworthy coach that she is indeed coachable.


Coach nods with one more sign of encouragement and hollers…..PLAY BALL!!!!


“Coachable people seek out those who speak truth to them, even if it is a painful truth, because it protects them and it makes them a better person and leader.”

― Gary Rohrmayer


#thispuzzledlife

	




			
				


	
			
					
	

	

		

			 darnold1975 		


		
Preparation Meets Opportunity
	


	

		
Preparation Meets Opportunity


“The will to win is important, but the will to prepare is vital.”


—Joe Paterno


As a athlete the one thing you always prepare for is Game Day.  Usually this means an opening tournament to kick off the season.  Nevertheless, there are those moments prior to this day that a coach cannot prepare you for.  This is time for you as an athlete to sit with yourself and to reflect on what you’ve been taught, thus far, and to prepare for the upcoming season.


My time was always spend inundating my brain with music prior to ballgames.  This was the time where I could not and would not be disturbed and with my focus becoming even clearer.  I thought about lessons I had already learned and the specifics about our upcoming opponents.  Some things were known about top players via scouting reports but there were a lot of unknowns.  What I did know, though, was that I was being coached by someone who had faith in me and my abilities regardless of my own confidence.  I also knew that I had a “team” that counted on me as much as I did on them.


The time that you take for yourself during these moments is one that might not be shared with the rest of the team and/or coaches.  You imagine yourself making plays and potential plays.  You think earnestly about what you’ve been taught about the game and more specifically “your game.”  What are your strengths and weaknesses?  And how are you as an individual player an asset to your team?


closer than i was


You reflect on how hard you’ve trained and those that have trained you.  My number one concern each year was not whether or not I had been coached effectively.  It was simply, how would I perform as a player.  The heart, guts and ability was there but when it came to “game time” how would I measure


up?  Would I give my all just to fail miserably due to opening day nerves and/or jitters?  Would I succeed but only at the level of average?


I wanted to be the best and the best was what my goal was.  In the rankings 2nd Place was first loser.  Life is not about how much fun you have playing the game.  And in life everyone doesn’t receive a participation trophy.  Life is about winning and losing.  Winning coaches don’t get fired. Top performing athletes don’t get traded.  Sorry but I just don’t buy into “it doesn’t matter if you win or lose” theory.  I was taught that winning does matter and as a athlete if that’s not your goal then why are you even trying or participating.  I do, however, understand that perfection isn’t possible even for the most talented athletes.  There are failures that occur that are also known as “lessons.”  These sometimes come with a high price but you will inevitably learn from them if you’re willing.


The last month I have been spending some much needed time preparing myself for a moment such as this.  I have looked back over the last 6 months since moving to Texas at the incredible struggles that still seem to have with no end in sight.  I have thought about lessons that I’ve already learned from “coach” and her willingness to be compassionate and consistent. I have shot looks in the direction of my demons that you give to an opposing team’s players and coaches when you pass them as they prepare for the same game.  The “stare down” is one that’s meant to size-up your opponent as well as to break them down through intimidation.  And lately, I have stared my demons in the face with a look of “soon, very soon we will meet.”


Without preparing for a season both mentally and physically the results would be less than a desirable outcome.  I’ve hoped and desperately wanted this opportunity that I’m about to have for some time now.  And honestly, even through reflection it’s difficult to imagine that I’ve finally been presented with this very opportunity.  The lessons already learned are some that have been very difficult and gut wrenching.  But now……my demons will answer to me.  Scared as I may still be to face them, I press forward in the battle for my life.  And with any “luck” I might just succeed.  Some say winning is about luck.  But I say that it’s about “Preparation Meets Opportunity.”


“There may be people that have more talent than you, but there’s no excuse for anyone to work harder than you do.”


– Derek Jeter


#thispuzzledlife

	




			
				


	
			
					
	

	

		

			 darnold1975 		


		
The Healing Power of Strangers
	


	

		
The Healing Power of Strangers


“The wound is the place where the light enters you.”

― Rumi


Today was therapy day which was the first session since our big internal revelation about functioning as a team.  After some formalities in conversation we start our work with the our internal group all in one place.  Our protector stands at the plate with a serious, yet also playful, tone as the one who would take direction for the group.  Her blazing stare along with those of her “posse” is enough to cause hesitation and chills with many.  She stares at all members with an almost, “I dare you to step out of line” gaze.  “Coach” then directs her to address those most ostracized. She reluctantly begins to speak to these nicely as she’s told.  When asked what she thought she responds with, “those words tasted like vinegar rolling of my lips.”  The therapeutic point was eventually made, understood and internalize later in the session. And yes, we are still chewing on all of that.


The topics that I despise the most is food, eating and body image soon became the topic of conversation.  The correlations between this struggle and particular traumas were addressed.  And then came the topic about a specific food that I can almost never turn down….SUSHI!!!!!  The is an internally approved food but one in particular like to eat sushi like it’s the only “life force” for survival.  The protector is explained to about the importance of not being so rigid with food choices and abusive comments.  And of course when even internal children are around they pick up on things said by “coach” too.  The kids start shouting with excitement, “Chicken nuggets and ketchup packets…HOORAY!”  Then statements spoken are, “Can we have sushi tonight? Please!!!”  Rolling her eyes she sternly but calmly says, “No.”


We get our assignment for the coming week and I tell “coach” goodbye until next time.  I leave there nervous about the teen’s distaste and controlling nature about eating.  And our little natives were definitely restless.  Over and over I would hear, “Please let me have some sushi!!”  “Yea and chicken nuggets and candy too!!!!  And Ketchup!!!”  I knew that she wouldn’t tolerate much more but the  chants would not stop.  She tries to stay restrained but frustration leads to her snapping at those chanting, “Stop it!  Just stop it!  I said No!”  The children always seem to be protected from the majority of her abuse and they certainly know this.  A certain little 7 year-old says, “Coach says for you to not be an asshole.  And you’re being an asshole. I’m going to tell her!”  This, thankfully, seems to be the only bad word that he says but he can definitely use it liberally at times.  She huffs and puffs like she’s about to blow the house down and says through gritted teeth, “Fine go get some sushi then!”  Cheers ring out while she grumbles.


change your thoughts


We FINALLY settle on a place for the beloved sushi and make a B-Line for the restaurant.  Once there I have a couple of tokes of my medicine with the hope that I can head off the already rising anxiety.  I soon start to relax and get out of the car to watch the sushi piece-by-piece going to meet its maker.  I quickly notice different people in the restaurant and hope that no one can seem me.  Luckily, everyone’s attention seems to be on their own meal or conversation and they don’t notice me.  I fix my plate and then sit down at my table.  I start indulging in this little momentary slice of heaven.  Even when eating completely alone in my room I will start rocking while eating.  This doesn’t change when I’m in public.  It seems to ease the pain of the entire event.  I eat a couple of pieces and then the paranoia and anxiety explode with the thoughts, “This is bad!  This is bad!”  I put on my iPod to try to drown out the loud thoughts while continuing to rock.  I look at my plate scared to eat another piece.  My hands start shaking and I feel like I’m about to throw up.  I look at my plate again and think, “But sushi is an approved food what’s the problem?”  I realize the chaos is not from the protector but is coming from the one he married.  She feels the weight and the stabs of his words, “Look at yourself.  You eat like you’re in prison!  Everyone is watching you.  You disgust me!”


About 15 minutes has now gone by and the whole mood has now changed.  And then…..we make eye contact with another patron.  “Go! You’ve got to leave now because they just saw you”, I hear.  I quickly get up and try to exit the restaurant as quickly and as inconspicuous as possible. I go to pay for my meal and notice a bald woman, at the register,  who was obviously taking cancer treatments.  I’m thinking, “Ok just please hurry.”  I make small talk when it’s my turn to pay about how good the sushi was trying not to convey the difficulties of my recent struggle.  The employee says, “Oh you like sushi?  Sushi good for you.  You not here long.”  I say, “Yea, I’m kind of on a tight schedule.”  All I want is to be out that front door and away from food.


I start walking to my car when the bald woman whom I’ve never met says, “I can tell you struggle with being here.”  I try to blow it off and give a short answer so that I can move on.  “Yea I struggle with being in public and eating issues”, I tell her.  I keep walking to my target and she continues to follow closely beside me.  I keep thinking, “Please don’t say anything intrusive lady.  She is NOT in the mood.”  The lady boldly says, “Honey can I pray for you?”  Sirens go off internally by much more fierce protectors.  “No religion!  No religion!”  I freeze. I start looking for particles of fairy dust in the area and thinking, “Damn I must’ve overpaid her today or something.  How is this happening?”  I oblige her by saying, “Yes, please do.”  She prays specifically for my eating disorder issues and for some reason I know she means no harm.


I relax my guard a bit and we begin to talk briefly.  I find out that she moved to Texas from New York to take part in her own healing not related to the cancer.  After only a couple of minutes she says, “Honey, you’ve got to change to speaking healing in your words.”  Ok….I start looking around for “coach” thinking she has me on hidden camera.  Does this woman have a earpiece where “coach”  is telling her to say these things?  The whole moment seems surreal but comforting.  I told her, “You know I’ve been told those same things recently.”  She says, “No truer words.  You might want to listen.” I tell her goodbye and thank her again for her kindness.  I have no idea what her name was but something powerful had again happened at a time when I needed it.


I sit in my car for a few minutes trying to decipher everything that had just happened.  Why? I wonder.  She was a total stranger.  Why does she even care?  I get home a few minutes later with my fortune cookie still intact.  I always love to read my fortune even if it says, “Your ship will come in before your dock rots.”  This time I open the cookie up to have this written on the slip of paper, “Change your thoughts and you change the world.”  Wow…just…wow.


“No act of kindness, no matter how small, is ever wasted.”


—Aesop


#thispuzzledlife

	




			
				


	
			
					
	

	

		

			 darnold1975 		


		
“10-4 Control We’re 10-8”
	


	

		
“10-4 Control We’re 10-8”


“One single word – like EMERGENCY, or love – can


revise a whole night. A whole life.”    


— Alena Graedon


Several months ago I wrote a blog titled No Thanks Needed.  This was one call that I worked while in the Emergency Medical Service (EMS) field.  Let’s face it, no one calls for an ambulance or seeks out any helping professional because things are going great in their lives.  Likewise, I didn’t seek out counseling because functionality was my No. 1 attribute.  I began seeking counseling because I was being tormented though it was not voiced at the time.


The title of this post “10-4 Control We’re 10-8” I have said hundreds of times while working on the ambulance.  It simply means, “Yes we are enroute.”  I’m sure this varies from service to service depending on the differences in 10 codes and signal numbers nationwide but you get the general idea.  There is no possible way to do justice through words what working in this type of job carries physically, mentally, spiritually and just about any other area of a human being’s existence.


As a teenager, I had my heart set on being a police officer.  Then I determined that since I loved doing drugs that being a police officer was probably not the best option.  However,  I had the need and want to be in some type of helping profession.  At a young 20 years of age the thought of going to school 6 years for a counseling degree was nowhere near the table.  Finding out that I could go to EMT school for 6 months, however, was.  I was beyond excited and totally immersed myself in my studies and training.  My husband wasn’t real excited because the pay was extremely low in that career.  But for me there was a higher calling, the want and need to help people.


emt prayer


I studied myself silly those 6 months and learned everything I possibly could about this exciting field that I saw myself loving naturally.  We were told about different types of scenes that would be a high likelihood that we would encounter. However, nothing could ever prepare me for the things that I would actually see and experience.  In my personal life, though, the grasp of the evil hands of abuse seemed to become tighter and tighter.  He pretended to support my career decision but that’s all that it was….PRETEND.


In February 1997,  fresh out of EMT school and newly married I got my first truck assignment making a meager $4.95/hr with the local ambulance service.  I worked for an ALS (Advanced Life Support Service) which required that a paramedic to also be on the truck.  This meant that the drugs given and additional skills that would be required were higher than my scope of practice.  Some of these skills would include intubation, cardiac monitoring, starting IV’s, giving narcotics and various other skills that I as an EMT-Basic could not legally do.


Performing as an athlete required split second decisions but now it was not about winning ballgames it was about someone’s life.  Mistakes now had a much higher price tag.  The one thing I always tried to be as an EMT was humble.  There were those that had a very narcissistic view of their position and thought of themselves as a god.  This was not a stance of mere confidence but a stance that nauseated me to my core.  Most of the time I would see this in paramedics which we would then refer to them as “Paragods.”  Working alongside confidence rather than blatant narcissism was where you could really learn and working with confident paramedics I did learn.


We were taught in school about the importance of “self-care” while in this career that would be crucial to making it past the national burnout rate which, at that time, was only 5 years.  Included in the self-care education was the importance of EAP counseling after a bad call or mass casualty.  The daily stress of the job and the ongoing abuse at home ensured that I would never come close to that 5 year mark.  There are laws now that regulate the amount of hours that a crew can work without downtime but then apparently there weren’t. It was nothing to have to work 24, 36 or a 48 hour shift with very minimal sleep and/or food.  We were commonly called “Trauma Junkies” because it seemed the more horrific the scene the better as bad as that might sound.


trauma junkie


There were several “bad calls” that I experienced but only a couple where afterwards I went to a supervisor to request EAP services just like what was suggested.  What I was met with was the attitude of “if you can’t handle your job then you might need to consider another career.”  Not only that but then you have to face being ostracized by not only management but also the other medics in the company and seen as “less than” or “weak.”  So, really the only option was to “suck it up” and somehow separate mentally from the daily harsh reality of life.


Anyone who has ever worked in some form of EMS services understands that as a means of survival the job requires that emotions be put to the side and you function purely on logic.  But suppressing these emotions does not mean that emotions were not affected.  In this kind of career there is a lot of maladaptive behaviors that take to the forefront namely drug/alcohol addiction and a high rate of suicide.  Not surprising but nevertheless a reality.  I saw things and was involved in situations that the human brain has difficulty processing and accepting.


My husband’s opinion and others that I’ve spoken with at times posed the statement, “Well you chose the career” or “You have the easiest job on the planet.  All you do is sit on your ass in an air conditioned truck.”  Easiest job on the planet couldn’t have been farther from the truth.  It was one of the most dangerous and taxing jobs that one could possibly encounter.  The downtime that we would have sitting in the truck “posting” at a location was only due to other trucks being on calls and us covering their area.


I have always replied, “Well then who else was going to do the job?  You?”  That was always met with silence.


My husband, at the time, was a newspaper editor and well he didn’t and still doesn’t have a clue what that type of job entails.  I told him more than once, “If you can work on someone’s mother, father, grandmother, child or grandchild for them to still die even after your best efforts and then go home and lay your head on the pillow and sleep soundly doing this day in and day out then you’re not human. You’re a machine.”  The ability to function like this day in and day out requires a certain degree of callousness.  But make no mistake that those calls bothered me then and now.


walk a mile in our boots


For the last 21 years, I have run some of those same calls all day and all night like my career never ended.  The putrid smells of rotting flesh from week old dead bodies that had to be taken to the morgue I can again smell at random times throughout the day.  The smells of blood, fuel and mud/dirt from car wrecks.  The screams of mothers who I had to tell that their child was dead or wouldn’t survive due to the severity of their injuries.  The horrible images of abuse and/or neglect of children, adults and the elderly.  The smell and site of exposed brain matter from head injuries, suicides and or murders.  The individuals that died simply because you couldn’t get them out of the vehicle because the jaws of life were being used elsewhere and subsequently the vehicle caught fire and were burned alive.  The children that would look at you and ask, “Are you going to help my momma or daddy?” While knowing full well that their parent was already dead.  The decapitations that looked and felt like you were in a real live horror film. And the leftover pieces of meat that don’t even resemble a human body after being hit by a train consume my thoughts and emotions when most people lay down for a night’s rest.  It’s at these times, once again, that my shift starts on the once beloved career working on an ambulance.  I didn’t work several years.  I only worked one year on the ambulance until the abuse  at home combined with the daily trauma that I was exposed in this career caused me to buckle.  I saw enough in that one year to still have me waking up in the mornings with my face and shirt wet with sweat.


Without fail whenever I see or hear those lights and sirens, I instantly want to run and jump on the truck and ask, “Ok. What kind of call are we going to?”  Sometimes I’ll still listen to a local scanner to find out what’s going on throughout the city especially on a weekend.  I will also hear those very same words, “10-4 control we’re 10-8” and then the crew is given the next location for an additional call. It’s in those moments that I realize that EMS and the need and want to help people will always be a part of me.  And at night I realize that EMS is still a part of me.


One of the most powerful lessons that was taught to me through experience of working in EMS is to tell those that you care about that you love them even strangers because you might be the only one that speaks those words.  The last words you say might very well be the last words that are said.


“The most basic job of an EMT is to notice things and then wonder about them.”


–Thom Dick


#thispuzzledlife

	




			
				


	
			
					
	

	

		

			 darnold1975 		


		
Remembering The Day Half My Heart Got Wings
	


	

		
Remembering The Day Half My Heart Got Wings


“The times you lived through, the people you shared those times with — nothing brings it all to life like an old mix tape. It does a better job of storing up memories than actual brain tissue can do. Every mix tape tells a story. Put them together, and they can add up to the story of a life.”

― Rob Sheffield, Love Is a Mix Tape


Recently I was asked to write about how it’s been the last three years since my dear Sarah’s death.   The last month has been one of many struggles personally and internally with ‘coach’ doing her best to bust open the rusty chest.  I usually seem to resist in my own way by attempting to appear much stronger than I actually am.  But then on the hot car ride, more like a convection oven on wheels with no air conditioning in the hot Texas sun,  to whatever residence I’m currently occupying are the awaiting late nights and very lonely tears in whatever solitude I might find.


The one thing I am coming to understand that no matter how much you consciously or unconsciously try to either force progress or resistance, the moment only seems to reveal itself when it’s time.  Mind you this is not a conscious resistance but more one of years of conditioning.  This has often led to much frustration on my part behind a curtain of smiles and laughter.  Nevertheless, I have been wanting and wishing for this much needed painful moment like “Lasterday” as our 6 year-old says.


With the struggles and seemingly endless supply of frustrations of everyday life something either good or bad was bound to happen.  Knowing and subsequently feeling the almost familiar impending doom of something unidentifiably, uncomfortable and scary about to reveal itself, all I could do was wait for whatever it was that was about to happen.  Usually, these feelings come with some form of outwardly aggressive behaviors that lead to some unpleasant event.  However, the moment that I had been wanting and needing the last 3.5 years would finally reveal itself.


I’m not actually sure why this particular time was the right time for this level of grief but nevertheless it would happen.  I’m usually pretty damn good at covering up a lot of painful feelings through my humor but Texas struggles seem to be the site of more and more private tears.  Maybe it’s just part of the process but “coach” has been gentle and we have trusted and allowed her guidance. The total mental exhaustion sometimes doesn’t leave much energy for writing.  And in these times solitude and rest seem to be about the only event in which I can muster any energy.


half heart


The struggles of living in an internal world that most can’t comprehend and an outer world that I don’t fit in bares a very heavy weight on both my mind and my heart.  And particularly when I feel like I’m trying to move through life with shoes made of concrete are the times when I want to quickly pick up the phone and call Sarah for her guidance and reassurance.  The reality of the loneliness and emptiness of every such situation the last 3.5 years since her death only brings about tears with little to laugh about when I selfishly need her right then.  And the emptiness seems not able to be filled by anyone but her still at this time.  I have searched but diamonds like that are not easily found.


These past few weeks have brought the feelings of loneliness, abandonment and grief that I buried back in February 2015 and has been recently staring me in the face.  Only when I didn’t avoid the eye contact with my demon did the finality and the pain of her death bring me to my knees in anguish.  My eyes swollen many mornings from several long nights of stinging tears made me look like I had taken a beating from a prized fighter.  It wasn’t until I was reading a former blog post called Passing The Torch that I realized that one possible contributing factor was that her approaching birthday of July 11th was drawing near.  This just seemed to make the grief that much more painful.  I knew that I had been missing her but her birthday just seemed to creep up on me like a dark figure until there was no escape from the shadowed figure.  I didn’t want anyone else’s comfort.  I wanted HER and ONLY HER.  The only way I was able to explain how it felt was like it was the day of her death and my heart was hemorrhaging.  I just hurt all over.


A most well voiced lady one day wrote and spoke about death so eloquently.  Dr. Maya Angelou, describes this feeling perfectly…..


When I Think Of Death


When I think of death, and of late the idea has come with


alarming frequency, I seem at peace with the idea that a day


will dawn when I will no longer be among those living in this


valley of strange humors.


I can accept the idea of my own demise, but I am unable to


accept the death of anyone else.


I find it impossible to let a friend or relative go into that


country of no return.


Disbelief becomes my close companion, and anger follows in


its wake.


I answer the heroic question ‘Death, where is thy sting?


‘ with ‘ it is here in my heart and mind and memories.’


—-Maya Angelou


Very simply put I have been lost since the day Sarah took her last breath.  I was fortunate to have been in the room when she did that very thing.  She and I both made a promise that we would be in each other’s lives until the very end.  I, honestly, never thought that it would be so soon but I was blessed to have seen and been a part of many different areas and roles of her life.  My life was blessed, as well as, 1000’s of other people mainly other addicts and alcoholics that she chose to plant the initial seed of recovery in some way into their lives.  And to have she and her husband Doug at my undergraduate college graduation several years back was a day that I couldn’t stop smiling.  I look forward to joining her, at some point, once again in an effort to make part of my heart whole again.  For 15 years, I was blessed to have a beautiful, authentic and loving creature touch mine in a way that I will respectfully always call her my “Chosen Mom.”  Because the day she died was the day that half of my heart also got wings.


#thispuzzledlife

	




			
				


	
			
					
	

	

		

			 darnold1975 		


		
The 1-2 Punch
	


	

		
The 1-2 Punch


“Grief is perhaps an unknown territory for you.  You might feel


both helpless and hopeless without a sense of a ‘map’ for


the journey.  Confusion is the hallmark of a transition.


To rebuild both your inner and outer world is a major project.”


–Anne Grant


Another sleepless night and I’ll just call I….grief and shame.  It comes with no instruction manual or statute of limitation.  To me it’s one of our body and mind’s deepest and purest emotions.  Grief is one of these emotions that float around in our psyche waiting for its “perfect” time to be exposed.  Its perfect timing usually does not equate to our perfect timing.  Some of us prefer to grieve in private to hide whatever shame we’ve been intentionally or unintentionally exposed to about the process.  No matter how heavy or light the grieving is on a more intimate level we would usually prefer to have someone close by for support.


My personal grieving process is one that’s very confusing and shame based. While still living at home with my parents prior to my relationship with my ex-husband, grieving was considered a natural part of life.  Emotions were acknowledged and processed usually around the dinner table.  At the hands of an abusive teacher at age 13, was the first time I very distinctly remember being shamed for my tears.  Tears were no longer seen as an emotion but rather as a weakness.  The lesson learned from this experience was “Ignore the emotion. Hide the tears.  The abuse won’t stop but it shouldn’t get worse.”


trauma


Tried and true this method worked for this moment and many more years.  I had no idea where powerful emotions other than anger went.  They just seemed to dissipate as quickly as when they appeared.  The grief has been out of sight from the naked eye.  Though it was only buried and not gone.


Grieving around my ex-husband was never acceptable as you can imagine.  His grief no matter how minute seemed to always be justified.  My tears led to comments about being “childish and embarrassing” for him especially when in public.  At home behind the dread closed doors, I was still called “childish” and “stupid.” I was also made fun of, laughed at and “taught a lesson about being an adult” by way of some sexual encounter.  I very quickly learned how to also control those emotions with a shovel and dirt.  So where do the emotions go?  They are buried deep in the ground where your heart rests.   They are festering sometimes for years one on top of another.  Eventually maybe sooner rather than later a foreign substance or maladaptive behavior comes along that seems to provide some type of pseudo-catharsis.  It presents itself as the dependable one who will always be loyal and non-judgmental and a best friend  We buy into the rationalizations only to have the name ADDICTION tattooed on our foreheads like a scarlet letter.  The substance and/or behavior soon becomes the “best friend” that will cut out throats leaving only a trail of destruction to show the quality of the relationship.  This “stuffing” of emotions is in no way exclusive to grief.


Shame


Three years after the death of Sarah and I sit here quietly in the wee hours of the morning, in my bed facing this very emotion.  A heavy heart and a lump in my throat that seems to be limiting my air flow is the result of this incredibly painful memory.  From the time we were notified that she was terminally ill until she passed away from approximately 1.5 weeks.  I felt as though I had no time for grieving because I had promised to do the difficult job of being with her until the very end.  Out of respect, I felt that I needed a safer time and place to deal with this.  However, tears just seemed to continue to fall despite the fact that I could not feel any emotion.  I vowed to process this the minute I got back to Albuquerque.


Once I was able to line up another therapy session the weight of Sarah’s death and the miscarriage of Copeland’s twin got the best of me and I began sobbing like a child.  I was being so vulnerable and raw with my emotions for the first time since the horrible days of not being allowed to grieve around my husband.  I just needed to be able to cry as an adult child and parent for these heavy losses.  I hungered for something as simple as compassion.  This day and time “compassion” would be the illusive fugitive.  The response I received from this “trusted” professional was, “Dana give me a break.  She wasn’t your real mom and that wasn’t a real baby.”  All I could do was freeze and try not to vomit.  It was like another 1-2 punch experienced many times previously but all in their own unique fashion.  I became numb and have no further recollection of the remaining time in session.


inner children


In the years since this happened any time emotions about the loss of Sarah make it to my throat but rarely do they leave my eyes. The shame for grieving even with so-called “safe” people now felt “unsafe.”  This incident alone has made for some difficult therapeutic baggage.  I don’t know how to put what happened into words but betrayal is how it felt then and now.  Being able to address this topic with professionals on a level deeper than just superficial has been nearly impossible because of one thing…FEAR.


Luckily after this incident our trusted couple’s therapist of 6 years, at the time, was patiently awaiting the return with open arms as we come back licking our wounds.  Unfortunately though the damage had already been done.  The same actions by my former perpetrators had now rolled out of the mouth of my therapist.  When I finally met “coach” in nothing less than a flamboyant display of behavior my distrust and subsequent hatred for professionals of any kind was very evident.


I’ve always said that compassion is my kryptonite.  “Coach” hasn’t let me down in this area.  It’s been a very slow process to learn to trust the right kind of “safe” people.  As the boiling lava of grief surrounding the loss of Sarah and our unborn child continues to fester, I still find myself going into the closet in my bedroom to cry so that no one else in the house can hear me.  The few times I actually do shed tears around others is simply because I consider them my very closest.  As I continue to deal with the shame of showing intimate emotions I also realize that I’m working with someone who would never treat me like that.  With all the complexity of untangling some very painful areas of my past, I must admit that I can leave that for someone other than me.  When I met “coach” someone in the same professional position had planted a seed about the possibility that it could happen again.  The pain of it slowed me down but again compassion is winning out. And slowly but surely my tears are finding their way out of my eyes again.


“Shame corrodes the very part of us that believes we are capable of change.”


–Dr. Brene Brown


#thispuzzledlife

	




			
				


	
			
					
	

	

		

			 darnold1975 		


		
The Magnitude Of Waves
	


	

		
The Magnitude of Waves


“A successful man is one who can lay a firm foundation


with the bricks others have thrown at him”


– David Brinkley


My life in the last few years has become one of seclusion.  Not total seclusion at this particular time but if that became a necessity again it would be a very easy transition.  My brain already chaotic with chatter and confusion makes the simplest of tasks, in public and private, incredibly difficult.  Isolation is something that I struggle with as it is a comfort zone for me and my quirkiness.


We as a human species require some form of human interaction.  This also explains why so many inmates that are placed in segregation for periods of time begin to decompensate and seem to start to atrophy mentally almost immediately.  And although having only limited resources within a controlled prison environment inmates will become creatively destructive just to pass the time in order to fight an internal collapse.  And there are others who become creative in a way to establish their own form of “hustle” in order to survive in these institutions.


I’ve been asked several times by different people, “What do you do in there all day?”  I have, in a sense, simplified (which is  sometimes debatable) my life by leaning on the things I enjoy such as:  listening and singing copious amounts of music; watching documentaries and reality shows; spend hours of researching different topics; reading scholarly journal articles; working on the inevitable therapeutic assignments; and writing so that my story and truth can finally be told.  I also spend a lot of time locked away in a sometimes dangerous playground….the one between my ears.  I, like other inmates of society, have a lot of time to think about my past, present and uncertain future for hours on end.  I also get to know more every day about the inner workings of internal “teammates.”


waves


In the wake of therapeutic activities guided by “coach” and the recent  agreement of a very reluctant teen to be more compassionate with other members others are finally being heard.   The issues of not being heard by others both internally and externally seems to be the general consensus throughout my system for many years.  While these “parts” of me feel separate they are still all a part of me.  Does this mean that I also have not been willing to listen to my parts who are still suffering?  Am I also negating my own thoughts and feelings that were convincingly told to me that they were wrong no matter what?  Maybe this is, in fact, a harsh reality that has been brought into the “tough love” of realization.


After lessons recently learned in therapy, I have been trying to listen intently to how each alter is doing in all facets of existence.  I always knew that the crippling waves of just about any feelings were connected to these warriors.  Deciphering who they belong to has been challenging to say the least.  The very loud and vocal ones are not that difficult to distinguish certain connections.  The ones who have been silenced seldom divulge the truth for fear of retaliation internally and externally then and now.


When it came her turn to speak this young bride with a steady stream of tears and visible anxiety begins to reveal her feelings not HIS.  And soon the pressure could not be withheld and the levees were breached.  The level of grief and torment I realized I never knew existed within her.  Grieving was incredibly dangerous to acknowledge around him.  The insults, ridicule and humiliation for her true feelings had to be buried to survive.  But that’s all they were…buried not eradicated.  Years of sitting in an ever expanding vat of deadly emotion being forced into submission was now boiling like hot lava.  Waves of heavy, depressive emotion crawl into my guts and soul like the waves from the ocean from a very angry Hurricane Katrina.  They make their way onto the land ripping precious items back out to the sea despite internal resistance.  And like the destruction of these powerful forces of nature after the waves subside, you never see specifically the precious items of “self” that are missing.  All you see is the destruction that  of the  once vile ways that humans can treat others and leave them for dead.


I look over to the still rebellious but somewhat compliant teen just to notice her reaction.  Her scowls, growling and ever growing distaste for the situation was evident.  I look at her with some slight form of confidence and fear to say, “Coach gave you direction for what you need to do.  And now I WILL tell and not keep it secret.”  I look back at the young bride and the first time with true compassion I tell her, “It’s time that you’re finally heard.  Coach is anxiously awaiting your story.  Use your voice.  Don’t fear her.  Help is here.”  She being one with eating and body image issues I thought I would again try to lighten the mood.  I tell her, “Don’t fear the tears because you’re losing water weight when you cry.”  The destruction has been left but the rebuilding has started.


#thispuzzledlife

	




			
				


	
			
					
	

	

		

			 darnold1975 		


		
The True Meaning of Sacrifice
	


	

		
The True Meaning of Sacrifice


“Once you agree upon the price you and your family must pay for success,


it enables you to ignore the minor hurts, the opponent’s pressure,


and the temporary failures.”


–Vince Lombardi


Memorial Day is the day of the year where we celebrate and recognize the ultimate sacrifice given by those who served our country.  It’s not about the barbeques or all day swimming with friends and family.  The tumultuous times regarding the leadership and safety of our country is not only seen on major news channels but also witnessed within our own living rooms.  Our troops returning home have sacrificed the life of daily freedoms and modern conveniences to go fight to protect our freedoms.  Often times, though, when they return the true meaning and consequences of fighting a war now have redirected their once simple way of living by way of PTSD and all the complications that go along with it.


As I attempt to live this life with my own issues, I am often met by complete strangers who see my medical alert dog tag identifying PTSD as my condition.  They soon notice and sometimes question the many scars on my forearms.  They ask, “Were you in the military?  Did you go to fight the war?”  My response is always, “Ma’am/sir I didn’t fight or serve for our country.  But fighting a war I have done since I was a young child.”  It is at this point that the questions usually cease and their own uncomfortability surfaces not knowing what to say next.  And well….I usually let them marinate in their own thoughts without explanation.


epcot family


Today marks mine and Mel’s 11 year anniversary.  We don’t count our “legal” anniversary because well that was controlled by the laws of the land prior to that date.  Our marriage and family life has been one of sacrifice both individually and collectively since day one.  We have sacrificed relationships with both friends and family as a result of our love for one another.  And we have also sacrificed many parts (no pun intended) of our relationship as a direct result of my own personal traumas and the scars and open sores which they have left.


And yet again we find ourselves continuing to sacrifice our family cohesiveness and my time away from our children all in the hopes for better days ahead.  I can write clear headed for now and these are the times where I can see the importance of that sacrifice.  There are days recently where I’m blinded by the tragedy of those traumas and living life is not a priority in any fashion.  Sometimes, though, I seem to get sucked down into the ditch of a previous life when the only option was to survive or die.  The images of abusive memories soon become those not of the past but of the present.


Mel patiently and very lovingly makes sure the kids are taken care of and are safe and have some form of normalcy for them all.  The tears she silently cries I don’t know about now.  I’ve seen enough of her tears for me, our children and our family unit to last me the rest of my life.  She and the kids continue to heal their own wounds while I search for answers of my own.  She loves me but knows that this walk I’m on has come to a point where I have to do it without them.  The continuation of hope for a day when I will have been able to shed some of these layers of hurt and pain and to function as a happy and healthy member of our family seems to be in the back of her mind at all times.


There was no possible way for us to envision the what the term “sacrifice” would entail.  She and I both continue to watch and be a part of daily struggles regarding attachment, trust and bonding even with the most compassionate people. My absence for birthdays, kindergarten graduations and just daily life as a family can never be gotten back.  However, the days of being genuinely happy to be alive and to one day be able to be “fully present” for future events is all the justification we need to know that the right decision was made for me to move here to do this work.


The transition has been one that has not been easy in any sense of the word.  I brought therapy baggage that has complicated things in ways that I thought would be easy to ignore and work through.  What I’ve found is that that couldn’t be further from the truth.  This is also when the words spoken by trusted coaches ring very loudly in my heart and soul which say, “Keep swinging the bat.  Keep shooting the ball because no athlete plays perfectly all the time.  And it’s these times when you have to keep going and try, try again until you achieve the results you want. It’s about hard work and never giving up.”


Happy Anniversary, Mel!!!


#thispuzzledlife

	




			
				


	
			
					
	

	

		

			 darnold1975 		


		
Soul Murder
	


	

		
Soul Murder


“They are all innocent until proven guilty. But not me. I am a liar until I am proven honest.” 

― Louise O’Neill, Asking For It


I have written and spoken several times about my life and domestic violence.  Under the umbrella of domestic violence are several forms such as:  physical abuse; emotional abuse; controlling or domineering; intimidation; stalking; passive/covert abuse; economic deprivation; endangerment; criminal coercion; kidnapping; unlawful imprisonment; trespassing; harassment and sexual abuse.  I knew that several years after leaving him that something about our sex life continued to haunt me.  I didn’t know what it was called but I always knew what it felt like….SOUL MURDER.


In the conservative deep south, I was brought up like many children to “save yourself for your husband.”  This was not a tall order for me as sports was my number one priority.  I would meet him at the age of 17 which was 19 years his junior.  Naivety led me right into the cold awaiting arms of a predator disguised as “Prince Charming.”  He used the one promise that he knew I couldn’t refuse to set the hook and reel me in “I will help you find your birth family.”  Rolling off his silver tongue of manipulation would be the promises of a future with a man who would “treat me like his queen.”  But like most things that seem too good to be true his promises would turn out to be lies.


I guess what made this so confusing was that I NEVER saw my dad treat my mom with disrespect.  I was questioning the whole time, “This is what I saved myself for?”  He was my first and the guy that finally trusted in such an intimate fashion only to have that trust betrayed in a way that is still too difficult to handle emotionally.  I secretly wondered why I was never told about this side of marriage.  The truth despite his “brainwashing” justifications for his actions was that no this was not normal and healthy marriages do NOT consist of this type of dominating behavior.


soulmurder.jpg


Many years later while looking for answers regarding the strange, threatening and coercive nature especially with the passages of the Bible about how a “woman is to submit to her husband,” I came across the term Marital Rape and I knew instantly that this was what had happened.  The term marital rape describes “any unwanted sexual acts by a spouse or ex-spouse that is committed without the other person’s consent. Such illegal sexual activity are done using force, threat of force, intimidation, or when a person is unable to consent. The sexual acts include intercourse, anal or oral sex, forced sexual behavior with other individuals, and other sexual activities that are considered by the victim as degrading, humiliating, painful, and unwanted. It is also known as spousal rape” (https://definitions.uslegal.com/m/marital-rape/, 2018).


I personally have not been able to make sense of such an intimate form of betrayal.  This type of violence destroys you from the inside out.  Remembering how scared I was as a young child when the first time I was introduced to sexual abuse the rules of these types of scenarios were still very clear.  The easiest and least painful way to get through the moment was to give in to their demands.  If you try to fight them the abuse gets worse.  If you don’t “perform” for them the abuse gets worse.  And as I was told many times, “What are YOU going to tell them Dana?  You’re the “head case” with the mental history, not me.”  The puppet master continued to pull the strings to make sure that his needs and only his needs were met.


leftovers


Even as I write this the nausea bubbling like a pot on a stove builds its way to the back of my throat as I think about and remember the vile ways that I was treated as property rather than as a human being. I was not a wife but rather a legal whore.  Being told what I was going to do for him and then berated with humiliating and very damaging body image comments afterwards just seems to further rake into your soul with the devil’s claw.  Consensual loving sex is not…


    

  • Forced sex. This should be obvious. But some men have the mistaken idea that marriage changes the rules. It doesn’t. If a husband holds his wife down, pushes her, or imposes sex by hurting her, it’s rape. Making love doesn’t include making someone cry.
    • 

  • Sex when the wife feels threatened. If a husband forces sex through verbal threats of harm to the woman or to people or things she cares about or if he comes to her in a barely contained rage, she can’t consent. She can only comply rather than risk being harmed either physically or emotionally.
    • 

  • Sex by manipulation. If a husband calls his wife names, accuses her of not being a good wife, or blackmails her emotionally by suggesting she’s so bad in bed that he will go elsewhere, he’s manipulating her. Some men even threaten to leave and take the kids with him if their wives don’t comply with demands for sex. When a wife falls for these tactics, it isn’t consent. It’s rape.
    • 

  • Sex when the wife can’t give consent. Loving sex is genuinely consensual. If a woman is drugged, asleep, intoxicated or unconscious, she obviously can’t give consent. Even if she says “yes” in such circumstances, the “consent” isn’t valid or truthful. She’s in no shape to consider the consequences or to participate as a willing partner.
    • 

  • Sex by taking a woman hostage. Some men keep themselves in a position of superiority by controlling all the money, by making contact with friends and family difficult to impossible, or by making sure there is no way for her to get transportation out of the house. The woman becomes a hostage in her own home. Like many hostages, she gives up and gives in to whatever he wants — including sex.
    • 

  • Sex when the woman feels she has no choice. Giving in isn’t the same as giving consent. When a woman feels that it’s just easier to give in to sex than to respect her own needs, she is being raped (https://psychcentral.com/lib/marital-rape/, 2016).
    • 



THE PSYCHOLOGICAL EFFECTS OF SUCH BEHAVIORS INCLUDE:


    

  • Short-term psychological effects include PTSD, anxiety, shock, intense fear, depression and suicidal ideation.
    • 

  • Long-term psychological effects include disordered sleeping, disordered eating, depression, intimacy problems, negative self-images, and sexual dysfunction (https://vawnet.org/material/marital-rape-new-research-and-directions, 2018).
    • 



COMMON WAYS THAT ABUSERS AVOID RESPONSIBILITY FOR SEXUAL ASSAULT


    

  • Denial: Acting as if nothing out of the ordinary happened, boldly stating that it didn’t happen, calling you crazy for saying that it did, saying he doesn’t remember.
    • 

  • Rationalization: “You must have wanted it” “You could have stopped me,” “A husband is entitled to it”; Rationalization is also blaming you: ” If you gave me more sex I wouldn’t have to force you”
    • 

  • Minimization: I didn’t really hurt you” “You’re making a fuss about nothing” “I just wanted to make love to you.”
    • 

  • Claiming Loss of Control: “I was too turned on to stop”, “You make me so angry” (https://pandys.org/articles/partnerrapeoverview.html, 2009).
    • 



To say that I’ve lacked a fulfilling intimate sex life would be the understatement of my life.  The level of fear that I experience even with the most supportive relationship cannot accurately be described with words.  Whether it be child alters, teen alters or adult alters who step in to try and make this very part of my life possible, it always becomes a disaster.  Oh and the mood gets squashed when you think, “Finally, I can do this!” But, yet, you find yourself running from the bedroom straight to the bathroom to vomit.


What I can say about this type of abuse over many years is this….


He not only raped my body, he also raped my mind and murdered my soul.  I was very fortunate to meet someone like Mel who is one of the most caring, understanding and compassionate people I know.  Our relationship has always been based on love and not sex.  I married someone who loves me for the shattered and leftover parts of someone who use to be a fully functioning human being.  It took me loving and bowing down to a monster to be able to recognize an angel.  She and I walk hand-in-hand often with tears in both of our eyes trying to find a way through all the destruction.  She didn’t ask to be married to a spouse with so many complex problems both physically and mentally.  She does it because she loves me.  Would I go through it all again just to have her?  I go through it every day.  The abuse has never stopped.


“Here, from her ashes you lay. A broken girl so lost in despondency that you know that even if she does find her way out of this labyrinth in hell, that she will never see, feel, taste, or touch life the same again.”

― Amanda Steele, The Cliff


#thispuzzledlife

	




			
				


	
			
					
	

	

		

			 darnold1975 		


		
My Own Prison
	


	

		
My Own Prison


“To be able to break free from prison, one must know how they became imprisoned to begin with.”


—Anonymous


One of the things I’ve learned through the process of trying to live with this disorder are “triggers.”  Triggers are anything that can set off a memory that can take someone back in time to when the original trauma.  It’s like being in an instant time machine.  A trigger can be anything related to sight, sound, smell or taste.  These seemingly innocent moments to most people can set off internal and external eruptions in others.  This can often lead to strong and immediate reactions by those they affect.


I don’t have all of the answers about these little disruptive beasts yet.  And no matter how much I want all of the answers immediately I have to always keep in mind that it has taken me 42 years to become this dysfunctional and repair work does not happen overnight.  I guess to be cliché this process is “a marathon not a sprint.”


The ultimate goal of therapy is to be able to acknowledge these events but not let them overtake you.  Before this can happen specific triggers must first be identified and the event can be processed.  Recently, I did a therapeutic assignment related to this very thing.  One of my personal and very strong triggers is the feelings of being trapped either physically and/or emotionally.  This is one of the biggest reasons why I don’t have much success in lockdown psychiatric units and inpatient programs.  My ultimate goal is ALWAYS TO GET OUT!


confinement


While doing this assignment I looked specifically at individual traumatic situations where these fears were imposed and I was instantly blown away.  I had no idea how “trapped” I have felt the majority of my life.  When I began breaking down the different time periods for these situations things have begun to make a little more sense.  I felt myself becoming nauseous and beginning to float away while looking deep inside for these answers.  Here are just a few that were identified.


    

  1. Being molested by people older, at the young age of 5 years old, and not feeling powerful enough to make it stop while also holding these secrets left me feeling trapped.  These abusers were also our neighbors and were always around me because of how close our two families were even at church.
    2. 

  2. As a teenager, I was trapped as some sick form of sport and/or punishment in a closet where I was verbally abused, humiliated and tormented on a daily basis.  I was like a dog that was chained to a tree and forced into aggression.  I was often sent to the office to face false accusations by the administration where no verdict other than GUILTY was ever considered.  I always felt as though no one would listen and that no one cared what was happening.  The times I reported that this teacher was “being mean” ultimately got back to her and the abuse intensified.  I was often belittled and embarrassed in front of my classmates.  The reality of that situation was that there was no way out….period.  That was the first time that I ever had any type of suicidal feelings of any kind.  Her words still burn deeply as the day that were first said.
    3. 

  3. Anyone who has experienced domestic violence, in any form, knows the fear and panic of wanting and needing to leave but terrified of the repercussions.  I was also followed and constantly watched.  The mental anguish from his degrading comments and vile actions left me feeling completely lost, broken and fearing my own decisions.  No matter what decision I made it would always be wrong.  He had me convinced that I would never be able to do anything without him because I was too dumb.  The most powerful statement he ever made to me was “You’ll never get rid of me.” And so far this statement has not been untrue.  I was trapped.
    4. 



trapped


These are just a few examples of feeling trapped.  And now….I’m trapped by all of the memories, images and statements that were made by those individuals.  I still can’t seem to break free from the abuse as it torments me daily.  The paranoia of being watched, followed or being attacked has me questioning the intensions of others.  Instead of waiting to see if the paranoia holds validity, I protect myself by being very verbally aggressive to innocent people who just happen to making seemingly non-malicious comments or glances.  Essentially, I’m in a perpetual state of being triggered.  Waiting for a happy ending that never happened during my trauma and today only fuels my impulsiveness in this area.


Being around too many people with too much stimulation sends me and my “protectors” into overdrive and into a state of fight or flight.  It seems to overload my brain, thus, making me think I’m in danger.  The anxiety becomes so uncomfortable that the only thing I can do is just “get away” in whatever form that might take.  I seem to tame this only by being alone and secluded from most people including those I dearly love.  I have become a prisoner of myself and life.  The dichotomous view of life leaves me imprisoned by my fears within four walls of my bedroom.  Outside of these walls I’m simply prepared for battle in one way or another by indiscriminately striking out at anything that moves. The situation that comforts me is also the walls of my self-created but protective prison.  My abuse was very real and still is. And I’m a work in progress.


#thispuzzledlife

	




			
				


	
			
					
	

	

		

			 darnold1975 		


		
Miracles Right In Front Of Us
	


	

		
The Miracles Right in Front of Us


“Miracles happen every day, change your perception of what


a miracle is and you’ll see them all around you.”


–Jon Bon Jovi


Easter is the time when most if not all Christians celebrate the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ.  Jesus has always been widely known for performing miracles.  While living in New Mexico and working with a melting pot homeless population you begin to see that religion and spirituality can take on  many different meanings for different people.  My decision was simple do I accept their differences?  And well…..it was a very easy decision a resounding YES!!!  As individuals we are not made to fit into a box.  The point in being an individual is that you’re different from others.  You are uniquely you.


The clients that I worked with came from many different walks of life and belief systems.  I allowed them to be and feel accepted without judgment.  Pretty soon a mutual respect was developed and connection with them was made.  I’ve heard different stories about miracles happening mainly from religious people.  Working with the substance abusing homeless populations sometimes the miracles were only for one or two to see.


Where 12-step recovery was really pushed there not all of the clients were accepting.  This is when I began to see the importance of individuality in the counseling field.  I also learned that the term “recovery” can mean different meaning for people.  Some prayed to God, Allah, The Great Spirit, the earth, nature, the spirits, etc.


The miracles that I’m specifically talking about were maybe something like being able to have a genuine smile during a conversation.  It might’ve been learning to trust someone who is white because of  the transgenerational trauma forced on their people.  It could’ve simply been someone treating them with respect rather than as a label.  Or it could’ve been about someone willing to listen when no one else would.  Nevertheless, for these clients miracles happened.


miracle.jpg


The detox center might have been the only place where the term “recovery” was ever mentioned to them..  There’s an obvious shortage in substance abuse treatment centers throughout the nation.  But with the population that I worked with most had no insurance because they were homeless.  This ensured them being discharged back into a very hostile living situation.  Consequently, the rate of recidivism was very high.  One thing I knew without a doubt is that they would call sometimes looking for something, as simple as, a warm cot and a sandwich.


I think a lot of times that “we,” as a society, have a definition of miracles where we expect people to walk on water or raise the dead so we can catch the proof on our IPhone.  And many times life circumstances keeps us temporarily blinded to the beauty that sits before us.  I’m certainly not an exception to that rule either.  The weight of my trauma gets so incredibly heavy sometimes that the only thing I can see is the unfairness, despair and hopelessness related to it all.


The good days are the ones that drop by just like an intermittent reward system when gambling.  You keep putting money in the machine and winning minimally or not at all.  And then there’s the win, though not too big, that keeps the dialogue of “I’m close, I can feel it” continuing.  If  look at how the stars line up in our lives sometimes we realize that other painful situations had to happen for the miracle to occur.  Here’s are a few of the miracles that I’ve noticed in my life.  This list is by no means exhaustive.


1). It’s a miracle that I made it through my former marriage alive.


2.)  It’s a miracle that Sarah Pardue and I crossed paths in a treatment center  because I was a drug addict/alcoholic that was angry and running amuck in life.


3.)  I was a miracle that I met my best friend and soul mate, Melody Landrum-Arnold, and I met each other through Sarah.


4.)  It was a miracle that Mel and I ever left the deep south.


5.)  It was a miracle that we met our therapist in Albuquerque.  She turned out to be one of the very rare finds in that state. She was certainly the wind beneath our family’s wings.


6.) It was a miracle that both of our invitro babies Marshall, 6, and Copeland, 3, made it successfully to their forever home with two mommies.


7.)  It’s a miracle that we made it out of New Mexico as a couple due to so many years of stress and a lot of it related to my mental illness.


8.)  And how could I ever forget what a miracle it was to find a new coach that saw my anger and rage, knowing me very little, while on an inpatient unit and still willing to work with a group of broken children trying to function as a healthy adult.


9.) And well….leaving my two boys and my dear wife to go live in a state and sacrifice not having the time with them in order to work with my coach regularly in an attempt to save my own life….that too is a miracle.


At the detox center, I would work around the rules to get everyone who asked for help some type of help no matter the situation.  And sometimes……they would show up hoping to see a friendly face and maybe experience another little miracle.  And well…every encounter with them I experienced a miracle too.


#thispuzzledlife

	




			
				


	
			
					
	

	

		

			 darnold1975 		


		
Puppet Master
	


	

		
Puppet Master


“An abuser can seem emotionally needy. You can get caught in a trap of catering to him, trying to fill a bottomless pit. But he’s not so much needy as entitled, so no matter how much you give him, it will never be enough. He will just keep coming up with more demands because he believes his needs are your responsibility, until you feel drained down to nothing.”


― Lundy Bancroft, Why Does He Do That?: Inside the Minds of Angry and Controlling Men


In my seemingly unending quest for answers about my past and present, I’m constantly trying to make connections about my current belief system, every day decision making, the tears, jokes and, yes, even the smiles and laughter.  What I’ve slowly learned about the effects of abuse is that no matter what form of abuse was carried out, your belief system about yourself and the world around you will inevitably be changed.  I had very little physical abuse but i was subjected to emotional and sexual abuse.


Narcissism seems to be a common thread among abusers.  They are their own God but most of all they make themselves your God.  The only way I  learned how to deal with them is by stroking their enormous egos.  Today being around someone that makes even a narcissistic comment will usually trigger some type of a knee jerk reaction from me.  Usually, it just ensures that you bought some form of argument with me at a sale price.  I can’t stand it and it infuriates me.  Even a person with a big personality triggers me.  Depending on which alter is triggered, I’ll either be very aggressive or I’ll “cow tow” and avoid eye contact.  Either way socially both are very problematic.


People sometimes seem to think that if you don’t have black eyes and broken bones that abuse couldn’t have possibly happened.  What they don’t understand is that there are gaping wounds unseen by the naked eye that are looking back at them.  As the partner your job is trying to help the abuser to cover their own tracks.  And making continuous attempts at achieving their unattainable requests and demands.  You become convinced over time that everything in the world that goes wrong must have some connection to you.  His beliefs were the only ones that were right and your beliefs are now non-existent because they were seen as wrong and stupid.


One of the most hurtful comments I’ve heard about domestic violence of any kind is “Well he only did what you allowed him to do.”  This insinuates that in some sick way I enjoyed or was ok with  the things that I was being subjected to.  This couldn’t be any farther from the truth.  Some say that individuals who are narcissistic abusers lack the capacity to empathize.  Personally, I think they can empathize but it’s with the ultimate goal of manipulation in the form of pseudo-empathy. The abuse creates trauma bonding with the abuser which makes it incredibly difficult for the partner to leave the increasingly abusive relationship.


puppetgirl


The relationship pretty much consisted of my husband pretending through intense involvement and idealization which was quickly followed by devaluing.  However, instead of discarding me when he was finished he would begin telling me everything I did that was wrong including myself for just existing. He would begin luring me back with his silver tongue of promises and things that I could do to make sure that never happened again.  Once the idealistic narcissist has gotten their partner to commit, yet again, to the relationship the true self of the narcissist re-emerges.


First the belittling comments begin which then escalate to a narcissistic rage.  Their feelings of inadequacy which are at the heart of the narcissist will then be projected onto the partner.  And soon once the narcissist makes a mistake it then is transferred the partner as their fault.  They also use manipulative abuse that leads their victims to questioning their own thoughts and behaviors.  I was subjected to public humiliation when he would say something that seemed benign to the public but is very offensive to the me.  He does this because he enjoyed the emotional reaction that it would provoke in all parties.  Ultimately, the narcissist takes no responsibility for any relationship difficulties and shows no feelings of remorse.  And then they believe themselves to be the true victim because their partner could not meet their expectations. The path of destruction this leaves within the psyche of the partner is colossal.


As every single day that I continue to try and recover from a total of 14 years of his abuse, my heart hurts for the woman who loved so hard that it nearly killed her.  And now instead of exuding confidence she exudes fear, shame in her tears and the feeling that her soul is already dead.  After all when she use to try to speak to him about her reoccurring depression he would say with laughter, “Depressed?  What do you, of all people, need to be depressed about?  You have it made living with me.  For the love of God, Dana, get off the cross cause someone else needs the wood.”  Comments like this all the time left me fearing my own tears that I couldn’t control falling many times.  I felt guilty for always being depressed.   And above all, I felt guilty for thinking that he was in any small way disrespectful towards me.  Because I believed that it was ME that made him act and react the way he did.  He couldn’t possibly be telling me lies about this because I was the dumb one who couldn’t see to get things right.


Crying which works as a medication to cleanse the soul has never done me any favors with abusive people.  It always made the abuse that much worse because now you are seen as weak.  I learned not to cry and didn’t for many years. Those tears seemed to go away but only to the inside where I felt completely alone but comforted. But, I did cry to my razors.  And they were the ones that were the most non-judgmental.  Living with and being abused by a narcissist I learned one thing….They don’t have time to consider your feelings because they’re too busy trying to make sure that you’re taking care of their feelings.  And in essence they can’t see the beauty of a person because they’re always looking for what’s wrong with them.  I have heard people say,  “Well at least he didn’t break anything on you.”  Shamefully and secretly I have thought, “He didn’t have to raise his hand to break me. He was my puppet master.”


#thispuzzledlife

	




			
				


	
			
					
	

	

		

			 darnold1975 		


		
Tears That Still Drip Sore
	


	

		
Tears That Still Drip Sore


“A pattern of raised crisscrossed scars, some old and white, others more


recent in various shades of pink and red. Exposing the stress


of the structure underneath its paint”

― Amy Efaw, After


Sometimes the material and subsequent titles for these blog posts come from out of nowhere.  I begin writing and then sometimes I just watch as the words are typed. I’m sort of multi-talented like that at times.  Stand in the way of children and teens while they’re attempting to have their input on a blog and well…..it’s just not worth the frustration.  Anyway, this is a topic that, literally, continues to resurface.  As an angry teen, I thought that I had found something that could help me somewhat contain the intense aggression that seemed to be so foreign and scary.  And just like the drug that seems to come along a the perfect weak moment to sweep you off your feet and directly into a marriage with it so, did my razors.


Since the day we met I haven’t found another chemical or behavior that has launched such a false sense of safety and control for me.  Yes I have seemingly have a continuous love affair with eating disorders.  Self-harm just seems to be in a category of its own that nothing else can touch.  I had no idea what this behavior was called but I knew what it did for me.  IT just seemed to let the air out of the balloon.  Somehow I just seemed to find balance if for that brief moment. Then the shaming comments made by teachers, administration, doctors, friends and family seemed to little bit of sparkle that I had told no one  about  began to disappear.  Some of the worst shaming I’ve ever faced is by those in the medical community.  After only my second trip to the local emergency room, as a minor, it would be my last.  It was a horrible experience with an uneducated and very judgmental doctor.  So even today when I should go to the emergency room, it would take the entire Texas National Guard or me being unconscious to get me there.  This is why a lot of us have suffered in the dark.  The freedom to openly discuss this topic has never been well received.


child window


Where the scars are embarrassing at times because of the questions asked and assumptions made.  In the words of Plumb’s song CUT, “…the only anesthetic that helps me feel anything kills inside.”  This behavior is one that was typical of some type of anger or depression.  However, now, I can have this compulsion even on “ok” days.  The types of emotions that seem to trigger these thoughts are all encompassing.  Even in graduate school between classes I would have to go to my vehicle to be able to cut to make my brain settle enough to go to another class.


I begin to feel a very strong paranoia followed by a tsunami of emotion in my gut about something I can’t identify.  You try to do what they say to but my feel my face get hot and the voices and sounds begin disappear.  I use to see this religiosity of the behavior carried out many times without the fear of feeling the pain.  Now, I see and feel nothing.  She uses it not as a soothing tool but rather her “cat-o-nine-tails” as her way to enforce her discipline.  And this is her way to hold everyone inside hostage from speaking truth.  Her raw power and emotion have kept us safe for many years.  Her extreme paranoia and impulsiveness continues to wreak havoc and destroy even with good intentions.


solitary


She doesn’t understand how to view the world as an adult.  She continues to live life and view the world like the one she was created in….FEAR AND CHAOS.  Don’t hurt her because she’s incredibly sensitive.  But she’ll be the very one to push you as far away as you’ll let her just so she doesn’t have to feel the pain of losing someone else that she’s deeply connected.  To be that angry every day takes a lot of energy.  I’m scared of her every moment of every day.  I don’t take the comedic moments for granted as I completely understand Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde and her capabilities.


The next episode I’m able to open my eyes and continue breathing once again.  As with any other addiction though, there’s always a bullet with our names on it that we continue to dodge until we can’t.  And then….a new statistic emerges for various types of studies done on mental illness.  It was done out of love and compassion she thinks.  And into the arms of love and compassion she can finally retreat.  No more scars.  .


And at the very last second the hands and shoulders of compassion are extended.  This war torn mind and body slowly begins to trust enough to step off into some pain.  Instead of the vision of  hatred thought by many, there’s a kid silently crying all alone desperately wanting  help. But striking out at anything that moves be it good or bad. SILENCE HURTS.


#thispuzzledlife

	




			
				


	
			
					
	

	

		

			 darnold1975 		


		
Two Cats That Changed The World
	


	

		
Two Cats That Changed the World


“Until one has loved an animal, a part of one’s soul remains unawakened.”

― Anatole France


I’ve written about some of the funny interactions between me and animals namely the Angry Birds of Albuquerque.  And I’ve probably mentioned, at some point, my cats Simba and Nalla in passing.  But what I would like to share is how two cats changed one part of this big world….MINE.  They changed me through their unconditional love.


In June 2000 I was working at a local vet clinic in the Hattiesburg, MS area.  Specifically, I was over the adoption center they had there.  I would take in puppies and kittens and find homes for them.  There was a lot of work that went into that job but I loved working with the animals.  This became a place of catharsis that was a nice break from the daily emotional abuse of my marriage.


One day a gentleman walked in with a box and inside it were two little kittens barely a week old.  He told me that the momma cat was killed attempting to move these little kittens across the road.  We typically didn’t take animals this young so, I took them on as a personal project.  From that day forward that box and those two kittens went everywhere I did.


My days and nights included bottles every two hours for these little beings.  I hungered to be a mother but deep in my soul I knew that bringing a baby into that volatile situation was not smart.  And these kittens were filling that void for the time being.  During some of those long nights and sleep deprivation I said to them, “Six weeks and you will be finding a new home.”  Tube feeding, bottles, antibiotics and ringworm later and six week old playful kittens would be taken in that same box to the adoption center.


I made their cage extra special and comfortable.  These cats would be going to their new home together as the loving sisters that they were.  I watched every visitor to see if they were interested in these cats.  I was going to interview anyone who was interested with a fine tooth comb.  Secretly, I hoped no one wanted them because somehow I had formed a connection that I never thought possible. No one came in and met my unachievable standards for these cats.  So…..they came home with me where they would live out the next 15-16 years.


 
 
 
  
 
  
 
  
 
  
  


 


 
 
 
  
 
  
 
  
 
  
  


I would find solace in these cats that had no expectations of me.  They loved me unconditionally and new when the perfect time was to want to cuddle.  Always on their terms of course.  If I cried in silence as I usually do, they could hear me from any dark clothes draw, closet or clothes basket in the house.  They came running and meowing almost as if saying, “Momma let us love you.”  I could be having a true snot crying moment and as long as they were in my lap or touching me somehow they were my own personal sponge to absorb my tears and often heavy emotions.


 Simba and Nalla would become the original “Battle Buddies” our fight to survive abuse both physically and emotionally.  The emotional and psychological abuse from my husband and brother-in-law could be intense and dangerous.  Somehow, though, as long as Simba and Nalla were there I seemed to be engulfed in a bubble that no abuse could reach at least for that moment.  This seemed to be that extra bit of protection that I used to my advantage.  As long as they were determined to be by my side, I was determined to one day find a way out.  That day would eventually come.


There were nights when he would angrily get up with a belt and going into the room where all my animals slept and began hitting anything in his path.  My cats were terrified of his anger just like I was.  He would hit torment them with a broom which they never get over.  As much as I wanted to protect them, it was just too dangerous, for both me and them, to intervene.


My and “my girls” eventually left that relationship with PTSD intertwining our emotions and thoughts.  I would take them into my relationship with Melody with all of our scars both visible and unseen attached.  Anytime one of us had to use a broom to clean Simba and Nalla would run for cover.  And loud noises and even mild arguments and you would find them tucked away in whatever haven of safety they could find nearby.


My girls were quirky as hell just like me.   The ultimate form of loyalty I experienced with them and it was beautiful to say the least.  A couple of years ago I walked into our living room in Albuquerque to find Nalla, our black and white, overweight kitty sometimes called our “Gateway Kitty,” rolling around on the floor in obvious pain.  I looked into her eyes and knew that she was suffering in a way that was not visible.  We made eye contact and a feeling from her that said, “You know what to do. Please stop my suffering.”  I’ve always told pet owners that when it’s time to put a family pet down you would just somehow know.


This was the day that I had feared since they were very young kittens.  My heart was breaking for this beautiful creature that through love had propelled me to safety.  The years of intense love for both she and her sister was now gathering for this one moment.  With tears streaming down my face and Mel looking on I said, “Get the laundry basket comfortable for her….It’s time.”  Trying to comfort Nalla knowing that I really couldn’t physically she seemed to know that my heart was breaking.  I kept looking into her eyes needing the reassurance that what I was doing was the right thing.  And she looked back at me as if to say, “It’s ok.”


Simba was meowing not really knowing where Nalla was going.  She went to her place of solace which was a pillow next to mine on my bed where she slept every night.  The ride to the vet was one of the longest rides I had ever taken.  My heart was breaking even if the right decision was being made.


I handed the laundry basket with one of my best friends in it to the tech.  With tears falling I kissed Nalla and told her that I loved her.  A few minutes later I would receive the her collar with the bell on it.  A couple of weeks later I would receive her ashes.  Simba seemed lost but still tried to comfort me at all costs.  Somehow a the survival of an era seemed to be coming to an end.


Exactly one year to the week I would go through the same process with Simba my grey and white tabby.  It was like their job had been done and it was time for me to fly on my own.  These beautiful animals were with me through a horrible time in my life.  They expected nothing other than treats and junk food.  There job, as they saw it, was to be with me in whatever way needed or possible.  And through their undying compassion I was beginning to heal.  Those two little kittens were more than  house decoration.  They changed my world.


“An animal’s eyes have the power to speak a great language.”


–Martin Buber


#thispuzzledlife

	




			
				


	
			
					
	

	

		

			 darnold1975 		


		
The Thunder Rolls
	


	

		
The Thunder Rolls


“Trauma is personal. It does not disappear if it is not validated.


When it is ignored or invalidated the silent screams continue internally


heard only by the one held captive. When someone enters the pain and hears


the screams healing can begin.”


― Danielle Bernock, Emerging with Wings: A True Story of Lies, Pain, and the Love That Heals


And this…..11:45 pm and it all slowly stars to descend upon me like a searing napalm death throughout my mind and body.  Each night it is the same familiar torment by way of body memories and flashbacks.  The same ambulance calls of 20 years prior.  The same horrific scenes, smells and sounds from former abusive relationships.  The pounding words and actions of an adult’s abuse of power that scared the young teen so bad that now all that’s left of her is RAGE, and ironically, lots of jokes and laughter.  The agonizing physical and emotional separation from the one who only became the vehicle, by which, that baby would enter the world still, somehow an inconvenience just for being born.  All of this in a sense of organized confusion that’s been set on continual repeat.


I feel something changing in my soul that’s not comforting but more evil.  Physically, all “systems” (no pun intended), were on some type of “Red Alert.”  The wave of fear that also spreads systemically is met by a cold shiver all the way down my spine.  As if I were in a standoff with my demons, I look it in the eye as if to say, “We Meet Again.”  I felt like I was looking into the eyes of the devil himself.  I was frozen with the fear of another night of flashbacks. I don’t move only to be enveloped by the sequential events that unfold every….single…night, and unfortunately, a lot of days.  The torturous movie reel and flashes of scenes from another time and place would remind me of where and how I have both failed and survived.


energy.jpg


The humiliation and dehumanizing mind games I still seem to wear as clothing in my own little crazy haven of distorted safety and love.  The sting of being a verbal punching bag as some kind of demented sport riddles me like Swiss cheese.  I don’t care if I die, I just want it to stop I repeatedly think.  Suicide seems like a viable option until I imagine the tear filled eyes of my children and wife.  You “white knuckle” these nights that are long and dark. Someone please stop this haunted fair ride you scream silently from deep within.  Teens and adults worn down by years of this daily torment has left its mark on even the youngest of alters.  The fierce guardians with a “no one goes in and no one comes out” stance leaves this community trapped by its on members.  Only for those screams to silently falls on deaf ears once more.


Just before you cash in your chips and just fall where you once stood you hear from the dark recesses of your mind you remember……


“And one day when you’re scared and unsure of what to do….Pick the direction and just do the next right thing.  You deserve the answers that are rightfully yours.  And when you find them protect your heart.”


“Look at me and we’ll do this together, Charlie.  What you do affects your entire team.  Your team need you now!  Dig deep and come on! And when you want to give up you just DONT.”


“Everything in life is a gift.  It may not come with pretty wrapping


 and a nice bow.  But it’s still a gift.


“Feel your feelings and be safe.”


“Do not react when you are in your emotional mind. Find something to be used as a distraction.  If you don’t have a train get creative.  View your situation without judgment.”


Because some nights require your sharpest tools for immediate recall to use at a moment’s notice.  Your mind and body has been trying to return to some form of homeostasis but the shaking continues.  Your shirt damp with sweat need the help of a cold wash cloth to help with grounding.  Some of images are now like dissipating like lightening from a summer storm.  Your chest tight with anxiety very slowly starts to lessen.  Another night of battle complete with me standing but tattered. Another night that your demons think that they win.  And my response this very night was, “Oh you thought you won?!!!  Watch this!!!!”  Again I made it because I have the heart of a champion.  “Charlie…you played your heart out tonight and made your team proud.  Now take a rest.”


You catch a glimpse of the sun slowly beginning to emerge from the darkness.   This very moment is what they told us to continue to fight for….another day to do something different.


#thispuzzledlife

	




			
				


	
			
					
	

	

		

			 darnold1975 		


		
He Was More Than A Coach
	


	

		
He Was More Than a Coach


“Coaches who can outline plays on a black board are a dime a dozen.


 The ones who win get inside their player and motivate.”


—- Vince Lombardi


I’ve always spoke very highly of all the coaches I played for now 20+ years ago.  I’ve always had that strong connection to them regardless of how much time has gone by.  Now if you want to know how I get motivated, let me know that “I have a ballgame to play and my team needs me.”  My life as a ballplayer took on some of the most raw feelings I’ve ever experienced.  Being an athlete was about more than just a game, it was about the entire journey of learning fundamentals and evolving into an individualized athlete with a heart of a champion.  Here’s the story of a man that knew exactly what to do to help me step my game up as an athlete.  But what he didn’t know he was creating for me was a way to survive.


Nicholas “Nick” Kolinsky was a ex-football player who had a heart as big as his frame.  He is still and will always be a legend from the South MS area.  He was originally from Pennsylvania but moved to MS many years ago to play for the 1962 championship football team from the University of Southern Mississippi.  He stayed around that same area met the love of his life and raised one beautiful family.  His youngest daughter, Nikki, and I would be teammates for several years.


This man was surely a legend in the city but for me the term “legend” would take on a whole other meaning.  I would meet coach Nick sometime in the early 1980’s.  I had play some form of “coach pitch” softball for a year but this was “real” softball, as I saw it, because we had tryouts.  I was an okay player but nothing was serious and I was having fun.  We had the tryouts complete with coaches from the league and their notebooks looking on and taking notes.  A couple of days later my parents and I got the call that I would play for Nick’s Ice House and my coach would be Nick Kolinsky.


This big and loud man would laugh and smile in a way that you just instantly know that he was different than most people you meet.  His happiness and love for life, his family and now this young softball team was infectious.  You never had to ask me if I wanted to go to practice.  I would sometimes walk back to the vehicle with my heart crying tears because I didn’t want practice to end.  I ate, slept, breathed and fully saturated myself with his coaching as much as I could.


Coach Nick


He pushed me but in a way that I wanted to play at my best.  He always told us as players, “You will perform in a game the way that you practice.  Winners never ever give up.  Every play and every ball you catch or hit effects everyone on your team and  they are your family.  You leave it all on this field.  If at the end of the game you have played the best you could and you left it all on the field no matter what the score you will always be a champion in my book.”  He knew how to motivate me.  I instantly took some of these lessons with into now a 42 year-old womanhood.


Every athlete has a difficult night where things just don’t seem to work.  You misjudge balls.  Your hit timing is just off and you begin to worry if you even have any eye/hand coordination left.  It was these times when coach would say to me, “Dana, that was a $100 catch and a .10 throw!”  It wasn’t earth shattering to be “off” for those games but disappointing it was.  He could somehow tell when I needed that “compassionate coach” side and he always encouraged me.  He would bring his big “man size” body down to my child size self and look me in the eyes with compassion and said, “Keep going baby.  These kind of nights don’t last but you have to keep pushing through them.  Don’t you give up!  Do you hear me?!!!  You leave it out here on this field no matter how much you have to give.  Your team needs you.  If you get scared and don’t know what to do on those bases KEEP YOUR EYES ON ME.  I’m right here and we will do this together.”


Now to most people this interaction might not have been that big of a deal.  To that developing child and athlete, that was all I needed to hear.  He didn’t say that he would be there to do it for me.  He said, “I’m right here and we will do this together.”  From that day forward, I played with confidence and have faced every obstacle knowing that he would always be right there.  He had no idea what those positive interactions would do for me as an adult.  Every single time I had to pick myself up from one of life’s unfriendly occurrences, I always heard my coach saying, “Charlie get up!  Your team is depending on you.  The game is not over yet. Get back over here!”


charlie hustle


Charlie was a name that Coach Nick gave to me because of the way that I played.  He always told me, “You play a lot like Pete Rose.  You have some of the best hustle I’ve ever seen.  From now on you will be called Charlie Hustle.”  As long as there was daylight and the “want”, “need” and “will” to continue was there he would stay after practice and hit me additional balls to help me sharpen my skills.  Our team seemed almost untouchable.  It wasn’t just me who would benefit from his coaching.  We practiced and practiced hard every single practice.  Lolly gagging was not allowed by him, other coaches or the other players on the team.


After ballgames it was nothing for him to load up the entire team in the back of his pickup truck while we cheered going riding through the city like we were national champions.  And to me we were.  I’m glad that he gave me a foundation of self discipline.  It might be in only a couple areas of my life but it took and I’ve never let go of many of his life lessons.  We were told very seriously, “that being a winner is not given.  You have to put the work in and even then you might not win the game or the battle.  It’s the same with life.  You give everything you have all the time until there’s nothing left to give.  That is a champion!” He gave all us players a t-shirt that had his business logo on the left chest.  But on the back it said “I’M ONE OF NICK’S BOYS”  He told us as a team that those shirts you have to earn to be able to wear them.  Until I graduated high school, I was known by my nickname Charlie Hustle and I wore that shirt with pride.  I always wore that shirt under my uniform shirts throughout my high school career as a kind of balance and piece of my coach right there with me like he had promised.


Because of the impact of his compassion in my days of being a child and developing athlete, I have survived many different situations.  I worked hard to live through a lot of things.    I reconnected with him after this many years.  I was contacted by one of his daughters via Facebook to tell me that his health was declining.  On one of our trips back to Petal where he and his family lived the whole time I knew them.  I walked into the house where he was sitting and his eyes lit up.  “Dana!!!”  He chuckled. My eyes filled with tears and I hugged him and said, “Coach I’ve missed you.  Here’s my family.”  I don’t know if the tears fell like they’re doing now as I write this.  But shortly after Marshall pooped on his lap he wanted to talk about old games from when I played ball for him.  It was like one of the most beautiful times as a child had been resurrected by the gentle giant that had become a gentle old man.  I called him several times since that visit and each time we spoke he had a even more difficult time speaking due to a failing heart.


nick's boys


My beloved coach passed away July 5, 2016.  The grief is so great that it’s taken until now to be able to write about such a great man.  The towns of Petal/Hattiesburg knew when this man passed away.  For me it was like a new national day of mourning.  The pain of the little child inside had me disappearing inside myself.  My athlete has never stopped mourning over his loss.  Anytime you ask me about this guy I called Coach Nick I tear up but not out of sadness.  I tear up over the gift I was chosen to receive.  That was just gratitude rolling out of my eyes.  Since trauma has had such a big impact on my life more than once I always wear that shirt into a session with my therapist when I need his encouragement.


Ironically, as the universe would see fit, I met the one who would be the next big coach in my life only a month later.  This time things are different.  Now I’m not in the fight for a win in a game, I’m in the fight for my life.  And everyone doesn’t receive a participation trophy.  Grateful again?  You bet I am. I will find a way to succeed because I’M ONE OF NICK’S BOYS!


Below are links and newspaper about this guy everyone knows as The Man, The Myth, The Legend.  Please take a little time to read about this man that both South Mississippi and I loved.


 








 


http://www.hattiesburgamerican.com/story/news/local/hattiesburg/2016/07/05/hattiesburgs-nicks-ice-house-icon-nick-kolinsky-dies/86728744/


http://www.hattiesburgamerican.com/story/sports/college/southern-miss/football/2016/07/13/cleveland-nick-kolinsky-jack-lucas-had-special-bond/87010864/


https://www.legacy.com/obituaries/hattiesburgamerican/obituary.aspx?pid=180567264


#thispuzzledlife

	




			
				


	
			
					
	

	

		

			 darnold1975 		


		
Tioga Bound
	


	

		
Tioga Bound


“When you know who you are; when your mission is clear and you burn with


the inner fire of unbreakable will; no cold can touch your heart; no deluge


can dampen your purpose. You know that you are alive.”


– Chief Seattle, Duwamish


 


I was looking through my recent blog posts and realized that I had not yet written about a place I went to visit last summer/fall 2017.  There are some situations in life when/where it happens you have to just be quite and let it soak in.  Sometimes just looking at how situations came to be can unlock a little patch of “surrendering to the process.”


I believe wholeheartedly that there’s something about how the stars are lining up in my life.  I don’t have those answers yet but they’re out there somewhere.  In March 2017, I was pretty hopeless in most areas of my life.  Out of the blue I get a call from someone who still completely amazes me with her compassion and patience. I had found my new coach finally.  Tears streamed down my face as I call my wife Melody to let her know what had just happened.  The challenge would be for Mel and I, as a couple, to figure out what was best for our family as a whole.  I had my eye set on one thing as my goal and that was the day I could begin this arduous work with someone already proven trustworthy.


We already had planned a trip to Walt Disney world in Orlando, FL  with our boys obviously not knowing what the coming months would bring.  Anyway, the boys and Mel enjoyed the trip. I just realized how bad things had gotten and was continuing to decline.  Our boys were entitled to have some genuine fun that normally they couldn’t do around me because of PTSD symptoms.  While at Disney World I enjoyed seeing our boys and Mel with smiles on their faces.  For me having so many issues with social situations the trip was torture.  The amount of people and no private space had me wanting to just randomly bite people for no reason.  Then somewhere on the inside I heard…”Orange is not a good color for you!  And you won’t like the flip flops!!!!”  Not conventional grounding  method but it worked.  The fireworks shows, though beautiful, had me running for cover.  But I do love my family.


IMG_0015


Mel’s grandmother passed away which meant we would be staying very close to the city where I grew up.  It doesn’t matter the situation. That area of the country is just not safe for me to be hanging out in.  But It was a death in the family and loyalty to our friends and family are stronger than anything we have individually, as a couple or as a family.  We eventually made it back to Albuquerque.  And things went from bad to worse.


I ended up returning to a trauma unit where I would meet more close friends referred to as my “battle buddies.”  This stay was quite difficult to say the least.  Things were much different and I left there completely defeated.  Just months before I caught wind that someone cared which left me very curious say the least.  The only thing I’ve never been surprised by is in the fact that change is constantly happening.  This situation was absolutely no different.  I licked my wounds all the way back to Albuquerque to my awaiting room where I keep all of my secrets.  It was sort of my prison within my own prison.


Someone did mention about this place out in Tioga, TX called Healing Springs Ranch.  The last thing I wanted to talk about was more treatment.  I was exhausted and felt beat up.  My recent trauma unit stay reaffirmed to me that professionals were just dangerous no matter how they put a nice spin on things.  And I hated them all.  No one would have another shot at me like that was how hurt I felt.  I was so miserable and wanted a way out.  I wanted help but feared it to my core.  Again, I was told to call them and check it out.


I wanted the opportunity to go and try another open campus facility, at some point, because those were where I was most comfortable.  I just didn’t want to go right then. Being on a locked unit never helps me or anyone else.  But what I was about to walk into was something I was never prepared to experience.  I was told who my inpatient therapist would be.  I had already known her from previous visits to other facilities and knew that she was gentle so having that knowledge really helped me to settle.    Here I was about to trust someone to mess with my “system” again and I wouldn’t be able to leave for awhile. And there was only minimal trust to start with.


My wife dropped me and my belongings off after getting checked in.  I was told to enjoy that last Diet Coke for a while.  I froze.  What in the hell did he just say?!!!!  I instantly felt death near.  I knew that coffee was not even a remote possibility for me.  Caffeine, Caffeine where shall I find thee?  I was truly starting to panic.  OMG….what have I just agreed to? I was trying to keep the fear buried and plenty of smiles and laughter on the outside.


finding myself


I soon took that long ride, on the golf cart, to the main building known as the Bunk House.  I was beyond terrified and my inside guys were assessing everything we saw, heard and smelled.  We passed the field of cows I would learn to love and talk to every morning on daily walks.   There were a couple I would name T-Bone and Rib eye.  I know I should have a conscious about their names but I don’t.  And the golf cart would be parked by cows that had this exact conversation go on right before their eyes.


Friend:  Dana those are those different cows called Yams!


Me:  I can assure you that those are not yams.


Friend:  Dana yes they are I know what I’m talking about.  Those are YAMS!!!


Me:  Oh for the love of God and the Holy Angels!  That is not a potato!  A yam is what you have on Thanksgiving!  If that is a yam then that potato has four legs and a tail while also saying…MOOOOOOO! A YAK!  A YAK is what you’re thinking about and that is not a Yak either!  That’s just a messed up looking cow!  We laughed then and still today about how funny that brief moment in time unfolded.


When the doors opened and I began the incline on the floor to the nurses’ office I was greeted by a few people welcoming me to Healing Springs Ranch.  Omg…they’re a cult!  They have a following of people that claim that they care and are happy.  I saw who would be my therapist and instantly I thought…Damn I feel bad for you already.


Everyone was so incredibly caring and you just somehow knew that this place was special.  It was just different in a loving kind of way.  In my illustrious career of dealing with treatment centers and stabilization units I had never found this much compassion in one place.  This is a place far from a locked unit.  They loved without conditions.  This has always been a foreign concept for me because from several abusers “love” had conditions.  So accepting this love was going to be a challenge and it was the majority of the time.


Very slowly but surely I would begin to settle in with this new community.  This place whatever its magical powers was loving me and I began to melt.  No one saw this right off but both me and my alters felt it instantly.  I’m a difficult patient in the best of circumstances. But apparently The universe knew what it took to make me crumble……COMPASSION.  I was still a very angry and scared person under all the smiles and laughter.  They had already found my weakness.


family


And you seem to know that the relationship is going to be interesting when one of the first people you see you say, “Hey 13 is that you?!” Calling someone, who would turn out to be one of my closest friends, one of your alters’ names can be incredibly funny.   I’ll be honest that an argument between a 10 year-old and a 13 year-old can be awfully flamboyant. But put them both in adult bodies and that could be sent to the comedy show of your choosing. However, The awesome look at nature and it’s scary and comforting critters it hides seemed to be medicine for my soul.


Charlie the Squirrel seemed to take the place of the Angry Birds in Albuquerque.  My personal encounters involves said tree rodent.  Oh Mr. Sandy cheeks decided that I needed a little more confusion and proceeded to bark at me machine gun style.  With my very well developed hyper startle response, Charlie might as well have been sitting on my face and chewing on it. All I could think to say was, “It jumped out from the bushes and almost killed me!”  Really he just scared the shit out of me from about 10 feet away in a tree. Then I scared the shit out of the people walking with me.  We still laugh about it all.


Life had become routine which I loved.  At night after most of the day staff left for the evening and we had all gotten our night meds and snacks people would head down to their rooms either for a shower and/or bed.  But there were also members of our tribe that enjoyed that 30 minute time period of sitting on the porch with the slight breeze and just decompress from all of the day’s activities.  The night wildlife was front and center.  If you were brave enough to listen to some of the conversations we would have you would realize that there was an amazing amount of healing that went on.  There started out with about 4 people, including myself, who took full advantage of hanging out with this new family.  By the time it was my graduation, there were usually over 10 people at night.


I was usually telling some kind of funny story or just getting tickled about the day’s activities.  There were stories about Miss Betty and the Mr. Bitchy.  Many also know about my Ozzy Osborne impression shouting “SHARON!!!!!!”  Any issues between me and Charlie the Squirrel had to be told. Funny stories from being an EMT. Or the funny things about being a lesbian mom raising little boys.  On a more somber note someone might bring a guitar to the patio and we would sing.


These other clients and staff were hearing details, ugly details of my past and they still loved me.  They were getting to know my alters almost as well as my own spouse.  The work we all did was hard to say the very least.  Walking in their doors with all of my therapy baggage at the forefront assured me just starting on trust again.  But my family members who were also working on their individual issues were also there.  After many years of Melody and I flying solo through this life of Dissociative Identity Disorder, I can only wish that the facility had been there much sooner. Finally I  had found a place that would take the time to get to know someone beyond the adolescente.


There were times when the work we had done during the day time just managed to leave the mark on someone’s face that said,  “I need a friend who understands and to be able to let the tears fall where they may without the fear or feeling of judgment.”  Healing with your peers with no parameters to interfere was total freedom.


At HSR, I found my tribe.  I found a whole host of “safe people” that I never knew existed.  All of the amenities are just a bonus with the total experience.  The food is prepared by one of the finest chefs on my list. The staff packs a lot of knowledge about both addiction and mental health disorders.  Their passion for what they do can be seen many miles away…like Albuquerque.  But what you’ll experience as a whole is beautiful.  I didn’t leave there with a lot of answers.  But I left there knowing and believing that all people aren’t dangerous and that was just what I needed.  Because “those people” and the alumni are who I call….FAMILY.


These are just a few of the reasons that Healing Springs Ranch is where I found my forever home with a brand new, handpicked by the universe, group of likewise compassion and passion for life kind of family.    I learned at “The Ranch” that even clowns need to make time for tears. And that not everyone is put on this earth to hurt me.  As for my alters and I, well let’s just say that the process of “being loving” with our tone to each other is still moving forward just at a snail’s pace.  And I did get to move closer to my HSR family.  As difficult of a process as it’s been not moving here with Melody and the boys, I’m in the arms of members of that same family.  I finally made it here about 2 months ago and I walked into those loving arms of people that I met hear. They understand without explanation but with humor when I say that I’m one of those people who are buy 1 get 15 free.


“You treat a disease, you win, you lose. You treat a person, I


guarantee you, you’ll win, no matter what the outcome.”


– Robin Williams


https://www.healingspringsranch.com/


#thispuzzledlife

	




			
				


	
			
					
	

	

		

			 darnold1975 		


		
Locked And Loaded
	


	

		
Locked and Loaded


“I finally understood what could drive kids to show up with guns and shoot up their schools.”

― Nenia Campbell, Freaky Freshman


If you want to look at all sides of the historical and current school shootings then don’t forget this side.  Put yourself in the driver’s seat as a teenager who feels that there is no way out.  There are no easy answers.  Don’t think as an adult about how you would respond?  You have to imagine the world through the eyes of a desperate teenager who feels helpless just like those who killed. I’m not condoning anything.  Just don’t eliminate one of the sides of the problem or you’ll never achieve an accurate answer.


Imagine for a minute this scenario…..


Life as a 13 year-old rebellious but funny teen seemed to be pretty benign on the surface.  Teenagers because of the developmental stage tend to be difficult stressors for kids and their parents.  She had this incredible gift to make people laugh no matter the situation. Depression crept in and slowly started transforming her.  Her vitality for life was very slowly disappearing and it never seemed to matter or to care to those she tried to reach out to.  She had no animosity towards anyone.  She hated that she had been unwanted.  But everyone loved her because she was everyone’s favorite clown and friend.


What no one seemed to take notice of was that this clown was put into a closet behind the teacher’s desk and locked.  The teacher always had hurtful things to say.  She poked at this child like a pit bull chained to a tree and being taunted and whipped with sticks.  Anytime that child spoke up she was hit again.  Anytime she cried she was ridiculed and humiliated.  When she talked about food she was glared at and venomous derogatory body image comments were slung at her.  Every time she tried to fight back she got in even deeper trouble with the administration.  No one ever listened because of a label.  She wasn’t a bad kid.  But now she didn’t know.


All she wanted was for someone to leave her alone and apologize for what had just happened over several months.  Relief was nowhere in sight.  She began thinking that if she (the teacher) wasn’t alive to torment her that she could hang with her friends and continue playing ball.  But if she committed suicide she wouldn’t have to ever face another minute of this daily torture.  She can’t speak of it all as the embarrassment of what she thinks she has allowed.  And then her friend commits suicide and the seriousness and pain of what had just happened was brushed over like his life didn’t matter.  She is rocked to her foundation.


dylan 2


I have lost my emotions


—  Dylan Klebold


 


 eric harris 2


I hope death is like a dream state, I want to spend all my time there.


—  Eric Harris


These two thunderclouds collide along with a mixture of other storms in her life.  This marriage, of sorts,  bred the perfect storm.  Her inadequacies were put before her peers.  She was taunted daily about how no one wanted her.  Everything that she would never become.  Statements about being a baby for crying when the words stung like bullets.  She tried to tell and no one would listen.  Or it was the southern way to handle this parenting situation..”She is the adult and you are the child.  Tell her you’re sorry and give her respect!”  She was literally and figuratively trapped and no one could hear her silent screams.


How could you not notice the fact that she cried blood tears from her forearms?  How could you not notice the holes in the hallway and rooms?  How could you not notice that she had deadly eating disorders that would almost take her life?  How could you not notice the pain meds and all the sleeping and headaches that became part of daily life?


Now imagine for a minute that you were that child trapped with no help.  You just wanted it to stop in whatever way possible. Leaving school wasn’t an option.  How do you as a child attempt to rationalize a very impulsive yet very thought out plan to make it end?  How do school shooters develop?  There’s a very condensed scenario.  Often times parents do not know what to look for.  Wearing a mask is too easy to hide behind because no one really wants to know how we’re doing.  “Fine.” seems to be the best generic answer that is acceptable on a daily basis.


You said that you didn’t see the “typical” warning signs.  There is absolutely nothing “typical” about a teenager.  They are independent and impulsive beings with their own fingerprints.  It sounds more like you were blinded by your ignorance and politics to notice that this was happening right in front of you.  You were the adults meant to protect these children and you turned the other way.  Now you don’t like how they turned out.  Five minutes of listening to a child full of tears that you never saw behind those screens of smiles and laughter could’ve saved lives…maybe your own.


“–What if the kids from Columbine were here today.  What would you say to them?


–I wouldn’t say anything, I would listen to them, which nobody else did.”


Quote from Marilyn Manson in the documentary Bowling for Columbine.


#thispuzzledlife

	




			
				


	
			
					
	

	

		

			 darnold1975 		


		
Into The House Of Horrors
	


	

		
Into The House of Horrors


“Compassion for animals is intimately connected with goodness of character; and it may be confidently asserted that he who is cruel to animals cannot be a good man.”


–Arthur Schopenhauer


It’s a scene that I’ve replayed many times over the last 10+ years.  I drove that dirt road to the lot where our house had been built only 5+ years prior.  A couple weeks before I had carried out a decision that had been planned for a few years.  I was about to execute my plan to leave him for good.  This was already 14 years later than I should’ve ever stayed with him.  However, the way that I had been silenced for many years continues to leave its mark on me today.


 


The fears of food, body image, decision making, judgment by him and a diminishing self-worth was now fully engrained.  Some of the horrors that I lived through at 22 Casey Lane, Petal, MS continue to torment me today.  Everything that I knew about living life as an adult was done one way…..HIS WAY.  I divorced him 10+ years ago.  But did I really leave him?  Part of me did leave him.  But another has remained in that imprisoned life; on his arm and controlled every since.  He told me that I would never get rid of him and thus far, that statement hasn’t let me down.


The day/night that I left him was shortly after his brother had come into our house drunk and pointing a gun at me.  My husband told me that once again his brother would have no repercussions for how he had treated me.  I soon found out that all of their scary antics over the years had been devised by my husband.  “Like Father, Like Sons”  I’ve always said about those two men.  I had been looking for a way out for many years but was left only seeing myself as being helpless.  But this night was different.


When he told me, after having been terrified by the recent gun issue, that nothing would be done to protect me or our house from his brother and hearing his brother screaming, “I have done everything you asked me to do to her!”  I knew I had to get out.  I still remember watching myself standup a few days later saying, “I’ve had enough of this shit!”  I walked out to my awaiting blue Honda CRV while being screamed at every step of the way.  What he was saying and calling me was a compilation of things he had said over the last 14 years of insults.  I was beyond terrified at what I might’ve just brought on myself in the coming days.  Like most cowards threats were made with no follow through.


Shaking from pure fear I drove to my parents’ house only a few miles away like I had done many times before.  The typical end result was me listening to and getting sucked back into the house of a man with a silver tongue.  He was my husband and my predator.  This time I was determined to get out and stay out because it was just too scary now.  I was just going to have to “white knuckle” the urges to want to go back.  Through the tears and frustration I stayed true to my goal and did not go back.


The only analogy I’ve been able to use to convey how victimization feels is like a crime that has been committed but I did it to myself.  You know that a crime was committed but the way of a predator is to negate his or her wrongdoing and put it on the victim.  Often times I would be apologizing for something I had not even done.  He had me so convinced that I was responsible for his and the world’s unhappiness that no matter what I did I would always be a failure.  Hindsight is always 20/20.  I didn’t see this while in the abuse.  I just kept striving for excellence by his standards and before I knew it 14 years had passed me by.  The damage to my psyche would not be realized for another few years.


I would go back a couple of weeks later to get a few more of my things and to pick up my animals.  My cats Simba and Nalla, who I had raised from a bottle, and my African Grey parrot, Rocco were my first priority.  I didn’t know what I would do with my hamsters, gerbils, cockatiels, ferrets, iguana, outside cats, rats and outside dogs.  The rest of my belongings and furniture would have to wait for now.  I had a neighbor who was watching my house and would know when he left so that I could get the things I needed safely.  I was given the go ahead but was told to hurry.  I had driven that bumpy ride down the dirt road and onto the driveway of our house and I was sweating and nauseous from the fear of going back to the house.  The fear was paralyzing but my animals deserved to be out of his abuse as well.


When I unlocked the door and cracked it open the putrid odor of death hit my nose never to be forgotten.  I didn’t know what it was but something was very, very wrong.  I had no idea what I would find but it was about to be a very harsh reality.  I didn’t know if he had been murdered.  If he had gotten in an argument with his brother and was dead.  I just had no idea what I was about to find.  I walked down our hallway into our bedroom where the smell was so overbearing.  I was already gagging but still had not found the source.  I feared finding someone’s dead body.  Not seeing anything out of the ordinary I began to walk across the hall to the animal room.  What I found froze my tears in their tracks.  This was the source of the smell was right here.  I don’t even know how I felt in that moment.  The animal room was filled with lifeless animals covered in maggots and blowflies.  He had intentionally starved and not watered them. The exceptions to life were those couple of rodents feeding off others in their tanks.


I was frozen with fear and disgust that these animals that I had taken care of for years were all dead.  Some were partially eaten.  Some were cut in half by whatever he chose to do.  This room where I was able to escape his torment, if only for a moment, had become a torture chamber for the other innocent ones.  My cats and birds all had molded food and no water.  My dogs were going crazy in their outside pen.  Thankfully the outside cats had scattered.  I couldn’t think.  I didn’t know what to do.  I simply had to react and just save the ones I could and get out and fast.  I got my cats and bird out of the “house of horrors.”  I couldn’t save my dogs and was told that a few months later they were taken out of their pen and shot in the front yard.  I left that day with the harsh realization that the abuse had not just effected me.  How do you get over something like that?  You don’t.


“Curiously, deep, deep down—and undoubtedly unconscious to them—they know they’re not really what they project. In fact, one of their central defenses (or stratagems) is to endlessly project onto others the very flaws (and fears!) they’re unable, or unwilling, to allow into awareness. As critical as they are about others’ shortcomings, they’re amazingly blind to their own.”


— Leon F Seltzer Ph.D., Evolution of the Self


 


#Thispuzzledlife

	




			
				


	
			
					
	

	

		

			 darnold1975 		


		
Things I Have Learned On A Psychiatric Unit
	


	

		
“It’s good to be able to laugh at yourself and the problems you face in life. Sense of humor can save you.”


—Margaret Cho


 One thing that I’ve been able to do most of my life is find the humor in just about any situation.  I’m also really good at roasting myself at any given moment.  My recent blog posts have been pretty heavy in both topic and emotion and I thought that I would lighten it up a bit with some giggles.  Having been in the mental health system the majority of my adult life has afforded me many different and often times hysterical stories about my interactions with staff and other patients.  They are not that funny in the moment but give it some time and I’ll start giggling about some of the asinine situations that I get myself into.


A lot of my trauma has to do with the perception or the reality of being trapped.  So, even though psychiatric stabilization units are, in theory, suppose to help.  They seldom do for me because you are behind the steel doors of “safety.”  The system is so incredibly flawed that even to be stabilized completely destabilizes me further.  I’ve just be blessed with the incredible ability to laugh with other “battle buddies” who are some of my best friends.


If you’re way out of control or having complications related to your particular labeled disorder you get sent to the Psychiatric Intensive Care Unit otherwise known as the PICU.  This is where you will see some really odd behaviors and will get a new label as a “poop slinger.”  I’ve also learned through trial by fire how to take care of myself on these units.  And being confrontational were not always the best idea makes other clients and staff rethink the idea of you being an easy target.


Recently, I’ve been on one of these units and others with no success just more funny stories.  With the amnestic barriers that were designed early on in my brain to protect me from the abuse, they just seem to cross over into a lot of my blinking and breathing time.  After looking through some of the material that I arrived back home with I found that my parts had actually been writing a blog about such humorous  instances.  I didn’t have the memories of all listed but they sure do.  Try not to take this blog too seriously as I’ve been able to laugh so much that I’ve almost gotten one abdominal muscle developed as a result.  Here’s a compilation of our experiences on different types of units over several states.


250px-Mental_Disorder_Silhouette


    

  1. When you find someone lapping up water out of your toilet bowl like a dog, this DOES NOT necessarily mean that said “human dog” is friendly.  If this mixed species starts to growl a gentle reminder about how animals are decapitated if the suspicion of rabies is serious enough.
    2. 

  2. When staff asks you if you want to take a trip on the van?  They are really talking about the ATIVAN.  Educate yourself about this drug in high doses.
    3. 

  3. If you don’t drink fruit juices or cow nipple secretions well…..you’re just thirsty.
    4. 

  4. Taking showers minus shower curtains always sucks ass.
    5. 

  5. Often times the only type of material to dry off with after such a revealing shower are pillow cases or your own sweatpants.  Because apparently paper towels are harmful and could be used as a weapon.
    6. 

  6. The food is not really food.  It resembles some form of a horse abortion.
    7. 

  7. When meeting with the dietician about the couple of foods that you feel comfortable eating, hummus being my main source of protein, when it arrives and looks like caulking with complementary graham crackers not saltines.  This will not in any way encourage one to eat something that looks like it was recently bought at Lowe’s.
    8. 

  8. The only way to air out a bathroom after someone has pooed is to take shampoo and squirt it around the rim of the bowl.  Because……Poo-pouri is not allowed.  Yelling, “We have a Shituation and need Shitrus Spray!!!” like you’re auditioning for a Poo-pouri commercial gets you absolutely nowhere. However, the other patients will find it quite comical.
    9. 

  9. When cigarettes seem to be your only coping skill germs and diseases no longer matter.
    10. 

  10. There is absolutely no help that is given on these units other than colors “safety writing utensils”, word finds and coloring sheets which has been shown to just increase rather than decrease aggression.
    11. 

  11. Some of the psychiatrists on the units are definitely on the spectrum of serial killers.  You can look at them and tell that they probably keep a jar of human eyeballs or embryonic puppies on their desks as decoration.
    12. 

  12. Telling the staff and/or other patients when you get mad that you will kill them and their entire family NEVER ends well for the one who said it.  This will, however,  ensure that you have a 3 day “nap” courtesy of a shot of “booty juice.”
    13. 

  13. A combination of drugs simply known as “booty juice” given in the ass cheeks of patients that will not comply or become too violent has been known to stop zombies dead in their tracks.
    14. 

  14. Scratching incessantly because of hives due to these stressful conditions only make the other patients think you have mange.
    15. 

  15. While entering the psych hospital cafeteria yelling, “DEAD MAN WALKING!!!!” is very comical to other patients it is NOT to the staff.  This makes the whole situation that much funnier.
    16. 

  16. Benzodiazepines will be ordered just because you’re getting on the nerves of the staff.
    17. 

  17. Being given stool softeners and laxatives in your daily medicinal regimen as someone who has active eating disorders is a bonus.  And yes the staff and doctors knew I was actively anorexic and bulimic.
    18. 

  18. Eventually having a “Code 10” on out of control patients so many times a day is like watching the TV show Cops and cheering for the criminal.  It’s just another form of entertainment.
    19. 

  19. You might just meet a celebrity fighter that resembles Mike Tyson.
    20. 

  20. Serving trauma patients red beans, rice and a link of sausage DOES NOT encourage them to work on their sexual trauma.
    21. 

  21. Chest compressions are now an acceptable form of treating panic attacks.
    22. 



Every Diagnosable mental disorder can be found at some point right here on these units.  You think you’ve seen strange behaviors?  You can’t even imagine the behaviors that are exhibited by human beings.  I hope you’ve enjoyed some laughs and know that these are things that I’ve personally experienced.  It’s really this bad.


#Thispuzzledlife

	




			
				


	
			
					
	

	

		

			 darnold1975 		


		
For The Bible Tells Me So Part 2
	


	

		
For the Bible Tells Me So…..Part 2


“If a believer demands that I, as a nonbeliever, observe his taboos in


the public domain, he is not asking for my respect, but for my submission.”




― Flemming Rose


Let me start this entry by saying that I am in no way putting in “jabs” to any particular religious belief or sect.  I’m simply stating how religion can be used in an abusive nature.  I have my own personal experience with Southern Baptist and Southern Evangelicals.  I don’t dislike either one.  Abuse has also been publicized within the Catholic religion.  But let’s face it, abuse of any kind knows no boundaries and/or limits.


In the many years that I longed for and searched for my birth mom I heard the same story over and over about how she was put in touch with a pastor in the Petal/Hattiesburg, MS area and then like a bad explosion I was born.  When I got older I had to be able to understand what all this meant.  So the only way I could fully comprehend this was to call it  “The Underground Railroad for Unwed Mothers.” To tell a few more of the details surrounding her prenatal arrangements and my eventual birth, my birth mom was from Indiana at the time.  She was 16 years old and had gotten mad at my biological father and fled to put me up for adoption as soon as possible.  This information I received when we met face-to-face.


As I stated in the first part of this blog entry being an unwed mother was not exactly as socially acceptable as it is now.  We are not talking about 50 years ago either.  In the 1970s was when my birth mom had me.  In the 1990s when I graduated high school teen moms were still regarded as “less than” no matter the circumstances.  These “less than” opinions were not only from the standpoint of the church where I personally saw people treated differently depending on socioeconomic, gender, race, sexual orientation and just about any other category where someone might “stand out” as being not “normal.”


not afraid to grieve


Nevertheless my birth mom was actually suppose to go to the Bethesda Home for Unwed Mothers when she was pregnant with me.  However, she was too far along in her pregnancy to be accepted there.  This was the best outcome for me as the baby for her to not be allowed there regardless of the reasoning.  For her, though, she has made it clear many times over that I was “an inconvenience in her life then and now.”  Tell me even reading that you didn’t feel that punch to the gut.  Now imagine that you’re that baby that grew up wanting nothing more than to find part of your identity and you’ve been forced to wait to find this woman that you inherently have longed for your entire life because of state laws.  All the while hoping that your opinion of what “adoption” means to you is different.  Only to be rejected again but now you feel that very deadly blow.  I could do absolutely nothing.  I could say nothing.  Me being left speechless seldom ever happens.


To this day, when I am still and think back to that moment I have to change the subject because it’s just too painful to remember.  To make matters worse, when I returned from finding the answers I needed my husband at the time told me “she’s a filthy and disgusting woman and she gave YOU up for adoption.”  I can’t describe what that did to me emotionally.  Every feeling and thought that I had up to that point about my self-worth came down to that one comment.  I have never recovered from things like that that were said to me daily.


When she was turned down at the girl’s home she stayed with another local pastor and his wife until she had me and like clockwork she left never to think about me again until the phone call from my biological brother telling her that I had been found about 30 years later.  She has had an incredibly difficult life.  She and my biological father passed along some strong addiction genes and well…..not much else.  The “Nature vs. Nurture” debaters would love to study this one.  I was going to mention something about good looks but roasting myself has become somewhat of an art.


enemy no chance


The point in all of this is that religion can be incredibly shaming to those that aren’t stereotypical worshippers.  This means going to church or whatever your place to worship and acting a certain way or   being vocal.  Now, personally, I don’t care how anyone worships or who they worship because I consider this a very private matter between you and your higher power whomever or whatever that might be.  Here’s a quote from an author on this very thing…


“Evangelicalism has taken the Extrovert Ideal to its logical extreme, McHugh is telling us. If you don’t love Jesus out loud, then it must not be real love. It’s not enough to forge your own spiritual connection to the divine; it must be displayed publicly. Is it any wonder that introverts like Pastor McHugh start to question their own hearts?”

― Susan Cain, Quiet: The Power of Introverts in a World That Can’t Stop Talking


Pastor Marvin Winans is a gospel singer a member of the Winans Family a famous gospel group.  He also leads the choir called the Perfecting Church Choir.  He also has produced several albums with this choir while also being a part of “Tyler Perry’s House of Payne.”   Winans also delivered the eulogy at Whitney Houston’s funeral in 2012.   The comment from an elder in the church about his policy regarding baby dedication for unwed mothers and their children was this…..


 “Pastor Winans has a strict policy — he won’t bless the babies of unwed mothers in front of the congregation”, Fox 2 Detroit reported.


Grace said “she felt degraded by the pastor’s decision. She’s hoping he reconsiders, even if it means having her son dedicated during the week by a church elder.”


Until then, she told Fox 2 Detroit “she has no plans to return to Perfecting Church.”


“I absolutely would not set foot back in the church right now because I feel like they look down upon me and my kind, meaning single moms and unwed mothers,” Grace said.


Pope Francis recently said in May that the Catholic Church should bless children born out of wedlock, because their mothers chose life over abortion.


“’Look at this girl who had had the courage to carry her pregnancy to term. … “What does she find? A closed door,” he said, according to Vatican newspaper L’Osservatore Romano. “This is not good pastoral zeal, it distances people from the Lord and does not open doors (http://archive.eurweb.com, 2013).”


What about those of us that can’t attend comfortably because of trauma either by clergy abuse, PTSD, social phobias, etc?  Well, let’s just say that I’m open about many facets of my life regardless of ostracizing.  Loud music which is usually the status quo in most churches sends chills all over my body.  Not because of the words but because sensory overload and hyper startle  reflex that will have me cringing and crying if I can’t get out of the situation.  If I’m still unable to leave violence is my “go to when niceness doesn’t work.  I’m openly gay  and legally married with children, addictions, mental illness, phobias, PTSD, eating disorders and medical cannabis.  Do I need to keep going?


I’m that baby that was refused dedication to the church because I was born to an unwed mother  (figuratively of course).  My point is this…..the church has lost sight of its mission if Christianity is your thing.  I have my beliefs and questions just like most that keep that information in the dark.  I don’t believe for a minute that the only relationship you can have with God or your chosen deity has to be within a church.  Nor does it make you “less than” because you don’t chose to worship like others.


I’m currently surrounded by people who are loving Christians who understand mental illness and its roots.  They don’t shame me into going to church with them it’s a choice that I make.  And if I start having an issue I simply leave the service and it’s no big deal.  Many churches have a room removed from the service area or provide ear plugs for this and many other reasons and conditions.  God just knew that when the mold broke that I would be quirky but that I would SURVIVE and thus far that’s exactly what I’ve done.


#Thispuzzledlife

	




			
				


	
			
					
	

	

		

			 darnold1975 		


		
For The Bible Tells Me So…
	


	

		
For the Bible Tells Me So…


“It is spiritual abuse that uses the Bible as a weapon to manipulate,


shame or guilt people into a way you approve of.”


—-Anonymous


 In the wacked out world and society that we as Americans live in we often like to define spiritual abuse in terms of nationality, ethnicity and dialect to other countries that shout, “JIHAD!!!!”  Our own country is saturated with individuals who use a form of spiritual abuse every single day.  We have our own radical extremists who are armed instead of bombs with suicide missions and IEDs and are armed with a tongue and a Bible.  In my case abuse, more specifically domestic abuse was carried out also using the Bible.  I speak only of my own past affiliation with religion.  Now before your polygrip starts slipping from what I’ve just said give me a minute to explain.  Or as many Southerners have once said, “Don’t get yer bowels in an uproar, yer kidneys in a downpour and yer liver in a jar.”


In no way am I saying that everyone that holds strong to their particular religious affiliation are classified as terrorists or abusers.  What I am saying is that we forget in our own communities that  religion both overtly and covertly can cause colossal damage like that of a terrorist.  The damage is not exclusively physical.  Pay attention next time you’re in an extra conservative area of the country and just pipe up and say that you don’t go to a church.  You will be ostracized quickly and/or be invited to a church and they are not expecting resistance of any kind.  If this does occur the likelihood of hearing the saying, “Yep, he/she is going to hell on a scholarship.  A full ride straight to hell if they don’t change their ways.”


I will give my experience of domestic abuse being justified behind a couple of verses that seems to be all the justification that some narcissist need to further carry out their deeds.  My views are not necessarily that of yours or anyone else’s.  There was this one story, though, that I’ve heard most of my life that was right outside of the city limits of Petal, MS on Blue Lake Rd. The people that had this place disguised as a religious run place for unwed mothers and their babies were actually carrying out abuse but only backed by the words held so close to the hearts of many Christians…..THE BIBLE.


sharkfish


Let me attempt to show you the similarities and differences of a couple of situations through words.  Regions of the country where my personal experience with religion is affiliated is in the Deep South of Mississippi.  I have only lived in one other area of the country…the southwest in Albuquerque, NM.  There are similarities in regards to religion in both regions.  And there are some strong differences as you can imagine.  New Mexico is incredibly more liberal and much more ethnically diverse than Mississippi and let’s just leave it at that.


I’m sure that individuals can tell me about atrocities that happen in the name of religion in the southwest area of the country.  By the time Mel and I moved to Albuquerque we were turned off to most forms of organized religion.  I will only speak of my own experience.  If you were to look at my badly scarred forearms from the many years of cutting, you would notice that more than a few were placed there behind some of the few chosen passages in the Bible.


Around the 1960s, the Bethesda Home for Girls was just one of many homes for unwed mothers run by the late Lester Roloff who played a supporting role in the facility as an evangelical pastor.  Around 1960 they operated a choir to market the facility. The facility had a federal investigation in 1986 launched against it amid allegations of abuse and “brainwashing.”  Some of the same allegations also occurred in another Roloff-affiliate home Ruth’s Home of Compassion in Rome, GA which were reported by The New York Times stating….


“In 1982, in a hearing heard by Judge Myron Thompson, The Montgomery Advertiser, Bobby Ray Wills, a principal operator of the home, disputed those reports. He acknowledged that the girls had to listen to religious tapes but said, ”It’s a washing, but it’s called blood washing and heart washing.”  Donna M. said she tried to run away in November but was caught. She was grabbed by the hair, she told the court, and disciplined by Linda Williams, an employee of the home. Donna said she was struck 19 times with a wooden board and ”put in a tub of hot water” to disguise scars and bruises.


School officials produced a half-inch-thick piece of wood, about 18 inches long and 3 inches wide, that they said was used for discipline. Donna testified that another piece of wood, a split baseball bat with holes in it, was also used at the school. Another witness testified that a longer and thicker board was used. Willing to Take a Risk


David C. Gibbs Jr., a Cleveland lawyer, is representing the school, Mr. Wills and Miss Williams in the case. When he cross-examined Donna today, @she acknowledged that she knew that fleeing the home was against the rules and that she would be disciplined if she was caught. She said she was willing to take that risk.


Mr. Gibbs stressed during his cross-examination of Donna and Cindy T. that all the girls at the home were aware that the home had strict rules of discipline based on their religious convictions. Cindy, 16, of Quitman, Miss., testified that she was beaten several times for talking about her past, talking about fleeing the home, and for getting low grades in the academic program.


Today’s court hearing resulted from a complaint filed with the court last month by relatives of a 19-year-old unwed Hayneville, Ala., woman, who was about five months pregnant at the time and had been sent to the home on the recommendation of a minister of a church here. The woman’s relatives subsequently decided that they might have been misled about the home’s environment.


Her understanding, said Candy H., the plaintiff in the suit, in an affidavit filed with the court, was that the home would provide a refuge from possible public ridicule over her pregnancy out of wedlock, provide religious counseling and arrange for her to put her baby up for adoption by Christians. 


As a condition of this help, she said, she was required to sign a contract saying she would stay at the home for a year, would make no phone calls for three months and receive no letters from males. These are standard rules, all sides concede, calling for punishment if they are disregarded. A call by Candy to a relative a few days after she entered the home, however, prompted her sister and mother to seek her release.


In an affidavit filed with the court, Candy, who has been sitting at the plaintiff’s table throughout the day’s proceedings, said: ”I am concerned for the health and safety of other girls at the Bethesda Home for Girls, particularly the physical and mental health of the unwed pregnant girls for the following reasons:


”Pam Hurd, a pregnant girl who has been at the Bethesda Home for Girls for two months, was beaten a week ago by Linda Williams in her office with a wooden board. Pam Hurd returned from Mrs. William’s office crying and in great pain. Pam Hurd sat in her desk and continued to cry. Pam is five months pregnant.


”Veronica, a helper at Bethesda Home for Girls, threatened Pam with additional beatings if she did not stop crying. Pam responded, ‘I just can’t help it, because it hurts.”


”Pregnant girls are repeatedly told they are worse than murderers for having sex out of wedlock,” the affidavit said. ”Pregnant girls are demeaned in front of other girls. This was very upsetting to the girls, as it was to me.”–The New York Times, 1982.


The owners Bobby Wills and his wife Betty is mentioned in relationship with Mountain Park Academy, which were run in the still un-regulated state of Missouri in the early 1980s.


 In 1986 FBI started an investigation. The state sought new homes for 120 teenagers. Aside from the protests from local Christian fundamentalists the investigation resulted in the closure of the facility. Girls, some of whom were pregnant , who was committed to these facilities due to their pregnancy were often forced to give their child up for adoption. 


A girl named Connie Munson died during an escape attempt from the facility. 


In late 2010, the former campus was victim of a fire which destroyed the main dorm.


A lot of these girls have had long lasting effects.  You can do an internet search about this organization and find additional information about the allegations, investigations and eventual rescue of the minors and prosecution of the owners.  These girls ,unfortunately, were not in the minority with these types of behaviors then or now.  Now how does this relate to me?


pain changes


In my marriage to my husband that lasted from 1997-2007, a significant change happened in his abuse.  First, I was told once we were married, “Now that we’re legally married you have to do everything I say.  If you don’t give it , I can take it because I’m a husband.”  Again the message that God thought this was ok because it was in the Bible which was conveyed on so many levels.  We even had a pastor who told us when we went to couples counseling and I complained of how rigid he was about food and body image comments the pastor told us, “A man has a right to have his wife look a certain way.”  Again this seemed to be another confirmation to him that must have given him the “go ahead” on the way he had already been treating me for a few years.  By that time, he had already mentally broken me down to the point that I was afraid to be without him.  Either way this seemed to be the go ahead to seal my fate into being this controlled until I left him in 2006.


Sometimes the behavior does not classify as abuse but rather mixed messages.  The therapist in Albuquerque that I worked with for 2.5 years and was anything but healing in nature was also incredibly ego driven.  The narcissistic way that she conducted therapy was a similar way that my previous marriage to my ex-husband.  Obviously, there were some significant differences but the differentiation in the imbalance of power, verbal aggression and just malicious tones scared me right back into a state of submission.  This is why women and men stay in abusive relationships longer than they want to often to the individual’s detriment.  It’s the breaking of a human being into submission.


The verse so often cherry picked right out of the Bible to justify their behavior was Ephesians 5:22 which states “Wives submit to your husband as your husband submits to the Lord. ”  It appears that this is a mandate for wives to do whatever the husband demands if reading only this part of the chapter.  The will of the woman and the reasonableness of the request are irrelevant to folk who misinterpret the text. Thus, when a wife refuses to “obey” her husband, he sees it as his job to make her “get in line” or to  “make her a better person” as I was told.


This misreading does injustice to the text and to the victims of domestic violence. Ephesians 5:22 is preceded by verse 21: “submit to one another out of reverence for Christ.”  Paul has in mind a magnificent sign to the world of God’s transforming work: People giving of themselves freely and mutually. This fits the opening verses of this chapter (Ephesians 5:1-2), which tells us to “be imitators of God” by “living a life of love, just as Christ loved us and gave himself up for us (Kinnison, 2008).” Furthermore, Paul goes on to admonish husbands to love their wives as they would love their own bodies. (Ephesians 5:28).


In the early 1980’s, I was molested by my pastor’s children at the young age of 5.5 years old.  The details are sketchy for now but make no mistake that I still know, hear and see things in the form of flashbacks that give me all the proof that I need.  I remember some of these times where I was terrified to say anything about what had happened.  It wasn’t fear of my parents.  It was the fear for what would happen to me if I did tell.  I would keep this secret for almost another 30 years.  The fear was due to an imbalance of power by kids much older than me.


This therapeutic relationship had an incredibly forceful presence that scared the ever living shit out of me.  This was another situation where I would “cow tow” to someone who presents very authoritatively.  Most people know that I can, at times, be very confrontational.  However, someone with a very dominant and powerful personality is my kryptonite.   I have been known to avoid eye contact with people that are very dominant. I will have physical reactions around them.  I did not say, “Bad or dangerous people.” Those that find this and use it to their advantage in an abusive fashion are incredibly dangerous to me.


The very last day this therapist and I ever spoke and her reign had finally come to an end.  She told me on the way out, “You know what I’m going to do for you?”  Like an idiot I said, “What?” Like some words of wisdom would actually surface.  She told me, “I will leave you with this last comment….I’m going to pray for you.” “After all you’ve said and done and that’s the best you got?” I asked.  Some might ask which situation was more damaging for me?  She was because of the professional position gives an edge.  But to me they both used the Bible and they were both abusive.  Their somewhat deathly blows were both using the Bible as the main weapon.


I walked off with tears in my eyes and thought…”JUST ANOTHER SITUATION I HAD TO SURVIVE AT THE HANDS OF ANOTHER PREDATOR.”


Whenever I would ask my ex-husband why I had to do whatever task was at hand for him he always told me, “Because the Bible says so.”


http://www.ethicsdaily.com/abusers-distort-bible-to-justify-domestic-violence-cms-14959, Kinnison,  2008.


http//www.nytimes.com/1982/03/05/us/home-s-ex-inmates-tell-of-beatings.html, 2012.


#Thispuzzledlife

	




			
				


	
			
					
	

	

		

			 darnold1975 		


		
It’s Not About The Food
	


	

		
It’s Not About The Food


“Girls developed eating disorders when our culture developed a standard of


beauty that they couldn’t obtain by being healthy.  When unnatural thinness


became attractive, girls did unnatural things to be thin.”


–Mary Pipher


One of the things that I’ve learned the most about my many maladaptive behaviors is that the perfect storm had arrived to ensure me having eating disorders when I was a very impressionable teenager.  Not only was it teenagers having issues with body image.  It was also the abuse that occurred during that time and the things that were said and my impression about what had occurred and what was done.  As a part of the abusive teacher’s very hateful nature was the being humiliated about myself as a human being in front of my peers.  I was put on display a lot of the time and made to stand in front of the class while being made fun of without having any type of recourse.  If I ever said anything back I was punished by both she and the administration who clearly had no idea to what extent her abusive nature was.  She on more than one occasion, would tell me when the rodents would get into my food in my locker “It doesn’t look like you need food anyway.”


My high school years during which I kept those eating disorders alive and well I became a sickly 83lbs and ruined any of my hopes of playing athletics in college.  What I was left with was a life of painful eating disorders that I still struggle with daily.  These behaviors were further compounded when I met my ex-husband who disguised his personal reason for wanting to help me by encouraging the eating disorders in his own way.


skinny back


I was made to weigh for him sometimes weekly because “I’m not going to be married to a fat ass” he would always say.  He would also tell me that “it’s ok to have fat friends but you don’t have to look like them.”  He micromanaged my food to the extent that that I was only allowed to eat what he approved of and nothing else.  To make sure this happened he would allow me only 10 pistachios and 10 olives to eat while at work working two jobs.  He would also, on occasion,  sit out in the parking lot to make sure I didn’t eat anything that was not what he allowed.  When I would tell him that I was hungry his supportive line was “No pain no gain.”


He would also leave random newspaper clippings around the house about the latest weight loss diets and/or make me take pictures of myself in swimsuits or naked, put them on the refrigerator and tell me “next time your fat ass gets hungry look at this picture and maybe you won’t want to eat.”  He would also make comments if we went out to eat about how all the people were looking at me because I was a fat ass.  He would say, “If you don’t like them staring at you then don’t be a fat ass.”  If we had dinner with his family he would wait until we left to criticize either what I ate or how I ate. And many times these comments were said where other people could hear them.  He would also say, “Did you have to eat that much of whatever we had for dinner?  You eat like a prisoner who’s about to have their tray stolen!  And that is why I have to tell you how, when and where to eat.  Because you’re too dumb to do it on your own.  You’ve already proven that time and time again.”  Eating quickly became the most dreaded activity I had to deal with on a daily basis.  My goal was to try to get through life with him and eating as little as possible.  As you can imagine I didn’t do that to his standards either.


The message that was conveyed to me was that no matter what I did it would never be to his irrational standards.  I was also expected to be at the gym to workout mornings at 5:00 am.  Being a well known guy in the city he knows many people and that included the employees at the gym.  So, he would call to verify be being there and what types of workouts I was doing.  If I ran 4 miles he would want to know what I didn’t “gut it out” and run 5 miles.


scales


Years of his verbal abuse, threats, and sexual abuse slowly broke me down.  People who don’t understand why individuals stay in relationships like this often say, “Well he only did what you let him do”  cannot possibly comprehend what this does to your psyche.  Those types of hurtful comments are why most suffer in silence and don’t ask for help.  After all, sometimes it was the easiest and safest thing to do by just going along with whatever his demands no matter what they were.  He had me convinced that I was nothing without him.  He and his brother tormented me for years and continue to do so internally.  But again they were both raised by a father who was also a malignant narcissist and a mother who worked at home without an education until much later in life.  So really she had nowhere to go with three children and no education.  So for many men and women in these types of relationships that don’t leave usually have a damn good reason for staying.  There’s always more to the story behind those closed doors than what you realize.  My own parents had no idea the extent of the abuse that I was having to deal with on a daily basis. Such is a life with a malignant narcissist.


To this day, if someone tries to take a verbal jab at me while in a public place or group setting my “verbal sniper” becomes activated and a one-sided war will ensue.  Get me in that little conservative and very judgmental city and I “turn into a werewolf” as my wife puts it.  I have found that striking the first blow is a way that I can set the tone that I will NOT be hurt by whoever it is that I feel is a personal threat either imagined or real.  All I have to do is see this as a possible threat.  Anyone that I perceive as a authority figure, I absolutely will not make eye contact with if at all possible.


scales attached


I guess the message I’ve tried to convey is that eating disorders and other maladaptive behaviors are about something much deeper than society sees them.  You see the signs and symptoms and I feel the weight of the trauma every minute of every day.  To this day I will chose not to eat because the internal war about what to eat is just too painful.  When I do eat I can never be full and satisfied because full means fat to me.  If I do feel full I have to purge with laxatives to get rid of that feeling.  It’s not a binging thing it’s an eating thing.  I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again…..IT’S NOT ABOUT THE FOOD.


Understand this as well….I’m done trying to live my life carrying my trauma and the trauma those two boys in adult  bodies.  I will NOT continue to be a part of the cycle of not working on my own trauma just to have mine and theirs to be spewed out onto other innocent and unsuspecting people.  This is a work in progress no doubt but the cycle dies with me.  I’ve proven that I can live through it.  Now it’s time to prove I can live without it.  All I need was to find a coach to help with this and I did.


“I failed eating, failed drinking, failed not cutting myself into shreds. Failed friendship. Failed sisterhood and daughterhood. Failed mirrors and scales and phone calls. Good thing I’m stable. ”

― Laurie Halse Anderson, Wintergirls


#Thispuzzledlife

	




			
				


	
			
					
	

	

		

			 darnold1975 		


		
We Called Him Friend
	


	

		
We Called Him….Friend


“The best way a mentor can prepare another leader is to expose him or her to other great people.”


—John C. Maxwell


I have been asking myself lately why I felt the need to write about these individuals who made such a big impact on my life.  The answer…..I don’t know.  Maybe it’s because I’m finally emotionally able to write about them.  Or maybe now that this big life change has happened I have had the time to do some soul searching about people who have impacted my life both positively and negatively.  Whatever the reason I write to process these feelings in private because I’ve always feared expressing emotions other than anger or laughter.  One man that knew the trauma I was experiencing and that spent a tremendous amount of time talking to me each week was Dr. Charles Holmes.


I first met Dr. Holmes during my undergraduate work.  I took several classes he taught on both the undergraduate and graduate level.  He wasn’t a man that crossed boundaries.  He was simply a man who loved his students almost like that of a father.  The first class I took under him was the History of Psychology.  Honestly, the class couldn’t have been more boring.  I would have random thoughts like, “Oh my God did I remember to put on deodorant?  Do penguins have knees? What did I wear?  I look like I just rolled out of my hamper!”  That was one class I truly had to suffer through not because of the instructor but the material.  I was secretly thinking, “To have lobotomy by a leper wouldn’t be as painful.”


He taught many different classes that impacted the lives of so many students.  And then…..I took the Psychology of Addiction and instantly I was in love.  At the time, I had never spoken publicly about the puzzling nature of my life.  When I presented the topic chosen in the class which happened to be about self-harm.  I let my peers into a very small corner of my world and proceeded to throw up after the presentation was complete.  I was also still living with my ex-husband so I was very cautious about telling too much.  But with Dr. Holmes it was just different and you knew that by talking to him. He cared and wanted to know how his students were doing personally not just academically.


dr holmes


March 21, 1941-July 17, 2015


He told us about working with homeless addicts and alcoholics on the streets of New Orleans, LA and I hung onto every word he said.  He knew I was living in an abusive situation but didn’t know the extent.  He didn’t pry but rather just assure me that he was there if I ever needed to talk.  He saw me struggling every day with my personal life of addiction but always had an encouraging word.  He also presented the opportunity to speak to other classes and this continued on into graduate school.  These opportunities were slowly making the shame and guilt dissipate while educating others.


After Hurricane Katrina he told me about some work he was doing in the Pearlington, Waveland and Bay St. Louis areas of Mississippi which were the hardest hit areas.  I was already doing some photography for a book another teacher and I were working on about the devastation.  He invited both Melody and I to help on some rebuilding projects through a Christian organization he was affiliated with.  I can honestly say that the work done in those areas was extremely rewarding.  Not to mention all of the memories that I still have from that.  Here were families broken from the tragedy and I was there to help.  My heart and soul lit up instantly.


I pulled him aside one day before class and said, “Dr. Holmes you’re messing up my theory about men.”  He said, “What are you talking about?”  I said, “Well my experience with men truly exemplifies that all men are pigs and extremely harmful.  Why aren’t you?”  He said, “Dana because I don’t see people in a way as personal property or to make personal gains.”  We hugged and I have never forgotten that.  He would soon make it where all of his classes were required to attend my speaking engagements on campus including the Regional Pine Belt Counseling Association where several professional members of the community also attended.


Once Mel and I moved to Albuquerque life got busy and we spoke every once in a while.  But I did tell him when he asked where I was working that it was with the homeless and how much I appreciated him planting the seed.  I missed him terribly and as my mental health declined all I wanted was to sit down with him and to be told, “It’s going to be ok.”


When we would travel back to Mississippi I would always stop by the college and look up these professors that meant so much to me.  And I could always count on a big hug from Dr. Holmes and occasionally I would help “stomp out stigma and stupidity.”  Whether he was in class or not I would peek around where he could see me and he would excitedly stop his lecture and say, “Come on in, Dana.  Class let me tell you about this former student.” My heart leapt for joy each time and seemed to make it all worth it.


One day while Mel and I were planning a trip back to Mississippi his wife accidentally called me.  It was probably a butt dial.  But I called her back as this was odd.  She told me, “Dana doc isn’t doing well and if you want to see him come on.”  My heart sunk into my stomach and I felt sick.  My beloved professor and friend was dying and there was nothing I could do.


We raced the clock trying to get there before he passed.  Luckily or maybe something granted by the universe, we got there in time.  I walked into his room where he was connected to different medical devices.  I could see he was struggling to breathe and when our eyes met he said, “Dana?”  I said, “Hey doc it’s me. I told you I would be here if you ever needed me.”  He smiled and said, “Are you still cutting?”  I said, “Really that’s your burning question to ask me after this long?”  He and I chuckled and I said, “Yea doc I’m still struggling.” We had a rather short conversation but I told him before I left, “Doc thank you for being such a good man, professor and friend. You really blessed me and it was an honor to have you in my life.”  We told each other “I love you” both with tears in our eyes and hugged.  I left and he soon passed away.


When it was time for his service I saw some William Carey University professors like Dr. Cotten there and I was trying to choke back the tears that were wanting to erupt in my throat.  Then as the service finished and people were mingling a couple walked up to Mel and I and said, “Hey, I think we know you.”  I was scared to death because I couldn’t recall their names or faces.  Ashamed I said, “And who might you guys be?”  They said, “Your name is Dana, right?”  I just knew that they must’ve seen my face on a wanted poster or something.  Reluctantly, I said, “Yes that’s me.”  And they said, “We remember you from helping to rebuild our house after the hurricane with Dr. Holmes.” I was astonished and had a sense of pride as well.  I said, “Yes he was one of my good friends and I’ll miss him dearly.”


#Thispuzzledlife

	




			
				


	
			
					
	

	

		

			 darnold1975 		


		
No Thanks Needed
	


	

		
No Thanks Needed


“I didn’t become an EMT to have a front-row seat to other people’s tragedies.  I did it because I knew the world was bleeding and so was I, and somewhere inside I knew the only way to stop my own bleeding was to stop someone else’s.”


—Anonymous


There’s no possible way to accurately describe what it’s like to work as an EMT on an ambulance.  It’s a career that requires split second decisions and those decisions can and are life changing in many different areas.  This was a career that I had fallen head over heels in love with.  Please keep in mind that anyone in the EMS system that gets called out is not because someone is having a good day.  The same thing for seeing a therapist.  No one seeks out a therapist just to go in session and say, “Hey, everything is going great.  All I wanted to do was pay a co-pay.”


For me working in the EMS system only for a year still had big consequences.  The things I saw in that short year still affect me today deeply.  Companies that own this type of service whether they be hospital based or privately owned are suppose to offer stress debriefing after difficult calls.  However, I worked for a company that was more concerned with getting shifts covered rather than the emotional and physical well being of their employees which I’m sure was pretty standard in the late 90s.


The year that I worked I developed PTSD as a result of everything that I saw.  Some are effected deeply by this and some have less of these effects.  Neither of which are right or wrong.  PTSD is cold and heartless in its effects and can affect anyone at anytime.   I and many others saw human bodies in conditions that no human eye should ever encounter.  Yes I chose that career but anyone who enters a career like that are going to see the cruel ways that humans treat others and the consequences of poor choices.  And then you also see instances where accidents have sometimes devastating effects.  Who does this type of job?  Well someone has to do it and I felt incredibly drawn to do this work despite the low wages, long hours and effects on the human psyche.  Living in a very abusive situation at this same time left me with no one to talk to without judgment.  I also never felt like I could talk with my co-workers because of the machoesque attitudes that were front and center most days.  Maybe this was their own way of dealing with things but I needed a release and I never found it there.


ambulatance


Very seldom do you ever truly reap the benefits of such horrible scenes.  But there was this one time where I felt that my hard work was done with an outcome that I could smile about.  He was a young 7 year-old boy who was heading to his big brother’s birthday party about an hour away.  His mom stopped to fill up with gas while he messed around inside the gas station store.  Mom was busy with another sibling and making sure the car got filled up with fuel.  But this day something caught the eye of this 7 year-old little boy.  There was a mechanic shop right across the road.  Whatever his reasoning was at the time is unclear but this little boy darted across the busy road only to be hit by a drunk drivers side mirror on his head.  The child went down and we got the call.


We were told that the call involved a child and that it was serious.  My own stepchild was also 7 years-old at the time so this one was going to be difficult.  I just had no idea how difficult it would be.  Upon arrival the mother was noticeably hysterical while her child was laying on the unforgiving road.  My partner said,  “Dana we’ve got to get out of here he’s bad.”  So, load and go we did and his mom still hysterically crying was in the front with me.  I think we made it to the hospital in about 3 minutes.  But this call no matter what our efforts would be left in the hands of God and the universe.  I couldn’t leave this situation until I found out if this child was going to make it.  I stayed in the trauma room among all of the chaos of a severe traumatic injury.  He was showing some very disheartening signs that this injury would be his last.  They worked on him for a while but I had to leave prematurely because we had another call to take.  I almost couldn’t think because I wanted to stay with him.  I guess somehow I thought that if I stayed that he would have a better chance.  Irrational as that might seem I just didn’t want to leave him.


A few days later I went back to check on the boy and his mother.  The boy having a major brain injury was still in a medically induced coma to give his brain time to heal.  His mother told me that he was going to be flown to a hospital in Jackson, MS to receive specialty services for his injury.   In my gut,  I just knew that the long term outcome would not be favorable.  We lost contact but I never forgot this little family.  This scene was one that I would replay many times over the next 10 years.


We would bump into each other only by chance maybe once or twice.  I found out that he was in a wheelchair and that the medical bills reached approximately $1,000,000 but he was alive.  I saw he and his mother she and told him, “She’s one of the people that picked you up on the ambulance.”  His beautiful little face lit up and said, “You helped me?” Starting to get choked up but swallowing those tears into my soul I said, “Yes baby I was there.”  That answer seemed to be enough and I said goodbye once again.


A few more years went by without anymore contact.  And then at the 10 year mark I received a call from out the blue.  It was his mother.  In my gut I was thinking that he had died due to complications from his disability.  But his mother said, “Dana this is_____.  He wanted me to call you because he’s graduating high school now and wants you to see him walk for the first time.”  Frozen my thoughts were, “Wait what?  Walking?!!!!”  The only thing I could say was, “I’m there!! Give me the time and place.”  So she did.


I immediately explained everything to Mel since we were now together and asked her if she would go with me.  She agreed and when the time came we both went to this event.  She was taking pictures and I was down on the football field where the graduation ceremony was being conducted.  I stood with his family and prepared myself for what I was about to see.  What I saw was the most courageous 17 year-old boy who didn’t let a set of horrible circumstances stop him from achieving his goal of one day walking before a crowd of hundreds of people.


Chill bumps and emotion overcame me and a sense of pride that this little boy wanted someone who met him under difficult conditions to be there again for the most important day of his life.  Honestly, there’s no way that he should’ve lived but that decision was not mine but was something granted from God.  My life was changed that day yet again.  He reiterated through his actions again the importance of never giving up.


After the ceremony was over and he was sitting back in his wheelchair, I walked to him to tell him how proud I was of him and to tell him goodbye.  He told me, “Ms. Dana thank you for everything you did for me.”  And I told that little warrior as I looked into his eyes, “No thanks needed.  I would do it again in a heartbeat!”  I gave both he and his mother hugs and a little kiss on his forehead and then turned to walk away.  My heart was overflowing with joy and I concluded that all the images and calls that still bothered me was worth every penny to be able to have this God given opportunity to witness.


“Life is about making an impact not making an income.”


—Kevin Kruse


#Thispuzzledlife

	




			
				


	
			
					
	

	

		

			 darnold1975 		


		
Man On A Mission
	


	

		
A Man on a Mission


“When you push yourself beyond limits, you discover inner


reserves, which you never thought existed earlier.”

― Manoj Arora, Dream On


Throughout all my many years of abuse there have also been people who have crossed my path leaving their mark on my life in a way that facilitates growth.  Dr. Paul D. Cotten was just one of those people.  He also crossed paths with my father when he was in junior college.  Ellisville State School was a residential facility for individuals with mental retardation.  As you can imagine, I went with my dad to work when I was little, therefore, being around individuals with many different types of disabilities was the norm.  As an adult I consider that exposure a blessing.


When I started my educational career at William Carey University as a non-traditional undergraduate, I told my dad the names of some of the professors.  As I mentioned some of the names he began to tell me stories about his connection with Dr. Cotten and some of the funny things he would say.  My experience with Dr. Cotten was one that I valued and learned from at every interaction.  He was not an easy professor, by any means, but he knew how to get me to perform at my best.  He pushed me sometimes to tears but I knew that what he was doing was out of love for his students.


dr cotten


I took him for several classes but my favorite and most challenging had to be Abnormal Psychology.  Dr. Cotten was very instrumental in deinstitutionalizing and placing these individuals with disabilities into the community.  The focus of our internship programs were with the elderly and mentally retarded populations.  Yes I was able to do many hours in substance abuse programs but he would not let me make that my focus.  I have stories I could tell about working with these populations and was truly blessed.


Anyone who crossed paths with Dr. Cotten was one where you either hated him or loved him as a professor.  I truly believe that most people loved him because he always challenged you to be your best.  Some of the best advice I was given as a student by him was, “Before you diagnose someone you first have to understand that they are an individual.”  Dr. Cotten also saw clients for evaluations for court commitments.  The stories that he would share would have you laughing but his points were always very clear.  He told us in one of the Gerontology classes  that “Most people retire from something rather than to something which shortens their lives due to complacency.”  He had more irons in the fire in his 70s than most will have in a lifetime, thus, making sure he wasn’t complacent. He milked life of every minute of every day no matter how difficult sometimes.


894ae-william-carey-university55d83ad6bea86


In tears, I went to him one day in his office where he had placed a piano that he would often be playing southern gospel music. I announced my arrival and I looked at him and said, “Dr. Cotten I respect you so much why are you pushing me so hard if you know what I’m going through at home?”  I was still married to my ex-husband, at the time, and the abuse I suffered at his hands was immense.  Dr. Cotten then told me, “Because I know that you’re capable of more than what he’s telling you.”  I couldn’t really understand everything in the moment but I took that interaction back with me and I have never forgotten how much that motivated me to finish my degree through the blood, sweat and tears.  I just couldn’t understand why he cared but he did.


He was always so funny but very business-like at times.  I asked him while walking to another class why he was there on his day off.  He simply told me, “I’m here to help stomp out stupidity.”  I could do nothing but laugh because that’s exactly what he was doing.  He also required us to be counselors at Camp Kaleidoscope, which is a camp for children with autism and other spectrum disorders.  I was terrified but I will always give him credit for making us well rounded as students.


When I heard of his passing in 2017, at the age of 80,  I teared up at the death of a man who made such a big impact on my life both personally and professionally.  But most of all, he was a man of integrity and always wanted the best for his students no matter what branch of psychology they chose. He was also over the music therapy program and touch lives everywhere he went. He touched my life at a time that was tumultuous and finding a reason to live was like trying to find a needle in a haystack.


Thank you Dr. Paul D. Cotten for blessing my life and for seeing more than just a traumatized individual that stood before you.  You have inspired me to continue in the world by helping to “stomp out stupidity.”


#Thispuzzledlife

	




			
				


	
			
					
	

	

		

			 darnold1975 		


		
The Healing Has Begun
	


	

		
The Healing Has Begun


“Healing is a matter of time, but it is sometimes also a matter of opportunity.”


— Hippocrates


Recently, I was asked to notice the things that irritate me throughout the week but more specifically in public where I have the most problems.  And OMG I must have totally been  attempting to be a trophy hog on disordered thinking or something.  Because I started noticing that everything about being in public bothers me  with the complete spectrum of emotions.  I won’t put too many specifics because well…..we live in a society with some real poop slingers.  No wonder I have so many different reactions both physically and mentally.


I already know from where some of these reactions stem but some I don’t.  At any rate, I still learned something about my triggers.  I also learned that I have a lot of work to do before I’m anywhere near comfortable in public again.  I’ll just have to trust the next step.


I have isolated myself so long that I’d lost all hope and refused to set any goals.  I guess before I set goals I needed to have some time to realize what it is that I want again out of life.  What are the things that I’ve missed and grieved over missing in life?  Some might not seem big but they were definitely taken for granted.


    

  1. First, I want to be able to be the kind of spouse to my wife that she deserves.  She didn’t ask for the complications of a mentally ill spouse.  I also didn’t ask for the mental illness.  She’s a real trooper in every way.  And she wholeheartedly supports my efforts to find peace.
    2. 

  2. I want to be a mother to my children that’s there for them both emotionally and physically.  Yes my children are learning about mental illness firsthand.  It’s both good and bad.  They are learning how devastating it can be but they are also learning how to be advocates at the same time.  They deserve, as well as, I do to be emotionally available to them. They know that momma D is different.  And they also know that I’m momma the one who loves them more than my next breath.
    3. 

  3. I want my career back working with difficult populations with addictions in some capacity.
    4. 



nothing can dim a light


    

  1. I want to speak to graduate classes specifically about the stigmas surrounding the diagnosis of DID.  And how important ethics are and the damage that can be caused from not being ethical therapists.  And how bad therapy almost killed me.
    2. 

  2. I would like to do public speaking outside the classroom also helping to lessen the stigmas of mental illness.
    3. 

  3. I want to be able to live a life free from the torture of my past.
    4. 

  4. I want to be able to grieve all these years I’ve held back out of fear.
    5. 

  5. Above all I just want to be heard.
    6. 



This might seem like not a big deal to some but this is still a tall order that I have never seen as being remotely possible.  I don’t know what lies before me.  I heard someone recently say that uncomfortability is the key to healing and growth.  I am definitely no stranger to uncomfortability. But more with the goal of peace at the finish line doesn’t appear to be a difficult choice.  The pace will be slow and steady which is the way I would view a ball season or an important game.  And well….I’m in the fight for my life.  Burning out on the front end just creates more setbacks. It’s also not a sprint but a marathon. Because it took 42 years to become this dysfunctional and to think it can all be healed over night is a miracle only Jesus could pull off.   Yes Sarah I do understand. Sometimes all you need is for someone to give you a chance to reap that opportunity.  My friends the healing has begun.


#Thispuzzledlife

	




			
				


	
			
					
	

	

		

			 darnold1975 		


		
Shattered (Poetry)
	


	

		
Shattered


Life began being ripped away,


how that felt I can’t begin to say.


With no voice I lie and wait


Someone? Are you there? Touch is what I crave.


As a little girl touch was what I got.


I didn’t understand. It was painful and hot.


Teen years rolled around and I was locked away.


All I did was cry and pray.


I wanted to disappear in every way.


Everything has a price that must be paid.


She hated food and she hated life.


You did everything possible to make her your wife


SHATTEREX


You always promised you’d never hit her.


But oh those words were so strong and very bitter.


You cut her down and again she was little.


Take her fears and insecurities and made her very brittle.


She refused to leave and would not go.


All she was to you was a legal ho.


To substances she turned to dull her pain


Given the chance she’d do it again.


Many losses and now a new wife.


With two little boys and a new life.


The old life hangs on and the fears are great.


Everything about life she has learned to hate.


Friends and family she’s lost most but not all.


She’s somehow trapped again by four walls.


If they all knew what all it takes to live every day.


Forget the fact that she loves weed or that she’s gay.


Because of you A shattered psyche and a shell is all that is left.


She gets up every day wondering is this the day she will taste death?


By: Dana Landrum-Arnold


#Thispuzzledlife


 

	




			
				


	
			
					
	

	

		

			 darnold1975 		


		
Who Really Cares?
	


	

		
Who Really Cares?


January 11, 2017


“The moment we begin to fear the opinions of others and hesitate to tell the truth that is in us, and from motives of policy are silent when we should speak, the divine floods of light and life no longer flow into our souls.”


— Elizabeth Cady Stanton


I think this is a question that is often asked but responses are typically….”Not me for sure” “I could care less what people think” “Their opinions don’t pay my bills”  But if we all really look deep do we truly care what people’s opinions are of us as an individual?  I can only speak for myself on this topic but I can honestly say that I’m torn.  Remember, this is where I am emotionally on this topic at this moment.  With so many internal opinions this answer is likely to change momentarily.  However, I can say that the majority of my life the message has always been conveyed to me that “image” is very important, if not, one of the most important things in life.  And it’s the opinions of others that somehow control the vision or path of my future.  Let me explain…..


Being raised in a very conservative and small southern town the typical way of dealing with things has always been to “keep it in the family and put a smile on your face.”  Do I think that this way of thinking is detrimental to completing the normal emotional/psychological/physical developmental stages?  Why no.  But I do think that in some instances it can make for difficult adjustments.  I clearly remember as a child getting ready for church on Sunday mornings and for one reason or another I or my sister would get in trouble usually leading to tears of frustration about simply not getting our way.  But let us pull into that church parking lot and it was, “Dry it up and put a smile on your face.  We are headed inside the church.”  What this translates to is this….”Don’t let anyone see anything that is considered ‘out of the norm’ because it will reflect poorly on our family thus making us look like incompetent parents.”  Now, I obviously can’t say that this is exactly what my parents were thinking or feeling but it definitely rings true for those friends, family and perpetrators that I’ve had dealings with.  I’m also in no way trying to demonize the way my parents raised me.


Is this a very catastrophizing way of looking at a very harmless situation?  Absolutely.  But this is a very multi-generational and societal way of thinking that is very common nationwide.  This is also a side effect of a society that focuses primarily on appearance that is often unauthentic.  Nevertheless, these very unrealistic expectations that have false attainability beliefs infiltrate the minds of impressionable children and teens and they are constantly chasing an image or ‘image like’ appearance not only to fail but fail miserably.  The thought, in turn, of not being good enough is implanted and constantly reiterated until it becomes a belief and then a self fulfilling prophecy.  This obviously doesn’t ring true in every situation but, I would be willing to bet that there are both young teen boys and girls who struggle with body image and appearance in epic proportions.


All of my perpetrators in some form abused me in ways that attacked my appearance and body image to a level that has left long time scars and often gaping wounds both internally and externally.  These wounds, by far, have been some of the deepest.  Body image and self worth were tied into one very distorted concept that birthed very distorted beliefs.  The specifics of these events are left for those willing to listen professionally.  Please understand that they are as fresh today as the day they pierced my skin and psyche. This belief is also one that is also held in high regard by society as evidenced by the astonishing numbers of children, teens and adults who are held captive by eating disorders, compulsive plastic surgery or any substance or behavior that falsely advertises that there will be TOTAL control or perfection such and I would be the first one with my hand out.


comfort zone


Now, why all of this long and drawn out explanation?  Well, because for me this is exactly what my ‘perfect storm’ looked like. Essentially, I’ve been marinating in false beliefs and concepts the majority of my life in many different ways.  These beliefs that have developed at a very young age while also being further molded by daily verbal and emotional abuse just so happened to be the perfect breeding ground for lifelong eating disorders and body image issues.


I was recently asked the question…”How do I imagine a world without the care of what people think?” Again I quickly thought, “I don’t care what people think in the least bit.”  Then the reality of the question hit me a few seconds later and I looked at her like someone who had just seen an individual streaking in their living room.  All I could muster was the puppy head tilt.  I honestly had to fight back tears because I knew what was being hinted at and how incredibly painful this topic is for me.


Since I’ve now had time to digest the question further I can honestly say this….I have no idea what a world where no one cared what other people think about them.  This in no way has any hint of sarcasm attached to it.  It’s almost like asking Helen Keller what it’s like to have sight?  When I’ve never lived or understood how to live life full of true freedom in that way, it’s difficult to imagine a life like that even being possible.  That’s not to say that people don’t fully understand and embrace that concept currently.  It sounds like a beautiful fantasy that I’ve been unable to touch, smell, see or taste thus far.


I can tell you that personally with the weight on my shoulders that I’ve carried daily for many years surrounding this topic, it would probably feel like I was so light that I might float away if I were that free.  I don’t really know an answer that isn’t conflicting.  What I do know is that caring what people think about me and my life and life choices does not get the bills paid.  I think also that because of the nature of human beings wanting and needing to belong often times we tend to try and conform naturally to what society, family or friends think for fear of not belonging and having that connection of acceptance from another.   I also know that caring what people have thought has left me with devastating effects to my own detriment  and often in ways not seen with the naked eye.  So, I guess maybe this is just another situation where moderation is the key and too much is dangerous.  I’m not too proud to say that I just don’t know or understand that balance yet because I live in a constant state of fight or flight.  However, I’m beginning to understand exactly how far this issue permeates every part of my being.


Usually, I write and I get a noticeably uplifting release.  Tonight, however, I must say that the feeling is an all over heaviness on my heart, mind and body.  As a tear muscles its way through a tough, outer exterior, I am reminded at how very painful and yet cathartic these moments can be.


#Thispuzzledlife

	




			
				


	
			
					
	

	

		

			 darnold1975 		


		
Inside The Rage
	


	

		
Inside the Rage


November 15, 2016


“Rage — whether in reaction to social injustice, or to our leaders’ insanity, or to those who threaten or harm us — is a powerful energy that, with diligent practice, can be transformed into fierce compassion.”

― Bonnie Myotai Treace


 Explicit and detailed rage scene!


I peer through the widow making sure I’m at the correct house. I spot her sitting in her living room with that same scowl on her face from 27 years earlier. The memories of her hatred flood back with the force of Hurricane Katrina and almost paralyzing.  This is the moment at which she would experience the same fear, humiliation, belittling and taunting that I once received from her.  I have prepared for this moment my whole life.  “Be strong, Dana. It’s now our turn” I tell myself.  I knock on the door knowing that I would be recognized immediately.  She opens the door. And before she can say anything I rush the door pushing her off balance back into her house and onto the floor. I pull my 9mm out and point it at her saying, “What you thought I forgot?! Now it’s time to even the score. Please I invite you to take a trip down memory lane with me. You might’ve forgotten what was said and done but I never did. And I never will.” I quickly tie her hands behind her with rope and lock the doors. I make her sit in a chair where she’s tied and threaten to be killed if she says anything without being asked. I tell her, “So this is what it’s like being one up on somebody. No wonder you like that so much.”  With the “deer in the headlights” look on her face and tears welling up in her eyes I say, “Oh is the baby going to cry now? Bitch suck it up!  I had to and I was a child!!!!”




I start pacing with adrenaline and anger at a level that I’ve never felt before. I feel certain that I’ll probably have a heart attack at any moment. But I don’t care. I tell her, “Think to yourself why are you and I back in this position?” Her breathing has become rapid and erratic.  Tears are now flowing down her cheeks and she’s shaking with fear.  “Hey you little bastard!  I asked you a question!” I said as I threw something across the room breaking it against the opposing wall. She starts trying to talk but it sounds mostly like babble. “Shut that hole in your face and talk normal you little idiot! Is it all coming back to you now? Where is everybody to save you? Come on!  Say something or do something so I can send your little unwanted ass to the office again. Hell, no wonder no one wanted you. I wouldn’t have wanted you either.  You’re just a little piece of trash that no one will ever want” and with that I slapped her as hard as I could across the cheek.  A whimper and a whence she continues to cry but now sobbing.  “Suck it up, fish sticks! We’re just getting started.”  I chuckled and say, “Look on the bright side….at least this won’t be every day for a year in a secluded storage closet.”  “I didn’t do anything wrong!” she says.  “Wrong answer, dumbass!” and I slam into her throat with my forearm knocking both she and the chair over with a thud. “IT AIN’T FUN WHEN THE RABBIT GOT THE GUN, IS IT?!!!!”  She slowly shakes her head and starts sobbing louder. “You know what?  I don’t give a fuck what you have to say right now!” I tell her. I rip a piece of duct tape off and put it over her mouth. “You should see how pathetic you look. You could dish it out to a kid but you can’t take it?  This time I have a smile on my face and YOU have the tears. How does it feel now that the roles are reversed?  Who gave you the right or idea that it was in any way ok for the way you treated children? You fucking disgust me!”  As I look into her eyes, I can tell that she is experiencing the depth of fear that I did. The feeling I got was something of validation.


IMG_0861


I slowly walk behind her and whisper in her ear….”No Child Left Behind” and “Teachers touch lives for a lifetime.” I ask her, “Do those statements mean anything to you? Because they mean everything to me. Remember when I fell through the cracks and had to endure your abuse by myself?  Remember how you would embarrass me in front of my peers with your hatred?  Do you remember any of the things I said to you being said to me?  And I find out through the years that you’ve said similar things to other children? So why are you so surprised that I’m back?  The guilt of not having found a way to stop you so no one else got hurt is why I’m back, bitch.” All she can do is look at me knowing well what I’m talking about but not knowing what I’m fully capable of doing. “You altered the course of my life forever with your abusive hatred! You took my fears and insecurities and used them as a weapon by making them public through humiliation!  Your words and actions have left me unable to deal with life and on disability now.  I got me degrees to prove you wrong but you still managed to raise your ugly head and cripple me this many years later.  I survived you and your abuse. Will you survive mine?”  I turn around facing the wall instead of her and I felt a small tear streams down my face.  I turned around. I pointed the gun at her and hearing her muffled screams I say to her, “They say the root of all evil is money.  But it’s not.  The root of all evil is the abuse of power.  You don’t matter to anyone. You never did.”  As I’m starting to pull the trigger I’m startled by a loud noise.  What I soon realize is that the loud noise was the ice maker in the refrigerator here at home. And I’ve been sitting in my recliner for a couple of hours looking at a chair on the other side of the room.


A flood of nausea from a now raging and might I say, angry, migraine is now plaguing me physically.  I quickly try to figure out the current situation, time and place.  My heart is pounding and adrenaline is rapidly flowing through me veins. I grab my pipe with my medical cannabis needing some ‘hurry up’ relief.  I’m already having to play catch up with this migraine.  My legs feel like they have been set on fire. And I’m doing my best to hold down lunch. I feel like something is trying to crawl out of me and run.  From deep within I hear and feel the panic of “Let me out! Get away from me! Let me out! Get away from me!” This calls for a dab of wax. But not before I realize that the belt is wrapped around my arm as a tourniquet in the familiar preparation for cutting.  I just lay back and let it happen.  She needs relief and so do I.  Several minutes go by and I slowly begin to reorient to my surroundings again with a neatly bandaged arm.  I’m weak and exhausted but I now feel now, as though, I might not die.  I look around the room and see that it resembles somewhat of a ditch house for drug addicts or the homeless.  Things are broken that I have no memory of doing yet I was alone all day.  I quietly begin to sob by myself partially out of fear.  But also out of relief that this time no one was home but me.  And I say once again to my internal guys, “Thank you for keeping me safe yet again.”


“I finally understood what could drive kids to show up with guns and shoot up their schools.”

― Nenia Campbell, Freaky Freshman


#Thispuzzledlife

	




			
				


	
			
					
	

	

		

			 darnold1975 		


		
Back In The Saddle? We Think Not.
	


	

		
Back in the Saddle? We think not.


November 14, 2016


“Somehow the disorder hooks into all kinds of fears and insecurities in many clinicians. The flamboyance of the multiple, her intelligence and ability to conceptualize the disorder, coupled with suicidal impulses of various orders of seriousness, all seem to mask for many therapists the underlying pain, dependency, and need that are very much part of the process. In many ways, a professional dealing with a multiple in crisis is in the same position as a parent dealing with a two-year-old or with an adolescent’s acting-out behavior. (236)”

― Lynn I. Wilson, The Flock: The Autobiography of a Multiple Personality


Since my last blog, life has hit both me and my family like a tsunami.  Attempting to live with Dissociate Identity Disorder has become a bigger challenge than either my wife or myself could’ve ever imagined.  The agony of trying to find a therapist in the state of New Mexico who specializes in this disorder has been nothing less than impossible.  The lack of knowledge on this disorder by therapists that we have dealt with has left my wife and I in tears and shaking our heads. We have decided that New Mexico has given us the best it has to offer….our boys. As far as competent mental health services, it like the rest of the country it leaves a lot to be desired.


I like many other clients resort to staying away from the therapy field, for the most part, because of the additional damage that has been done.  There just aren’t enough therapists who are competent enough treating severe trauma related disorders.  Let me lay it out….so, when an individual goes to a community mental health therapist they are usually being seen for depression, anxiety, OCD, eating disorders, phobias, etc.  Where all of these are often seen in trauma related disorders the thing that sets this apart from DID is the fact that there’s often one issue that becomes problematic.  In DID, there are often numerous issues that on a 1-10 scale are all busting out at a 15 at any given time.  Additionally, my psyche has compartmentalized memories of the traumas which has created alters all with their own personal needs, fears and individual diagnoses. There are times throughout the days and weeks where I have absolutely no memory of anything.  I or shall I say some part of me could’ve been having a conversation and interacting with you as though I was completely coherent.  Trust me…being told I’ve done things leaves me just as stunned as telling someone that I have no idea what had transpired during my encounter with them.  As frustrating as I’ve seen therapists get while attempting to blindly treat this disorder, what has been the most damaging are uncontrolled egos.  Where there might be a lack of knowledge of specific trauma related issues, whatever happened to genuine compassion instead of therapeutic arrogance?  Luckily, there has been only a one, thus far,  that hasn’t jumped out of the pot just because the water got hot. Personally that has done more for peace of mind than any therapeutic relationship in the past.


trapped in head


Slowly, I hope to fill in some time gaps from the last 1-2 years.  Our boys are what seems to propel this family into continuing the often heart breaking and gut wrenching symptoms and effects that this disorder is taking on both me, Mel and our kids.  They keep days when smiling isn’t possible at least somewhat tolerable.  The purity of love between a child and a parent is one that’s individual and impenetrable.


I won’t lie and pretend that everything is Ok because it’s not.  Bad experiences therapeutically has left me incredibly rigid from the sting of unethical behaviors.  Physically I stay sick every single day in some way.  But truthfully, fear keeps me paralyzed. I have in many ways become a prisoner to my house.  Driving has become too dangerous because of uncontrolled dissociation and switching.  My eyesight changes as alters change making being able to see while driving anything but safe.  Getting lost while driving and not knowing where I’m located and, at times, not knowing the city or state where I’m located presents its own unique hurdles.  Sometimes daily migraines up to 17 hours before any relief is achieved.  And, well, after the previous 3 year battle to prove my innocence in a DUI case because of a dissociative episode while driving has left me quite shaky when it comes to driving by myself.


anne sexton


Going into public now requires that I be heavily medicated to keep the pure terror and panic attacks to a somewhat manageable level and keep anything unpleasant from happening like vomiting; or a terrified and paranoid alter from appearing; or not being able to complete a sentence because too many are trying to talk and I sound like I’m stuttering. I also seem, at times, to not be able to count money or to be able to answer routine questions asked by anyone at a business without little beads of perspiration on my brow because I can’t comprehend what they’re asking or what the conversation consists of.  With Mel by my side the help is there but the embarrassment is often times unavoidable.  When I’m by myself , I’m socially a wreck. I make it out the house and into my vehicle only to turn around within a couple of miles because the anxiety gets intolerable.  I then retreat to my life behind the walls of our house wondering if and when this nightmare will ever end.


With so many stigmas surrounding the disorder and myths about how it should present itself, it’s no wonder so many professionals haven’t the slightest idea what small glimpse of a world they might see before them.  Strictly based on the ideas that Hollywood portrays is another reason so many have the opinions that to have DID you must resemble Sybil Dorsett in the movie Sybil.  When, in fact, switching can be very subtle and unnoticeable.  There is also the ongoing debate about whether or not Dissociative Identity Disorder is an actual disorder.  This disorder has been in the manual since the DSM-III (Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders, 3rd edition, 1980) when it first called this disorder Hysterical Neurosis, Dissociative Type.   Since then, the sometimes strange and hurtful behaviors and complications of this disorder have been studied. The knowledge and reasons for the disorder forming are of a much  higher prevalence than once thought. But an even higher prevalence of misdiagnosis sometimes for many years due to the lack of education about how to diagnose properly.  This disorder is very complex, perplexing, frustrating and at times damaging both physically and emotionally to the patient and the families.  Very simply stated….. Dissociative Identity Disorder is very much a reality for our family.


#Thispuzzledlife

	




			
				


	
			
					
	

	

		

			 darnold1975 		


		
Frustrations Of Life
	


	

		
Frustrations of Life


The effects of unresolved trauma can be devastating. It can affect our habits and outlook on life, leading to addictions and poor decision-making. It can take a toll on our family life and interpersonal relationships. It can trigger real physical pain, symptoms, and disease. And it can lead to a range of self-destructive behaviors.


— Peter A. Levine


Hopefully, at some point as an adult, life will inevitably let you see it for what it truly is.  I take a step back and look at the year in my life that altered my entire future which is now my past.  The specifics of that year I dreadfully replay on a daily basis.  With both horror and amazement I sit and still try to comprehend almost 30 years later the “whys” that never get answered.  The “torture” as I felt those damaging words, aggressive taunting in front of all my peers knowing I was unable to speak or I would face further punishment. It was a part of the daily mind games, harassment and bullying that pelted my psyche like a spray of bullets.  That same year a fellow classmate and friend committed suicide.  I also sustained a basketball related knee injury that plagues me to this day and became a factor into shattered dreams of one day playing ball past high school.  Life continued to happen and all I knew was that I wanted out.  Out of school and out of life.  I just wanted it all to stop.  I screamed so loudly for someone to help me.  The screams fell on deaf ears.  The screams were there and I could hear them but no one else could.


The inside canvas of my psyche now resembled a pile of suicide wrist rags.  There was a rage that scared me deep within that continued to gain strength and building like a monster hurricane.  I was trapped both physically and figuratively somewhere within the recesses of my mind.  The horrible headaches I now began having became misery on top of misery.  I had to do something or I felt I would implode from emotions.


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On the outside I looked and was  treated like the well liked class clown and promising athlete.  I was friends with everyone.  I was never bullied by anyone except by one of the people that was there to protect me. Not to hurt me.   I tried to play off the situation time after time.  Each tear was portrayed as streams of weakness.  Those tears quickly  became bolts of lightning full of rage and hatred that no one could see building with each hurtful comment.    I seemed to just be beginning to disappear within myself.  I didn’t understand or care as long as I disappeared and couldn’t hear and feel her words.  The pills and the razors were just an added bonus.  Suicidal thoughts , for the first time, began to consume me.  And the obsession with death became an infatuation that never ends.  In reality the “perfect storm” was being created and no one seemed to notice not even me.


I made it through that year licking my wounds  That year changed me forever.  Not a day has gone by in 30 years that I haven’t dealt with the repercussions of that abuse on a daily basis.  Other things in my life have contributed to my  eventual downfall in life but that year stands out as the most painful.  Instead of being that carefree and very fun-loving teenager that I once was, I’ve become a 41 year-old mother of two who still functions like a teenager.  I feel like a teenager on most days.  I see fellow classmates and wonder why I never matured like they did?   Whatever happened during that abuse stunted my emotional maturity at the point at which it happened.  I hate life.  I hate most people.   I’m always scared.  I’m sick physically from the stress on most days.  I can’t have a normal relationship with my family or children because of the overwhelming memories and feelings associated with that event.    Six years of college and two degrees and they mean as much as monopoly money now. My career that I worked so hard to begin was over before it got started.   I’ve lost through one way or another most of the important relationships in my life because my mood swings are so out of control and aggression seems to be the primary emotion exhibited.  The independence of driving has slowly melted away because I can’t focus long enough to drive safely.  The physical pain that seems to engulf me on many days ensures vomiting and tears.  I battle daily with both anorexia and bulimia as I have for the last 30 years.  Deciding on what food to eat every day usually leaves me in tears and hungry.


My life seems like I’m watching a movie of the newest horror film.  I don’t even recognize any of it because it’s so far from where and what I’m supposed to be doing by now.  All of which could’ve been prevented had someone simply been willing to see past the label and ask what was wrong.


Most mornings I wake up pissed because I realize that I’m still alive. Even with the best little family at my side, I hate every moment of every day. If life is that miserable then what’s the point in living it, right?  Many of my friends “tapped out” on life so apparently it’s not just me.  The advice given to me as a child was to “trust people and build relationships on trust.”  I did that and it left me disabled at an early age.  Again, I feel trapped.  This time I’m trapped within myself.


#Thispuzzledlife

	




			
				


	
			
					
	

	

		

			 darnold1975 		


		
Circling The Drain
	


	

		
Circling the Drain


11.19.15


“Even in times of trauma, we try to maintain a sense of normality until we no longer can. That, my friends, is called surviving. Not healing. We never become whole again … we are survivors. If you are here today… you are a survivor. But those of us who have made it thru hell and are still standing? We bare a different name: warriors.”

― Lori Goodwin


The behavior they see is but a snowcap on top of a huge mountain of anguish.  They refuse to see the truth even when it’s partially revealed because it’s much easier to sift through and pick out the nicer parts of the story.  To most people, we should be walking around thanking God for such a beautiful day to experience life.  But to us…..it’s all about survival.  It always has been.  They ask us to see things through their eyes but refuse to even glance through ours.  Hell, the truth is that OUR truth would have most people retching at the sugar coated version.  Now, imagine living in it day after day….  Oh to outsiders, we should be so happy and grateful that we have a loving spouse, beautiful and healthy children.  To us….it’s still about  survival.


Many times we have heard, “Dana, all that happened a long time ago and it’s just water under the bridge.  Be thankful for what you do have because it could’ve been so much worse.”  “Oh, her father was mean like that to her too.” And to those that say that, I pity their ignorance.  If trauma was that easy to get over, therapists would be out of jobs.  The analogy about not being able to unbreak a plate couldn’t be any closer to the truth.  Some have also said, “Oh well I went through much worse than that and nothing’s wrong with me.”  My thoughts are, “Congrats have fun with that bucket of denial that nothing’s wrong.”  Some have even said, “Well, you’ve survived and aren’t living in it now.  So, now you can move on and enjoy your life.”  Let’s see…even if I make my pros and cons list about how grateful I am for things in my life I still have an overwhelming fear of food, active eating disorder, social anxiety, PTSD, stomach problems, digestive problems, suicidal/homicidal ideations almost daily, a 6 year degree that I can’t use, no memory, rage issues, problems driving, active self harm issues, a non-existent sex life, frequent switching all of which I cannot control and the biggest complaint I get is my attitude.


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 You see, when everyone is getting dressed for work, we get ready to battle our demons alone yet another day.  To the average person this looks like a lazy person who just doesn’t want to work and is another cause for the ever increasing issues of being a drain on society.  Truth is, they would have the barrel in their mouths much sooner.  When I was asked one time about having PTSD if I had served our country as a soldier in the war I simply replied, “I didn’t serve our country, but I’ve been fighting a war all of my life.”  People usually do the typical double take and look away.  Now, if just that made them uncomfortable what do you think they would do with the gory details or god forbid had to live it? Guess what? I relive each and every detail every day and night that I take a breath.  At times the memories have me hugging the toilet while waiting for the next wave of vomit to come rushing out of my mouth from the increasing anxiety that has my body feeling like it’s being ripped apart.  I would just like to state that any vomiting is not from my eating disorder as I despise the act. The migraine is pounding so hard that a sledgehammer is a welcoming thought.  The tears flow a constant stream as the voices scream their demeaning insults from as few as 10 years ago to as far back as 35 years ago.  All I want is for someone to come help rescue me but again it’s the familiar feel of having to fight on my own yet again with no guide.  Where is everyone?!  I panic but I shouldn’t because I’ve been here many times. I just want someone to make it STOP!!!!  And then another wave of vomit, that I had been anxiously awaiting, arrived.  I lay my head on the seat of the toilet and just begin sobbing and thinking, “When is enough, enough?”


#Thispuzzledlife

	




			
				


	
			
					
	

	

		

			 darnold1975 		


		
Wolves In Sheep’s Clothing
	


	

		
Wolves in Sheep’s Clothing


8.3.15


“Hiding my pain and acting strong, afraid to cry and


show my tears, I struggle with all this years later.”


― Erin Merryn, Living for Today: From Incest and Molestation to Fearlessness and Forgiveness


 I’m playing ‘catch up’ on topics and knew that I would eventually need to talk about the topic of the Duggar family.  I know that a lot of media coverage has made hearing the Duggar name sound  as comforting as snuggling with a pit viper.  In all fairness, though, I’ve waited to talk about this topic in the blog for a while on purpose.  I had a total system ‘shock and awe’ event that happened when details of the events were released.  Talk about ripping a scab off a deep and very painful wound.  Here let’s just start from when Mel and I began watching them….


Mel and I had been watching the Duggars’ program 19 Kids and Counting for a couple of years on and off.  We usually watched them when nothing else was on because of their radical, fundamentalist views.  However, when we did watch the show, I enjoyed watching the strange dynamics within the family like many of the other reality shows on television now.  We usually have fun diagnosing or predicting future diagnoses of each member of the families we have the pleasure of watching them interact together.  Yes, when both you and your spouse have counseling degrees and can recognize dysfunction a mile away, then watching reality TV tends to be so much more interesting.


Anyway, watching the children interact but also factoring in that networks need their ratings to remain profitable, you can just tell that with that many kids in one family, that all needs are not met for healthy mental development.  Aside from the fact that I feel deeply sorry for the mother’s uterus for having to birth that many children, I still had a deep concern for the mental well being of the children.  I would and do feel sorry for children who have to grow up in families where their religious beliefs are as abusive as any object or fist that’s thrown or used on the child.  Where these families might have the best intentions for their children biblically, it’s not healthy physically or mentally for children to grow up with such strict “laws” imposed on them by their caretakers.


When you have 19 children, you are setting them up for failure.  I have read and watched how the Duggar’s children interact and an older child is put in charge of a younger child.  Ummmm…..did I say that they are both children?  Yep, children should not be expected nor put in the position of ever having to be a parental figure to a younger child.  I realize that this happens even in smaller families and even non-religious families and it’s still destructive.


wolves in sheep clothing #2


When the news about Josh Duggar and the molestation began littering social media and other news sources, it didn’t take long for my heart to drop to the pit of my stomach.  I had a gut feeling about what had been the probable cause of the events but I wanted and had to hear more.  I was torn about isolating myself from the story because of how triggering it had already begun to be at the first mention of his actions.  The only way to explain how I felt was completely emotionally confused but needed to know more.


I was correct in my assumptions that the children were not being taught about healthy sexuality.  In many evangelical or other radical religions, the topic of sex and healthy sexuality are seldom discussed anything beyond “don’t do it or you’ll go to hell.”  So, children grow up not understanding fully and thinking that it’s wrong or deviant for natural body exploration.  Jim Bob Duggar, the father of the multitude, was quoted after walking in on one of his son’s masturbating that “idle hands are the devil’s playthings.” He then proceeded to punish his son by making him do chores with his hands tied.  What this suppression will lead to is sexual frustration and confusion.  Everyone has been around a teenage male at some point in their life.  The last thing they need is SUPPRESSION!!!!!  Heck, I would like to hand out extra sets of hands. I’d also like to point out that proving to the nation that you can produce a zoo just because you have the parts is not exactly an example of healthy sexual practices either.


The more I began to dig into the Duggar’s handling and subsequent minimizing of the situation is when I became so triggered that started becoming physically ill.  Then, I began to watch as many members of other “Christian” religions also minimize the actions of Josh Duggar.  I soon became enraged at what I was hearing and seeing.  The attitudes I was seeing were collectively stating, “He said he was sorry and asked for forgiveness, now leave him alone. It was an innocent teenage mistake.” Are you kidding me?!


Standby as I paint the picture of the rest of the crimes that were committed.  Keep in mind that Josh Duggar perpetrated 5 female children, 4 of which were his sisters.  The initial crimes were committed in 2002-2003.  Josh would’ve been 14 or 15 at the time.  The behavior was done repeatedly and the parents, as well as, other church members were well aware of what had transpired.  Josh’s parents stated that he was put in a program that consisted of physical labor and counseling.  Ok, brace yourself for this next part….


The program that he had allegedly been attending consisted of being sent away for three months to do construction work remodeling a building with a ‘mentor.’  This individual has since been convicted and is serving a 56 year sentence for child pornography.  Also, none of the adults that were aware of the incidences ever reported the abuse to the authorities.  That in itself is a crime!  Conveniently, the statutes of limitations had also run out by the time authorities were notified. No therapeutic counseling or treatment has been provided for Josh or his victims.  If it sounds like I’m also taking up for Josh, make no mistake that I’m doing no such thing.


Don't tell mom or dad.jpg


His parents minimization of the situation was clearly put on stage in an interview with FOXNEWS….” it wasn’t like this was some sort of terrible violation. It was just a little sexual groping of one’s sleeping sisters.”  “There were a couple incidents where he touched them under their clothes,” Jim Bob said. “But it was a few seconds.”  Now if that turned your stomach imagine how the children felt when their own father and mother described ‘sexual purity’ after their abuse.  Engage in any kind of sexual activity before marriage and you’re as desirable as a banged-up bike or a cup of spit: This is the message the Duggar parents conveyed to the girls who had been sexually assaulted by their older brother.


The Duggar sexual philosophy is that girls’ bodies do not belong to themselves. They’re under the authority of another male figure, and then they belong to their husbands. There is no individual right of female sexual pleasure. There is no value placed on female bodily autonomy, ownership or control. The message is that girls’ bodies are never their own, that the girls themselves are simply vessels for male pleasure, male desires, and male authority, and the girls’ job is to preserve their bodies to hand over to the appropriate man. Ok, this was not their “husband” anyway.  It was their brother for God’s sake.  If you were raised in a home with these types of beliefs would you, as a female child, said anything already knowing that your fears and confusion would not be validated?


too heavy


From someone who has been sexually assaulted as a child and later as an adult, the lasting effects reach far beyond most “non-touched” people’s minds.  I must keep reiterating that just because I had sexual trauma does not correlate to my being gay.  Seems like an elementary concept to some but it still needs to be driven home to others.  I was also one that didn’t think that being molested had any long term effects because until my 30s, I had not remembered any lingering negative effects from the incidents.  I was also in the middle of still surviving a very emotionally, mentally and sexually damaging marriage at the time that took every ounce of energy.  I was also in college working on my undergraduate degree at the time of issues arising directly related to my molestation at a young age which helped to keep my mind occupied.


When our oldest son Marshall was born, I started noticing a lot of anxiety about giving baths; changing diapers and anything requiring basic care regarding hygiene and his genitalia.  I would actually start to sweat while changing diapers.  I would get nauseous and often times cry while not knowing why I couldn’t do basic “mommy duties.”  I felt as if I were violating him in some way.  I felt dirty and just wrong for simply trying to take care of our baby.  The same type of “innocent teenage mistake” that I’ve heard Josh Duggar’s actions referred to was robbing me of the pleasure of being a mom.


The effects of the guys that touched me both as a child and adult reach far beyond just our son.  This information is reserved for the brave souls that continue to work with us both as a family and a system.  There’s many more statements made by the Duggar’s that absolutely turn my stomach.  Josh Duggar committed a crime and was at an age where he knew that touching his sisters was wrong.  To have the behavior reinforced by adults, two being primary caretakers, who knew the behavior was continuing and refused to report it to the authorities or get the proper help that their son needed says to me that there’s more than one perpetrator.  What makes this situation even more hurtful was that their weapon of choice was the Bible.


#Thispuzzledlife

	




			
				


	
			
					
	

	

		

			 darnold1975 		


		
The Chaos Of Life
	


	

		
The Chaos of Life


8.2.15


“When we are no longer able to change a situation – we are challenged to change ourselves.”


Viktor E. Frankl


The last few months have been nothing less than total chaos for our ‘internal’ and external families.  Life can sometimes just knock the wind out of you both physically and mentally.  From the very ‘nerve racking’ entry into the world by our new preemie son Copeland to our latest adventure back south and so many things in between, Mel and I both feel like we are being pecked by a duck.  Don’t think for a minute that we haven’t taken notice about missing one of the best therapeutic tools we’ve ever used…….writing.


With Mel’s pregnancy being much less than desirable, Copeland’s health issues, national news, loss of friends both physically and emotionally, the return to the harsh south, my ‘internal’ system has stayed in a seemingly steady uproar about many different things.  Just trying to keep our relationship together the last couple of months has been a struggle at times.  However, there’s one thing we both agree on….the fact that DID doesn’t’ go away and neither does life.  So, we dig deep like we have many times and try to find a way to weather the storms of life together as a couple by ‘taking the bull by horns’ and bracing ourselves until it’s over.  The complexity of life, right now, is nowhere close to slowing down.  There’s a lot that needs to be said and feelings that need to be voiced in order to try and regain some type of balance.


Like I’ve said many times before, we live a very puzzling life that has the ability to leave us both shaking and scratching our heads and wondering what could possibly happen next.  My priorities have been to attempt to ‘roll with the punches’ and, unfortunately, that’s included not writing for a little while.  This morning, I stagger to my laptop, not induced by a chemical but rather just exhausted from the daily and very familiar feel of a high level of stress.


soulsofsuffering


Throughout the chaos, Mel and I have been able to put more pieces of the puzzle together.  She has a very close and tight bond with my alters which makes it much easier for communication.  Now some might think that since she’s my wife and we’ve been together for a number of years that having a relationship with my alters, since they are, in fact, parts of myself, would be a given. Trust me when I say one thing…nothing with alters are a given.  Relationships with alters are a completely different beast than what most people would assume.  One thing that must be kept in mind is that, alters formed as a result of a traumatic situation.  And in my particular system, a trust bond was not just broken but completely violated in one way or another.  So, even people who I’ve known for years betrayed that trust in sometimes vile ways.  Therefore, all we’ve been conditioned to understand is that people are evil until proven otherwise and that has no time limit.


DID, as a disorder, is a difficult disorder for both the client and family members.  Throw a big ole’ helping of ‘LIFE’ month after month and the difficulty and further complexity of the disorder will raise its ugly head with triggered alters.  Mel and I have and will continue to lean on our therapists both individual and couple for strength and guidance as we have done for several years now.  We will also continue to do the best to support each other and our children even though I can resemble an angry and bitchy Chihuahua.  And ‘we’, as a system, will continue to seek for the answers through healing in any way possible so that we might all function one day like a well oiled machine in order to be able to do the work we were called to do by helping others.


For now, it’s about  just trying to catch our breath and gather our footing again.  Lots of tears have been shed lately and I’ll take you inside the last few months with upcoming blog posts. And once again, I begin to feel better even if I was coerced to write reluctantly this morning by some certain ‘insiders’.


#Thispuzzledlife

	




			
				


	
			
					
	

	

		

			 darnold1975 		


		
She Will Always Be Her Daddy’s Little Girl
	


	

		
She Will Always Be Her Daddy’s Little Girl


“He sweeps her hair back from her ears; he swings her above his head. He says she is his émerveillement. He says he will never leave her, not in a million years.”

― Anthony Doerr, All the Light We Cannot See


Call this a typical Father’s Day post, but you can’t call him a ‘typical’ father.  This man that I’m going to talk about is a man that he and his wife were and have been and continue to be diligent servants of their Heavenly Father.  As a result, in December of 1975, after a grueling 8 years of red tape and frequent hoop jumping their dreams of being parents and for him being a father came true.


This was a job that he rejoiced in and fully embraced through both tears and laughter.  Even though some of my childhood memories evade me these days, I can still smile at some of the memories I have of my father.  As a small child, he would often become a regular jumping and punching bag in exchange for instantaneous tickle torture moments.  There were also those times when he would take me on Saturday mornings on the lawnmower while he cut the grass only to have to stop to put his soon sleeping daughter in the bed.


During my younger and developing ball playing days, he would almost daily throw the ball with me in the front yard.  I must admit that before I developed control in my throwing he would frequently travel to the jungles of the azalea bushes to retrieve a wildly thrown ball.  He never complained but I think he secretly celebrated each time he didn’t accidentally stumble upon a water moccasin.  Yep, he feared those dreaded bushes.


When it came to basketball, well, he tried is about all I can say.  I think he mainly just wanted to make sure that there were no unneeded dents left in the vehicles.  The job of playing basketball was turned over to the neighborhood kids. Really?  You didn’t think I noticed?


When I hit my teen years, he prayed, like my mom, without ceasing.  My mother told me that once I became a teenager that something took over my mind and body that was not of God.  I cannot tell a lie.  If I asked my father that now he would very calmly say, “Why yes, sis, that might’ve been correct.”  Now you have to imagine that my father gets about as excited as a basset hound. And most of the time you need a cattle prod to check to make sure he’s still breathing.  Nope, it’s not a deformity, that I know of, it’s genetic.  He didn’t ever say a whole lot when I was younger. Now, he just claims that with 3 females in the house, he couldn’t get a word in.  All 3 of us were just hormonal as hell is the way I still see it.


dad


If there was a downfall, I would have to say that I didn’t learn to fix ANYTHING.  I know what a hammer is. Isn’t that good enough?  Granted, I was always playing with the neighborhood kids, but he was always fixin’ things or doing projects for or with momma. These days I just hope my wife can YouTube a video of how to do something and fix things.  I’m just not one to be able to fix things.  My job is to tell you when something doesn’t work.  And to provide motivation through entertainment.


He has seen me take some extremely difficult roads in life and has had to sit back and watch with tears in his eyes as his daughters were having to learn some heartbreaking lessons.  There have only been a handful of times that I’ve see him cry.  But, the tears I haven’t seen, I’m sure number in the millions and likewise the prayers.  He has watched me waste away from addiction and abuse and is currently seeing the severity of the effects of mental illness.  He also sees me continuing to battle my abusers through memories that can be paralyzing. He watches as I continue to move forward even if that is a crawl. With both he and my mom, there’s never a shortage of encouragement.


I can personally count on one hand the number of men that I consider “safe.” My #1 started with my father. I have never feared him in any way other than maybe another lecture on the power of positive thinking. He never drank, smoked, cussed, hollered, screamed or anything remotely aggressive in our house.  Heck, a basset hound doesn’t have the energy to do that. He taught me what love, honor and respect are all about. So, when I encountered some of my predators, my brain was seeing behavior that I couldn’t understand.  And it was at that time, that he held and comforted me as I cried about some of the evils of people and the world.


Everything that he has done for me cannot be conveyed in a post nor can the true emotions.  Even through just the little bit that I shared you can tell that he’s not my father.  He’s my DADDY!


#Thispuzzledlife

	




			
				


	
			
					
	

	

		

			 darnold1975 		


		
Mel’s Corner:  Illusions of Control
	


	

		
Mel’s Corner: Illusions of Control


05/11/2015


“Peace: It does not mean to be in a place where there is no trouble, noise, or hard work.  It means to be in the midst of those things and still be calm in your heart.” 


– Lady GaGa


Having a spouse with dissociative identity disorder can be quite hard.   Often times events can be quite hurtful and you will have full memory while the spouse has none.  That is a hard thing to accept.  How can a person say or do something then have no memory of it? And then treat you like nothing ever happened?  I started to question my own reality.  Maybe it didn’t happen, maybe I’m wrong, and maybe I’m the one with the problem.


The way my wife’s system works is when she becomes too overwhelmed she will have alters who will “pop out” to take over a situation.  Depending on what alter comes out, depends on how the situation is handled.  Also alters can tend to just come out if they feel like they need to take control or if they feel she is not doing an adequate job of taking care of the situation.  Often times a protector comes out.  Different systems have different alters who are protectors.  My wife just happens to have a more aggressive, angry protector because that’s what worked for her for so many years.  What that means for me is I tend to get the back lash of situations a lot.


ying yang fire water


 I’ve found that in order for me to survive those situations where things become overwhelming for me emotionally, I have to remind myself that I’m talking to her protective alter, and this alter was developed to help protect the system.  Although it’s not ok to have behavior this way, often times there is nothing I can do about it but ride out the storm.  During these times I’ve learned that the serenity prayer has brought me much comfort.  I usually like to break it down to the situation.


 God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change.  I can’t change the fact my wife will always have DID.  I can’t change the alters that she has in her system.  Sometimes even the situation is beyond my control.


The courage to change the things I can.  I can change how I react, what I say and how I approach her and the situation.  This one is harder than it sounds, although I can change my reaction, often times emotion has taken over and I have to pause to change my reaction.  This one takes much practice, and even today I become overwhelmed and my reptilian brain (fight or flight) takes over.  I find that stepping away from the situation when I can brings me more clarity.  I also find my therapy background tends to come out during this period as well. Many times it’s “safe” thing for me to just switch over and treat it as a therapeutic process thus protecting my feelings.  There are days when I just loose it and break down.  Those days I do get angry with God for even having a disease like DID.  Although it served its purpose when the abuse happened, it’s no longer needed and it’s something that never will go away.  There are times I need a friend to tell me that everything is going to be ok.  It’s during these times I have to look beyond myself and know that I need strength from a power greater than myself.  Somewhere deep inside I know everything will be ok, it always is, but for some reason I just can’t access that part of myself.  Hearing it from someone else gives me that spark of hope I needed to get through the situation and continue to believe that all will turn out ok.


And the wisdom to know the difference.   Wisdom only comes with time.  Only after touching the stove a few times do you learn that it’s actually hot.  Wisdom has taught me when to challenge an alter’s thinking and when to back away and let the system reset.  Time has also taught me to pick up on subtle cues that tell me which alter is out.  Some alters take great joy in trying to fool me into thinking they are someone else in the system and I’m sure they succeed many times in fooling me.  There are sometimes I even question myself as to whom I am talking to.


There is a longer version on the serenity prayer that adds these additional lines:


Living one day at a time;


Enjoying one moment at a time;


Accepting hardships as the pathway to peace;


Taking, as He did, this sinful world


As it is, not as I would have it;


Trusting that He will make all things right


If I surrender to His Will;


So that I may be reasonably happy in this life


And supremely happy with Him


Forever and ever in the next.


Amen


 


The part I find most helpful in the addition is “living one day at a time”.  There have been times that a day is too overwhelming and I have to live a minute or hour at a time.  Making it through those small amounts of time get me through the day and then eventually through the situation.  There are periods that can be months long of chaos.  Times where an alter is out of control for days.  Thankfully in our journey those long periods of chaos are not as frequent as they have been.


 


“I’m sorry, Gemma. But we can’t live in the light all of the time. You have to take whatever light you can hold into the dark with you.” ~ Libba Bray, A Great and Terrible Beauty


I believe there are many situations in life we look back on and think, that wasn’t as bad as it felt in the moment. We made it through that situation and will make it through this one.  Pain is relative.  For example if I’m in physical pain, the worst possible pain I’ve experienced (a 10 on the scale), is childbirth.  For me that’s all I can compare it to.  When I was a child it would have probably been vaccinations would have been my 10.  Looking on that today, getting a shot is nowhere near the pain of childbirth, so pain is relative to what we know.  I’ve had people tell me that they don’t know how I do it every day that I have to be a strong person.  While that might be true, this is my normal.  I wouldn’t know what to do if my life wasn’t like this.  Now could I survive under constant stress, pressure and turmoil, no.  That’s why I’m glad that the chaos has breaks, even if they are short breaks, it allows me to catch my breath to go through the next wave without drowning.  I think most people don’t know what they could do because they might not have been faced with the situation.    I think this from the promises listed in the Big Book of AA sums it up.   ” We will not regret the past nor wish to shut the door on it.”  We have to learn from the past, or else we are destined to repeat it.  Not learning, we react the same way each time and we will get the same outcome, but if we learn and grow then we move through that situation with a new perspective.


#Thispuzzledlife

	




			
				


	
			
					
	

	

		

			 darnold1975 		


		
Madres Especiales (Special Moms)
	


	

		
Madres Especiales (Special Moms)


5.10.15


“It takes someone really brave to be a mother, someone strong to raise a child and someone special to love someone more than herself.”


—Ritu Ghatourney


This post is one that is going to have a lot of emotion attached to it.  The topic of mothers and mother figures has been what has helped to shape me into the being that I am.  There’s a lot of happiness, laughter and tears associated with each name.  So, instead of just talking about being a mother, I thought I would share a little bit about some very special “mothers” that have influenced my life.  I would like to say that every woman that has been a ‘mother like’ figure to me in my life cannot possibly be written about in one blog post.


Let’s start from the very beginning and get the topic of my birth mom out of the way.  Her name is not worth mentioning so, I won’t even bother.  As much as I would like to say that I despise every part of her being, which in a lot of ways, I do, and I also must give her credit for giving me life.  She was the vehicle by which I entered the world.  Once I met her and was able to comprehend the fact that she wasn’t just a teenage girl that got pregnant and couldn’t take care of a baby.  Rather a very self centered woman without the capability to love a child in the way that a child deserves to be loved….I was able to move forward.  Sorry, Lifetime, the stories are sometimes just fairy tales.


My paternal grandmother, Mrs. Susie Antonia Barbour Kendrick, was a woman who was truly one of a kind.  She had 10 children.  Her mother had 10 children.  And her grandmother had 13 children.  So, it’s very easy to be a part of this family and not know all of my relatives.  I never heard a cross word or any type of negativity come out of her mouth.  She was the child of a preacher and has many possibly a hundred or more decedents that are directly from her.  This side of the family is the much more conservative side but I love them all. Even in the depths of fighting cancer and the anguish both physically and mentally that go with that process, she always had a faith that was unwavering.  Her faith was so strong that even in the latter days of her battle while she lived with us, while I was still in high school, she prayed for a washcloth for 8 hours straight.  She also told my dad at some point that when he was a child that he ran down the aisle of the church and threw mud at the preacher.  People that know my daddy might say that that was very possible scenario.  While I know that this behavior was the result of the progression of brain cancer.  I chuckle at some of the things she said and did that were so out of character for such a sweet and very mild mannered woman, but she was my mamaw.


mother


My maternal grandmother, Alma Rebecca Howard Buxton couldn’t have been more directly opposite.  My Nannie was one of a kind as I have mentioned in an earlier post.  When she moved to mom and dad’s house, she and mom would sometimes argue like teenagers.  Honestly, there were times when I would have some good ole belly laughs from watching them both interact and the childishness of some of their arguments most often instigated by, you got it, Nannie.  However, she would always say it was because of momma’s smart mouth.  True as that may be, momma had to learn from someone.   Momma had become very frustrated one of the many times with Nannie and I simply told her, “Momma, one day, you’ll give anything to have one more argument with Nannie.”  I can’t speak for my momma today, but I bet since the day Nannie died January 2, 2006, the day of wishing she was arguing one more time has come by to visit her many times over.


I have mentioned and will continue to talk about and refer to Sarah Garner Pardue as a mom.  I think it’s pretty clear from earlier posts what type of woman she was and how she influenced and continues to influence my life today.  I seem to shed tears on a daily basis for this beautiful angel that now gently brushes me with her wings to let me know she’s still near me.  Wow, even now I tear up.  She was one of the few that actually saw all sides of me and loved me unconditionally anyway.  I can’t say enough times that there are just not many people still out there that I’ve encountered that can still manage to do that without ulterior motives.  Through all of our hours of conversations and trials that relationships can bring, the one thing she always wanted for me was happiness, serenity and contentment.  Some people may not ever understand the relationship I had with she and Doug and that’s OK.  Even now, I don’t know how to fully explain what the relationship was, it was just special.  And I will always feel blessed to have been in the room at her feet when she took her last breaths.


The above people have left treasured marks on my heart that I will take with me to my grave.  The next person is in a category of their own.  My MOTHER, Margaret Pearl Buxton Kendrick. To me she is special not superficial means but in character.  Even with the very special relationship that I had with Sarah, momma never once seemed to feel threatened or jealous because she has always known that she’s my momma.  Everyone has one true momma whether she is good or bad.  My momma stayed up with me rubbing my legs from horrible leg cramps as a child.  Cleaned up shit, pee and vomit in the middle of the night.  Waited for me to come home often high or drunk.  Watched from the sidelines with tears in her eyes as I battled the depths of drug addiction, domestic violence and demons that she knew existed but didn’t know their names or faces.  She has sat with a broken heart, at times, trying to fully comprehend the word ‘powerlessness.’  She has watched her children suffer heartaches and cried with them.  She has watched countless hours of Little House on the Prairie and cried about the woes of the Ingalls’s family’s crops being destroyed after a hail storm. She cried when Mary Ingalls lost her eyesight.  She would sing the songs, in the living room, with the congregation in the one room church on Little House on the Prairie like she was a member. She has rejoiced with her daughter in the excitement and trials of being an athlete. She has watched her oldest daughter’s soul be cracked and broken from abuse that she sometimes knew nothing about.  She has watched as her daughter’s once beautiful and childlike forearms metamorphosis into graffiti like battle ground full of 20+ years of self inflicted scarring.  She has seen firsthand how powerful a man’s words and actions can destroy the beauty that was once encapsulated the essence of her daughter.  She has watched her daughter slowly melt away from an eating disorder at a young age.  She has watched and heard her daughter’s reputation be destroyed by lies while knowing the truth.  She’s watched as her daughter has shed tears and learned some very difficult lessons in friendship which she knew would lead to internal growth.  She has also watched a daughter find the love of her life and become a parent in a non-traditional way with all of the naysayers at her back.  And today, she watches as her daughter, once again, is knocked down by a mental illness that she fights every single day to emerge as a Phoenix rising from the ashes of despair.  That my friends, is a very selfless mother who puts her children’s needs before her own.  She took this baby that was unwanted and raised her as her own with the help of her faith and a God fearing man that I also call my daddy.  And that is something that is priceless and that can only be repaid through example for my own children.


One day, such is the circle of life; I’ll be in the same position as my mother.  I will one day sit and wish I could have just one more argument with her.  My wonderful wife will be here to comfort me when I’m in need.  But as long as I have the sweet memories of my momma, I’ll always have something beautiful to write about.


On this Mother’s Day, I can finally say, “Mom, I get your sacrifice and the level of love that I was told I wouldn’t understand until I had my own child.”  You didn’t carry me under your heart, but in it.  Because of the example that you have set for me regarding family, sacrifice and love, our sons will also be blessed.


#Thispuzzledlife

	




			
				


	
			
					
	

	

		

			 darnold1975 		


		
Battle Wounds From A War
	


	

		
Battle Wounds From a War


5.1.15


“Cutting is not attention seeking. It’s not manipulative. It’s a coping mechanism–a punitive, unpleasant, potentially dangerous one–but it works. It helps me cope with strong emotions that I don’t know how to deal with. Don’t tell me I’m sick, don’t tell me to stop. Don’t try to make me feel guilty, that’s how I feel already. Listen to me, support me, help me.”


—A Bright Red Scream


Big Trigger Warning for those not in a good place to be able to handle the topic of self-injury.  This post will be explicit for the topic to be as real as possible.  If you are in early recovery from self-injury please use your own judgment carefully before proceeding.  You have been warned.


I’ve been in this position before. My heart is pounding. My skin is crawling. My thoughts are racing.  The rage is building to a dangerous level that I’m not sure I can contain.  “I hate myself for this.  Ladies aren’t suppose to have such hateful thoughts.  Why must I always get this angry?  Am I capable of hurting someone?  I think I might be.  What would people think if they knew?  “You should’ve just had it beaten out of you when you were younger and you wouldn’t be acting like this.  You disgust me!  You’re flawed and no one ever has or ever will like you.  If you had been liked your birth mom she wouldn’t have given you up.  You must be psychotic.  You’ll never amount to anything just look at you.”  These are just some of the things I’ve heard since I started this behavior as a child.


Like bullets from a war zone, the thoughts and feelings hit my heart and mind over and over.  I try to shake the feelings of hopelessness, embarrassment, helplessness and intense feelings of being unwanted and the unforgiving loneliness.  I try to sit with the feelings as I have done before.  This time is different. I haven’t felt this level of intensity.  Every time I take in a breath my upper back feels like it’s being pounded by a sledgehammer.  I try distracting with music and my head just pounds more.  The thoughts become louder and louder.  I need relief and I need it NOW!  Nothing I know that has helped ward off this is helping at this moment.


just scars


I begin to feel my body going numb starting with my face and working its way throughout my body.  Soon, I no longer feel or hear, I just see.  Someone resembling myself is going through a very familiar ritual of gathering supplies strategically kept close by.  I know what is about to happen.  I’m out of balance and need to make all of the craziness in my head stop.  By now, I feel completely detached from even my own limbs.


The blue tourniquet is tied around my upper arm unsure how tight.  My left arm is cradled in a towel. Brand new blades are fully exposed and glistening in the light.  My heart is pounding with excitement and anxiety all at one time.  My only thoughts are, “I’ve got to have relief NOW!”  The other part is knowing that relief is only minutes away.  I look at my arm and I’m paralyzed as I watch the blade being picked up and placed against my skin.  In one quick swoop the blood begins coming out.  This is done another 10-20 times. My body seems to instinctively know when enough is enough and how deep is deep enough.  After 27 years, we have had some practice with this.


The endorphins flood my bloodstream with enough force to relax both my mind and body to a point of complete relaxation.  I continue to enjoy the relief that I had just experienced and was letting whatever poison that seemed to be occupying my mind with such hatred leave my body.


This is always done privately because, what if someone knew?  I didn’t want to die.  I just needed to regain balance and this has worked for many years.  Deep breaths now and my ‘system’ has seemingly returned to normal.  I have all my bandages prepared beforehand so, everything is waiting for the deed to be done.  I bandage this wound, still not completely feeling all parts of my body, like it’s something sacred.  Soon, I begin to worry about who and how I’m going to cover up this behavior yet again.  I make my plans and stick with it.  I don’t dare seek medical attention even though I need several stitches because of the fear of being disrespected  by being told, “I am just attention seeking. You did it so I don’t feel sorry for you.  That was just a sorry attempt at suicide which she obviously didn’t want to do too badly.”  So, I take care of it and watch it heal as I have many times before.  But, the guilt and the shame of the current episode start to invade my thoughts.  And so the cycle continues…..


If you were to see my forearms they might look to some of you like a scene out of a horror movie.  When I look at my arms, I think “Damn, look at what all I have survived.”  Yes, once again, this behavior began at age 13.  My eighth grade school year that would forever change my  life.  Individuals who engage in this behavior typical have a range of reasons for beginning and continuing the behavior.  My initial reasons for beginning this behavior was because of intense anger that I was forced to hold inside.  I was in a ‘no win’ situation with the teacher, my predator, so no emotion could be shown.  I was so angry that I wasn’t completely sure what I was capable of doing.  What we now know and understand is that when feelings get stuffed for so long they manifest in other ways.


razors


“The truth about childhood is stored up in our body and lives in the depth of our soul. Our intellect can be deceived, our feelings can be numbed and manipulated, our perception shamed and confused, our bodies tricked with medication. But our soul never forgets. And because we are one, one whole soul in one body, someday our body will present its bill.”


-Alice Miller, A Bright Red Scream


It never ceases to amaze me how people are about watching trauma shows on television about emergency rooms across the nation with gunshot wounds, stab wounds, car wrecks, etc covered in blood and guts and yet freak out like the thought of cutting oneself means ‘run for the hills.’  I think maybe part of the issue is something that’s accidental versus intentional.  Self-harm often gets labeled as some type of pseudo-suicide attempt when in actuality that has absolutely nothing to do with suicide.  True self-harm is also not a behavior that is a bandwagon type of behavior.  Self-harm is about using what seems to be a last ditch effort to hold on to life without committing suicide.  I’m also not saying that everyone who dies by sliced wrists, forearms, legs, stomachs, faces and heads aren’t as a result of suicide vs. self harm.  But, self-harm also can become an addiction.  The endorphins released at the time of the injury can last for about 30 minutes.  Medical professionals seem to think that just because someone states that they were not able to feel at the time of the behavior that they can’t feel when being stitched up.  Often times the nurses and doctors have personally given me a feeling of being ‘less than’ or have treated by wound like I had absolutely no feeling by being rough with my arm.  After the 30 minutes is up, you can feel every single bit of pain.


I’m not harmful to other people with my instruments.  I found a way when I was much younger to deal with my anger.  As maladaptive as it might be, it worked to help me survive what my mind thought I needed help with.  I realize that this is a behavior that must change for long term recovery and to encourage a healthy ‘system.’  Trauma and PTSD can have you fine one minute and not the next.  This behavior I continue to struggle with from time to time. Self-harm does not consist of just cutting, there’s also burning, breaking bones, exposing skin to extreme temperatures, eating disorders, hair pulling (trichotillamania), etc.


I’m no longer really embarrassed but just accepting that  cutting is also a part of where I’m at in my process right now.  I had gone several years previous without cutting but jumping into trauma therapy and the effects of PTSD can make it very difficult to deal with.  I’ve made much progress over the years in trying to recover from cutting. It’s definitely a slow process for us even with a very supportive and understanding wife.


I’m not ashamed nor do I flaunt my scars.  Our only difference is that our tears are red.  I’ve been in a war my whole life and kind of see them as “Battle Wounds from a War.”  Please think and educate before you judge.


#Thispuzzledlife

	




			
				


	
			
					
	

	

		

			 darnold1975 		


		
420: Not Just A Stoner’s Holiday
	


	

		
420: Not just a Stoner’s Holiday


“If the words “life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness” don’t include the right to experiment with your own consciousness, then the Declaration of Independence isn’t worth the hemp it was written on.”

– Terence McKenna


This time exactly one year ago I was attending the High Times Cannabis Cup in Denver, Colorado. I didn’t view it then as a ‘get high free-for-all’ but rather as a ‘looking for new meds adventure.’  Believe it or not, there is a difference in marijuana and how it affects the body based on what type of condition that’s being treated.  Yes, I did happen to run into Snoop Dogg at one of the dispensaries.  And yes it was awesome!  This year, however, since our little boy is on the horizon, my wife advised that I stay close to home.  Notice I said my wife advised me.  So, I…..took her advice.


Anyway, I think one of the common misconceptions about those of us who use cannabis whether as a medicine or recreationally are seen as the stereotypical ‘stoners’ like Cheech and Chong.  I also think that most people’s perceptions are that most consumption is through smoking out of a pipe or a bong (water pipe).  I’m not going to attempt to go through all the specifics about the different strains because there are more than I can count.  I will say that this medicine in made in the bud, edible, wax, shatter, tincture, salve and pill forms.


Why do I seem to harp so much about this medication?  It is also helping me to survive the wounds from the past.  The addiction community, depending on the area of the country, are usually not in favor of any ‘mood altering’ substances.  Think about this…..ever been around your spouse or yourself in the mornings before you’ve had your coffee?  I’m just sayin’.  Yep, very mood altering.  Now, I’m not making light of the concerns.  That was just something I thought of that I personally found amusing.


Snoop Dog Dana


In earlier blog posts, I’ve stated my concerns about being a former practicing drug addict and being suggested to use cannabis as a medication.  Not everyone’s situation is the same and I get that.  I can say that my wife and I felt like we were in a ‘do or die’ situation.  Is it mood altering for me?  My wife would tell you, “Thank God it is!”  With everything that goes on in my brain on a daily basis, vaporizing some medical grade cannabis can actually bring me back down to reality and into a much calmer state.


Now, some of the arguments I’ve heard against medical cannabis is, “not everyone is going to have a legitimate medical condition.”  You know what? That’s true.  How many prescription drug addicts have legitimate conditions that require the AMOUNT of medication that they’re taking?  I would much rather all the prescription pill drug addicts trade all their pills in  for a designated amount of weed each month and see how far down the death rate goes and the overdose rate goes.  All of those amounts will correlate to the amount of Cheetos and Girl Scout Cookie stock rising to an all time astronomical high.


These are very ‘tongue n’ cheek’ views but getting heated usually doesn’t help much.  I just know that I was very closed minded and had very tunnel vision on addiction and how it MUST be treated before moving to New Mexico from the South.  My former clients, additional recovery services and my own struggles with mental illness have led me to a less rigid view on this drug.  I still maintain a somewhat rigid view on just about any other drug.  The benefits of marijuana are seen and felt everyday in the LIVES of the LANDRUM-ARNOLD FAMILY.  If this medication can bring me this much mental and physical relief from PTSD and other complications associated with a lifetime of abuse.  Surely, our soldiers should be handed an ounce and a card when they step back on to U.S. soil from having to kill people and see their buddies killed just so I can be free.


235


Let me wonder just for a minute out loud about things in the elusive ‘perfect world.’  I wonder if cannabis were available to everyone how many people would still be on social security disability long term.  I wonder how many suicides could or would be prevented. I wonder how much the crime rate would go down.  I wonder how many soldiers would actually be able to adjust to civilian life instead of living with an ongoing war between their ears that, from personal experience, is unbearable.  I wonder how many more people with physical disabilities could get the relief the need and beg for daily?  I wonder how many children could have a better childhood free from seizures.  I wonder how many people would and could live instead of dying from cancer.  I wonder how long it’s going to be for others to have a quality of life also.


I guess I should get you a little bit of information about how the term “420” became the big “stoner’s holiday.”  So, here’s a little explanation from good ole Wikipedia which is NOT a scholarly source, I might add…..


A group of people in San Rafael, California, calling themselves the Waldos because “their chosen hang-out spot was a wall outside the school”, used the term in connection with a fall 1971 plan to search for an abandoned cannabis crop that they had learned about. The Waldos designated the Louis Pasteur statue on the grounds of San Rafael High School as their meeting place, and 4:20 p.m. as their meeting time. The Waldos referred to this plan with the phrase “4:20 Louis”. Multiple failed attempts to find the crop eventually shortened their phrase to simply “4:20”, which ultimately evolved into a codeword that the teens used to mean marijuana-smoking in general. Mike Edison says that Steven Hager of High Times was responsible for taking the story about the Waldos to “mind-boggling, cult like extremes” and “suppressing” all other stories about the origin of the term.


Hager wrote “Stoner Smart or Stoner Stupid?” in which he called for 4:20 p.m. to be the socially accepted hour of the day to consume cannabis.  He attributes the early spread of the phrase to Grateful Dead followers, who were also linked to the city of San Rafael.


Now wasn’t that just the most profound information you’ve ever read?  Sounds like a true stoner story for sure.  Some say that ‘street weed’ and ‘medical grade’ are the same. They are NOT.  Medical grade is governed so closely as to what they can use on the plants to make sure they’re safe for the public.  Street weed, well…..is not governed and is often sprayed with chemicals which can cause paranoia, psychosis, etc. depending on the chemicals used.


The medication I use today has three side effects:  eat, laugh, and sleep. Yep, that’s about it.  I still have other conditions that require additional medications.  Let me remind you that marijuana is a medication not a ‘cure all.’ Therefore, there are some conditions that still are unknown or cannot be treated with marijuana that is known at this time.   One thing I do know, for ME, all of my psych meds are rolled up into one vaporizer.


420 the ‘stoner’s holiday’ is written a few different ways such as:  4/20, 420, 4:20.  Most see this just as another day for people to get high.  But for those of us who depend on this “weed”, “flower”, “medication”, “bud”, “ganja”, “herb” or whatever you want to call it to simply have a quality of life.  We see this as a day to celebrate this medication that helps make life worth living again.


#Thispuzzledlife

	




			
				


	
			
					
	

	

		

			 darnold1975 		


		
It’s Pow Wow Time: The Gathering of the Internal Nations
	


	

		
It’s Pow Wow Time: The Gathering of the Internal Nations


4.18.15


“Humankind has not woven the web of life. We are but one thread within it. Whatever we do to the web, we do to ourselves. All things are bound together. All things connect.”


— Chief Seattle, 1854


To many people a “pow wow” is just a cool production of Native American individuals dancing.  However, I must admit that I’ve always been drawn to the culture for much different reasons.  Initially, I was attracted to the dress and dance, as well as, traditional and cultural newness that I had never known.  I always knew that the attraction that was much deeper an even a spiritual attraction to these beautiful people.


You have to understand that having been adopted and then hearing stories of my biological heritage hearsay is all I have to go on.  For whatever the reasons I’m connected spiritually to the Native American culture.  When I met my biological family I was first told that we all had native heritage going many generations back.  It doesn’t take long to look at me and realize that there’s nothing 100% Native American about me.  I like to consider myself more like a casserole.  If you’re not from the South or don’t understand the term, Google ‘casserole’.


For years, I’ve tried to understand why I have such a strong attraction to not only the culture but more specifically pow wows.  The Gathering of Nations Annual Pow Wow in Albuquerque, NM each year has since helped me come to several revelations.  This particular pow wow is the largest in North America and is just as it says…..The Gathering of All the Nations.  Not just one particular tribe such as Navajo or Apache but all nations of tribes are welcomed to attend.  This pow wow also represents the carrying out of traditional dances and ceremonies which include dances of elders with children.  The bright colors in the regalia, not costumes or outfits, are more modernized but beautiful nonetheless. The pow wow generally is held in a coliseum venue and the four directions: North, South, East and West are blessed by an eagle which is considered sacred.  The meaning of the Eagle symbol was to signify courage, wisdom and strength and its purpose was as the messenger to the Creator. The eagle was believed to carry prayers to the Great Spirit in the Spirit World and also had a special connection with visions.


eagle


One general truth that threads throughout the Native American spiritual beliefs is the belief of Mother Earth.  The Native Americans felt that the earth was our mother, the sky our father, and all things were interconnected.  The many Creation myths of the Native American stress the mutuality and interdependence between people and other forms of life.  There is mutual respectfulness required when interacting with trees, birds, and plants and also natural forces such as the wind and the rain. Their creation stories empathize that Creation did not just happen a million years ago and end there, but that the Spirit that first infused the world is still with us now and can be experienced as “immanence”, the spirit which imbues all things.


To many Native American tribes the Native drum contains thunder and lightning, and when it is beaten it helps to get the creators attention and it also helps contact the spirits of the Native American forefathers.  There are those native peoples who also believe that the drum is representative of the


 
 
 
  
 
  
 
  
 
  
 
  
 
  
 
  
 
  
  


heartbeat of mother earth.  Whatever the reasons for the traditions, which I’m still discovering, put it all together and the result can make the hair stand on the back of my neck and arms while bringing me to tears.


One if not the most important part of the whole pow wow is Grand Entry.  This is where all of the dancers in each category are led out by a veteran guard and in front of them are the Elders, the most sacred.  It’s a symbolism and feeling of being that can’t be written in words.  Their spirituality and religion I totally respect. And yes there are certain ethics that must be upheld to remain respectful of traditions.


Outside the venue is a trader’s market that has vendors that alone could keep you busy all day long.  Food vendors with Indian tacos, buffalo burgers, fry bread and roasted corn thoughts are dancing in my head.  But the magic is in the environment by watching dancers and drummers carry out traditions of their ancestors.  The coliseum is bursting at the seams with tradition and they’re free to do it without any consequences from the government.  All while lightly dusted with the smell of sage and sweet grass.


Not being able to go this year is like a void and let me explain why.  The beautiful Grand Entry instantly connects me emotionally and spiritually with my own ancestors.  One time every year I can feel the level of comfort that cannot be felt at any other time.  The drumming is a connection to my birth mom’s heartbeat that I long to hear and be a part of but never will.  This is my comfort like I was wanted by her.  Once again, total comfort.  Like the safe feeling I get being around my brother Levi, this feeling is magnified 100 x when I connect with the protection of my ancestors and those who have crossed over.


This obviously is not everything that fully encapsulates all of the spirituality and religion of the Native Americans.  This is how it helps me regain my own balance and peace in a world of utter internal and external chaos.  My internal ‘system’ seems to gather and are all peaceful and comforted just for one weekend that we all like to call “The Gathering of the Internal Nations.


#Thispuzzledlife

	




			
				


	
			
					
	

	

		

			 darnold1975 		


		
“I Believe You….”
	


	

		
“I Believe You….”


4.12.15


“I Believe You. It’s Not Your Fault.”


—-Anonymous


Ok, so just maybe the quote isn’t one from a famous philosopher, actor, psychologist, theorist or author.  Technically, anyone could say those two sentences. After thinking about some of the words for the past couple of weeks, I have come to the following conclusion.  We’ve all heard the saying that something can, “make or break someone.”  Well, here’s a rather stunning example of just that.  In the therapeutic world these two sentences can, in fact, ‘make or break’ a trauma survivor.


There was someone that I was working with recently that I asked, “Do you believe me?”  This had been a question that had been gnawing at my insides for a long time that I never voiced until then.  The response was, “It doesn’t matter what I believe. It’s about helping you deal with the feelings.”  Now, why is this significant?  Firstly, I would like to point out that I do not believe in any way that this was said maliciously.  However, something within my internal ‘system’ just wouldn’t let it rest.  I instantly my anger grew by the second.  The anger was not creeping but sprinting straight from my gut to my brain at a speed that I was, unfortunately, extremely familiar.  All I wanted to do was get out of where I was and get as far away as I could.  At the same time, I was very confused at how very angry I was becoming over seemingly something so insignificant.  I just wanted to get out of the situation. I felt as though there was about to be collateral damage.


Later, once I’ve had time to allow the physical feelings to subside and for my brain to return to the typical crazy norm, I search inside for answers.  What could’ve possibly triggered me so badly?  I didn’t know but….it didn’t feel good.  My body had exploded with tension in all of my 2000 parts.  And the only way, I can describe what my brain felt like was like an earthquake had shaken everything into disarray.  Once again, I sit and listen to the ranting and raving of some of the ‘insiders.’  I just try to remain a by standard and listen.




I also can’t help but to feel a very overwhelming sense of fear that has me partially paralyzed.  I’m trying to sort through everything while trying to maintain and it’s not working.  Me and the medical marijuana become rather close friends for the rest of the day.  My mind and body was screaming for relief.  I talked some to my wife but kept a lot inside to try and sort out on my own.  What had just happened?!


I was looking for a great big ‘a-ha’ or ‘bright light’ moment and it came down to something this simple, yet, very important.  Perpetrators are master manipulators in every way possible.  The two most significant things I was always told was that, “No one would ever believe me and somehow it was MY fault.”  While I was not outright told that I wasn’t believed, I was also told that it didn’t matter. I was beyond crushed.  Alters in my system went ballistic.  There were ‘internal’ tears, anger, screaming, raging, blaming, hurt and pain that was resulting in a chaotic mess.  Each day, I find out more and more ‘triggers’ that can lead to a reaction.  It looks like we found another one.


One of the advantages of being a trauma survivor is hyper awareness of surroundings.  Advantages how?  I notice everything that is going on around me down to minute details.  That’s how, in some instances, I was able to stay ahead of my perpetrators and stay safe.  Also having a degree in a behavioral science helps understand behavior as well.  Therapeutic relationships of any kind especially with someone in power can only thrive if there is trust that has developed.  Once that is gone so is the relationship.  What if you were someone’s one and only contact and they came straight out of a lifetime of trauma and abuse to someone who doesn’t believe that it matters whether or not we as trauma survivors place a high importance on being believed about what has happened to us? For this brief moment in time, my abusers seemed to be correct, we didn’t seem to be believed. Does it scare you?  It did me.


#Thispuzzledlife

	




			
				


	
			
					
	

	

		

			 darnold1975 		


		
Gooood Morning, DID!!!!!
	


	

		
Goooooood Morning, DID!!!!


 “And suddenly I realized that I was no longer driving the car consciously. I was driving it by a kind of instinct, only I was in a different dimension.” 

― Ayrton Senna


“I’m still alive? Not again?  They will make fun of you. You’re a bad person that no one likes.  You haven’t amounted to anything. You’re a bad mother. You’re a bad wife. You’re wife says she likes you, but really doesn’t.  Someone is going to hurt you today.  Fear everything and trust no one. I’m not even sure my  son even loves me.  What if people know this about me?  They see my scars.  They know what I’m thinking. They’re watching me eat.  They are talking about me.  Someone is going to sneak up on me and hurt me.  He will get past the guards.  Someone will kill me.  Should we kill them first?  Are people talking about me again?  They say they love me but do they really?  We are going to be homeless. No one better touch any of my stuff and get it out of order.  Food is bad and makes people not like you.  Food scares me.  Why do I have to eat? How many people must we interact with today?  Everyone must remain as a united front of power and intimidation.  Don’t look for a fight but always be ready for one. Always watch everything around you.  Never ever let someone disrespect you without making them regret their decision. Stay loyal and help when needed.  Is something going to happen to my son?  What if someone tries to go to the daycare and kidnap him? Watch their movements and behavior.  They think I’m stupid but I’m not.  No one will ever believe me. They will die and leave me all alone.  When will they ever pay for what they’ve done? Why do I have to continue living like this while they Is everyone I love ok? What if something happens and I can’t get there to help?  What’s about to happen? Is the work worth the payoff?  Why do we continue to fight all of this?”


And now it’s time to start the day.  Gooood Morning, DID!!!!!!!


#thispuzzledlife

	




			
				


	
			
					
	

	

		

			 darnold1975 		


		
LGBT And DID
	


	

		
LGBT and DID


4.3.2015


“Gender preference does not define you. Your spirit defines you.” 

― P.C. Cast, Awakened


I’m not going to get on a political soapbox about LGBT rights.  The fact is that, people aren’t going to change my mind based on their beliefs. I’m not going to change their mind about my beliefs.  Honestly, being a member of the LGBT community and having DID leaves me in the minority of the minorities.  Do I care?  Some areas yes, but the thoughts don’t control my life.  Does the idea of refusing service to someone based on who they love concern me? Yes and I don’t believe that it’s right at all.  However, no one’s opinions about my life and marriage pay my bills, sleep in my bed or raise our son.


My mother gave me some valuable advice my whole life that even as a child I was able to quote.  When I would complain about something not being fair, she would always say, “There are a lot of things in life that aren’t fair.  The sooner you learn to live with them, the better off you’ll be.”  To me, that translates to a very common theme in 12-Step communities which simply means, ‘Living life on life’s terms.’  Abuse is the exception to the rule.  Abuse is never ok.


If my wife and son were to go into a restaurant and be refused service because of the makeup of our family, sure I would probably make a scene by making my voice heard.  I have no problem defending my family at all costs.  Chances are after a verbal lashing from yours truly, the person who refused the service might actually think before making such comments.  I don’t know.  Maybe try checking with one of the employees at our local library to see what he says.  Anyway, my wife and I were taught something even more valuable while growing up in the deep south….the art of southern cooking.


 One thing I know without a doubt is that, I’m gay and very happy being my authentic sexual self.  I was very unhappy living a life that wasn’t me as a straight female.  Some people, including family, have an issue with me being married to a woman even though I was being abused by my ex-husband and very unhappy.  You know what…it truly is their issue and not mine.  I’m happy being with the woman I love and being treated with love and respect. I don’t regret one day since I ‘came out’ even though I, too, have lost friends and family as a result.




I found my soul mate in one of the most chaotic times in my life.  We love each other as much and more than we first met.  We have weathered storm, after storm, after storm mostly on our own.  So, for us, our relationship was do or die.  Melody is truly my balance.  Since my diagnosis of DID, life for us has still remained chaotic even when our personal life has been ok.  Life keeps pounding us with more and more.  What I do know about us as a couple and as a family is that we are incredibly resilient and strong.


Our lives on a daily basis don’t even fit the ‘our plate’s full’ analogy.  ‘Our plate runneth over and over and over’ seems to be more accurate.  If you need a better description, think of an organization that’s collecting money for some charity and they have the thermometer that’s colored red as the collection of funds climbs.  When they reach the top, the red starts spewing out the top.  Yea, that’s a more accurate picture of how full our plate usually has been for several years now.  Mel and I took a proactive approach 6 years ago to start couples counseling as a way to maintain a healthy relationship.  How valuable these therapists have been for us as a couple during all of this chaos.  Sometimes, it has truly felt like our couples’ counseling has been the only thread holding us together.  She sees her therapist. We see our couples’ therapist. And someday soon I’ll have my own therapist again.  Truthfully, I would just like to take a break from individual therapy until our new baby boy is born to give my ‘system’ time to chill.


People can have their opinions about gay rights and that’s fine.  I also have a choice whether or not to be a one member audience as well.  Sometimes I choose to jump into an already futile and  very argumentative effort.  Nothing really ever gets accomplished but the usually equally aggressive insults.  In the big scheme of things, everyone has an opinion and thinks that they’re right.  Laws are changed by the government not me.


I’ll tell you what the most important thing in my life right now…potty training the 3 year old.  We also have friends and family in need.  I’m looking for a new therapist.  And daily, I deal with the horrors that I’ve experienced my whole life.  I do my best to try and put the pieces of my puzzled life back together.  It’s not that the topic of gay rights isn’t important to me.  It’s just that, at this particular time in my life, other things take precedence.  I’ve got my wife and son and no government or food establishment can take that from me.  Most of the time I just roll my eyes and shake my head.


Every single day the evidence of my life of secretive abuse floods my mind and body.   I fight like hell to get out of the bed and to try to challenge my fears and anxieties about life.  Life isn’t easy being gay or having DID.  Both have their own stigmas and bent belief systems by society.  Have your own beliefs and opinions, but you can’t touch our rainbow bubble.


And since the uproar about the pizza establishment has become such a big deal….I don’t feed my genitals pizza anyway.


#Thispuzzledlife

	




			
				


	
			
					
	

	

		

			 darnold1975 		


		
Silencing The Lambs
	


	

		
The Silencing of the Lambs


3.16.15


“What makes psychopathy so different, so surreal…that it knocks her head off?  The inability to wrap her head around the emotional-physical-spiritual-sexual gang bang that just happened when she thought she was the most wonderful person.”


—Sandra Brown, Women Who Love Psychopaths


I was trying to decide on a quote this morning for this particular blog post about trauma that would cover the spectrum of how trauma effects different developmental stages from a personal perspective.  While quite blunt, this quote pretty much describes the ‘rape’ on so many levels of each of my personal traumas.  When people ask, “If things were so bad, why didn’t you leave? Or, why didn’t you just tell someone what was happening?”  Honestly, I just have to see and understand that I’m talking to someone at that moment who doesn’t and might not ever understand unless in that position themselves.  Individuals who have never been abused or been so scared that the last thing they would or could ever do is tell the ‘little secret’ to expose their perpetrators, can’t comprehend that level of fear.


Keep in mind that the ‘little secret’ about my molestation by our preacher’s sons was mentioned in passing only a couple times until I told what happened, not even in detail, less than 10 years ago.  That secret I had been holding since I was a 5.5 year old child.  Why do kids do that if they know and are confident that their parents can help?  The problem is not with the child or the parents.  The problem lies with the perpetrators.  If the perpetrators are the parents, then that’s a separate topic.  Even when I got older and new no physical harm could come to me, the seed of fear was planted many years ago.  All I knew was that the topic scared me.  I knew what had happened through broken memories.  But, I was completely detached emotionally except for the emotion of fear.  My parents being the very loving and understanding couple that they are were revealed additional pieces of that time in my life last summer for the first time.  Can you imagine how they felt knowing some additional information about things that transpired?  Then how do you think, as a child, I felt with it being done to me?  The fact that they were connected to religion has always had an influence on my view of religion and religious figures.


In my abusive previous relationship and consequently a marriage, I kept holding on to the false hope that one day I would again be in the relationship with the person that charmed me.  I was so young and naive that I couldn’t see what was happening to me every single day.  His grip just became more and more tighter emotionally until I had been convinced that I was too stupid, dumb, uneducated, ugly, retarded, unwanted by anyone else and whatever else he could come up with in the moment to call me that I felt too weak to be able to stand on my own two feet.  My view of survival was…..well….him.  I was also extremely scared, at that time, of the repercussions of his or his family’s anger.  But, he had his own techniques about how he would ‘raise’ me as his wife.  He just didn’t know that there was a term called gas lighting that would describe parts of his abuse.


A very common form of brainwashing in which an abuser tries to falsely convince the victim that the victim is defective, for any purpose, such as making the victim more pliable and easily controlled, or making the victim more emotional and therefore more needy and dependent. {You’re reading “Definition of Gas lighting” by J. E. Brown.}




Often done by friends and family members, who claim (and may even believe) that they are trying to be helpful. The gas lighting abuser sees himself or herself as a nurturing parental figure in relation to the victim, and uses gas lighting as a means for keeping the victim in that relationship, perhaps as punishment for the victim’s attempt to break out of the dependent role.


Here’s an example…If an abusive person says hurtful things and makes you cry, and instead of apologizing and taking responsibility, starts recommending treatments for what he or she calls “your depression” or “your mood swings,” you are in the presence of a gas lighter.


So, next time, when someone says, “If it’s true, why didn’t they tell?” or “Don’t feel sorry for someone who just stays in a situation like that!”  Understand, that there is so much more going on psychologically that you nor anyone else who’s never experienced brainwashing can comprehend.  True the victim does protect the abuser most of the time.  Trust me…..”IT’S OUT OF FEAR.”  This is how perpetrators ‘silence the lambs.”




Mentally and physically, the effects of 14 years of ‘gas lighting’ took a big toll on me.  My ‘alters’ protected me from feeling much more of the abuse than was felt.  Did I develop maladaptive coping skills from a very young age?  Yes, of course.  They worked well at the time to help me survive some of the horrific traumas of my life.  Now, they just interfere with daily life.  PTSD, social phobias, OCD, rages, flashbacks, body memories, etc. are what my days and nights consist of these days.  Life is better on some days rather than on others.  This, however, are the effects of a lifetime of abuse perpetrated on who ‘had it all’ and became a ‘head case’ over time.  Look at the events of many forms of abuse in my life and tell me who were and still are the ‘head cases?’


Dissociative Identity Disorder is in no shape, form or fashion an easy thing to deal with on a daily basis.  It’s scary as hell for me most of the time.  I won’t nor can I even begin to imagine what it’s like for my wife.  Our son, he’s learning on a different level all of Momma D’s parts.  Every single day our family is in a battle with this disorder.  On an individual level, we’re in a war to put the pieces of the memories back together and deal with them as they should’ve been dealt with many years ago.


Every morning, as long as I choose to put one foot in front of the other, they don’t win.  The day I lay down directly or indirectly in a permanent manner is the day they win.  I think you know enough about me to know that I come from a long line of coaches that demanded and would accept nothing less than winners.  ‘Winners’ in their eyes were more than just numbers on a scoreboard.  There’s only one way I know how to operate….”Get knocked down 1000 times.  Get back up 1001 times.”  This too is a gift.


This lamb is no longer going to be silent.  Abuse is real.


#Thispuzzledlife

	




			
				


	
			
					
	

	

		

			 darnold1975 		


		
Patch Adams And Therapy
	


	

		
Patch Adams and Therapy


3.12.15


“You treat a disease, you win, you lose. You treat a person, I guarantee you, you’ll win, no matter what the outcome.”—Patch Adams


I am sitting here watching the movie Patch Adams tonight as I have many times.  Tonight, however, this film takes on a whole new meaning in a couple of different ways.  Bare with me while I try to convey the importance of this film as it relates to therapy.  While Robin Williams was always a personal favorite actor and comedian, this particular movie rings loud and clear in several ways to me.


Firstly, while having the dreams of being a doctor, he still wants to have strong human connections.  In the movie, he compares medical school to being in the marines due to a lecture on transference.  Throughout the movie you see him trying to find that balance by using some very unconventional yet amusing tactics.  One particular scene shows him doing student rounds with a senior doctor and he begins talking to a group of students about a patient’s condition right in front of the patient.  Robin Williams, who plays Patch Adams, additionally wants to know the patient’s name.  He introduces himself and calls her by name and instantly a connection is made.


In my undergraduate studies at William Carey University in Hattiesburg, MS we were also taught about transference and professional distance with clients.  The truth is that transference is inevitable.  Every human being has some type of impact on another’s life. One of my professors told us in a lecture something that will always stick with me….”Your clients are people first.  Then, they have a diagnosis.”  Probably some of the most valuable information that I have ever been able to use when I worked with addicts.  We are also taught to leave personal or outside issues at home.  The thing that I’ve learned the hard way is that…well…I’m a human being.  While great in theory, it’s not completely possible.  Is it possible to leave enough at home and still function professionally and ethically?….YES.




As a recovering addict, had I not seen the ‘human side’ of my inpatient therapist, Sarah Pardue at such a crucial time, I would’ve never listened to her then which might’ve ended my life from some form of drug overdose.  It doesn’t mean that she didn’t have professional and personal healthy boundaries.  You can’t really put into words what the connection is like.  It’s a very safe and scary feeling all at one time.  For 90 days, I got to see a professional who was a human being that also had feelings and emotions.  She was always one of the most ethical and respectable professionals that I’ve EVER come in contact with.  When I became her student several years later, her humanity was still there and I was completely astonished that she was still able to maintain that after so many years in the therapy field while at times bombs were going off around her.  What a positive impact her example set for me professionally.


Lastly, as a trauma survivor, I have to see that a therapist is a person before they’re a professional.  Remember, because of my trauma and education, I can read people and their body language very well.  This became a survival tool that has worked to my advantage in the counseling field.  Any sign of inconsistencies and red flags are flashing, neon signs.  I watch everything everywhere and at all times.


Processing trauma takes an enormous amount of trust with professionals.  After all, the goal is to share some of the scariest topics and information with someone who is a complete stranger. And if someone we’ve known for a large part of our lives betrayed our trust in vile ways, how are we expected to trust a complete stranger with a degree? Every single day you can turn on the local news and see flaming examples of abuse of power.  I have watched as people portrayed themselves as one thing and their true colors sprint out of the closet just like I did when I ‘came out’ about being gay.  Yea it stings. But, then it hurts.  And eventually, you will look down and find scars. So, needless to say, it takes me a very long time to trust people…..period.


While working with clients, I’m not ashamed at all to say that I’ve cried with my clients at times.  Did I let this interfere with the professional therapeutic relationship? Not at all.  I still had professional and personal boundaries.  Some would possibly see this as not having emotional boundaries thus being unethical.  Ask some of my former clients and they would tell you that their ‘therapist’ was a human being just like they are. Ultimately, isn’t the goal of therapy or medicine to improve ‘quality of life?’


#Thispuzzledlife

	




			
				


	
	

		

			 darnold1975 		


		
Out Of The Darkness, Into The Light Part2
	


	

		


Out of the Darkness, Into the Light Part 2


1.29.15


“I want everyone that has been abused by someone in their childhood to know that you can get past it. Having DID is not the end of the world; it’s the beginning of your new life. DID allows the victim of exceptional abuse the ability to “forget” the abuse and continue living. Without it, I may have gone crazy as a teen and spent my life in  a psychiatric hospital.” 

― Dauna Cole, A Shattered Mind: One Woman’s Story of Survival and Healing


One of the major issues with this disorder are what most people refer to as ‘alters’ or other personalities.  What I’m going to try to do is to paint the picture for you in a way that I’ve been learning how to understand this.  So, imagine you have an apartment complex and each person has their own room.  Except in these rooms, there are horrible memories that are behind doors and no one can get in without a key.  The only people that have these keys are my therapists and my alters which help keep anything else from hurting me.  This is what has protected me throughout the years.  However, some of the coping strategies that worked then DO NOT work now.


Alters can also range in age depending on at what age the abuse occurred.  As dysfunctional as things can get at times the alters as a whole are referred to as a ‘system.’  Until consciousness together can be shared, there might always be memory loss.  The amnesic episodes are, at the very least, scary as hell.  The memories that I often have include only flashes of pictures of the day or days. The information date, time and situation is usually not available.


Alters and systems are as individual as a finger print.  There is no ‘cookie cutter’ way of treating DID.  The most important thing to me hands down is the relationship with my therapists.  Without that relationship, recovery is futile for any issue or disorder.  I trust my therapists enough to take me into the depths of the most terrifying events that have ever happened to me.  This relationship that has been  allowed to happen, as close to trusting, as possible has taken 2 years now with one therapist.  However, both the ups and downs of these relationships has lead to the progress now being made by leaps and bounds.  Painful as this process is, I can only hope that things actually get better.


The tenets in these rooms represent parts of the person you know as Dana.  I will not get into discussing how many or their names.  I can tell you that while growing up with some of those reading this blog alters were already formed or forming.  Not only do these alters hold memories, but they also function in different ways.  However, sometimes the problem with the alters is that they function completely independent from the individual known as the ‘host.’  This is usually the mood swings that you might see. Alters develop out of traumatic events and sometimes more than one during a single traumatic event.   Just to put to rest for those that don’t know my parents, no they were not any part of the abuse.




Alters actually develop when the brain compartmentalizes the traumatic event, memories, etc.  The trauma is so overwhelming and the mind and body both have to survive, that the only way the individual knows instinctively to survive is by developing a new alter even though they may be unaware at the time.  Often times, it is many years down the road that survivors even realize that they have alters.  Therefore, many survivors are trapped in the cycle of the mental health system being misdiagnosed for years and much money spent on treatment for the wrong diagnoses.


Often times, many people say, “I’ve been through worse things and I don’t have alters.”  The only answer I have found is that what’s traumatic for one person may not necessarily be traumatic for another person.  There is also a genetic predisposition to being able to dissociate.  And dissociation is key to the formation of alters.  What is known is that trauma of any kind effects the brain permanently.  Severity depends on how long and what type of trauma was occurred.


You can most definitely have PTSD without meeting criteria for DID.  DID cannot exist without a diagnosis of PTSD since that is a large part of how the disorder forms.  DID also usually always entails some form of early childhood sexual abuse although ‘splitting’ in adulthood is uncommon.


“Another of the difficulties of having DID is the denial. DID is a disorder of denial. It has to be because if the original person knew about the alters and felt their pain, they would either go crazy and be hospitalized permanently, or would die.” 

― Eve N. Adams, A Shattered Soul


#Thispuzzledlife

	




			
				


	
			
					
	

	

		

			 darnold1975 		


		
And 2 More Makes 3…..
	


	

		
And 2 More Make 3……..


10.21.14


“God touched our hearts so deep inside, our special blessing multiplied.”


 ~Author Unknown


I must admit that I had a Maury Povich moment when we went to our fertility specialist today.  I was hoping that if we saw more than one yolk sac that I would hear those magical words…”You are NOT the father!”  No, I’m convinced it was a brief moment of psychosis when I heard the word….”TWINS!”  I’m not sure where the idea of throwing myself into a bubbling vat of Ebola came from but I assure you it was brief.  I totally started thinking, “Where did the twins come from?  There aren’t any in my biological family?  I don’t understand?”  Ok, so maybe it was full blown “situational psychosis.” Already being a parent to a toddler has taught me that brief moments of “situational psychosis” seems to be accepted as a daily action most assuredly in public.  So, my little stand alone moment in the doctor’s office was most definitely appropriate, I think.  If someone tells you that they got that same news and didn’t at the very least think, “What the hell?!” I would have to say that they’re not telling you the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth.   I must admit that I’ve had several laughs since that moment only a few hours ago about why I was actually having those thoughts.


Sometimes events surrounding fertility treatment can also be quite funny.  I can’t tell you how much fun I have with the people at Walgreens when I tell them that I need to pick up my wife’s birth control pills.  For once, I can understand what it must be like for a man to pick up tampons and pads. I usually don’t know whether to laugh or run.  I just get the typical strange looks from the employees.  So, I must respond in a rather humorous manner.  I usually tell them, “Yea, we don’t need any slip ups! The doctors told me I had a low sperm count but you can never be too safe.”  I usually just get a nod and a head tilt similar to that of a puppy.   Sometimes you just have to have fun with ignorance.  My brother, Levi Pierce, taught me that a long time ago.




I know that some will just from reading the blog and not even being around our family daily will think, “OMG, so much has happened already and your lives have been so chaotic. Why now?”  Well, let me see if I can “splain it to you, Lucy.”  So, the term “chaotic” does not even begin to explain what our lives have been like the last several years.  Truly, we both wanted to wait a little bit longer just to be able to catch our breath.  Here’s what it all comes down to………as a lesbian couple who are currently moms, we can’t just decide when the “perfect time” or “more appropriate time” would be better because without the fertility insurance that we have our costs to have a child runs $30,000+ every month we try.  Most straight or gay couples have to have the savings or the ability to take out another mortgage to be able to do this even once.  This, however, is not us.  Melody was blessed with a job that has same sex benefits including fertility benefits.  That was all about to come to a screeching halt as of less than a month ago because Mel’s current job within that company was about to be eliminated.  That meant that we would have fertility insurance only until the end of December. So, our ‘baby making’ days were looking like they were going to end and very soon.  We were scared and very sad.  We looked at everything and said, “Well, now is not really the optimal time but we had to jump on this last opportunity.”  With very minimal cost to us, we proceeded with the process of trying to get her pregnant by December.




As a gay couple, we have to take many things into consideration before having a child.  The fertility process takes up most of the brain and emotional space backed up by legal concerns.  We definitely want to move ‘closer’ but definitely not back exactly where we grew up.  Unfortunately, that area of the country is not in the majority when it comes to equality for gay rights.  We currently live in a state where both our marriage and my rights as a non-biological mother are also honored without having to adopt because we are legally married.  We, by no means, are obligated to explain why we made the decision to have another child to anyone.  Here’s just a little “bird’s eye view” of what it takes for us to be parents.  No daddies other than “donor daddies” are in this house or are involved in this process.  These babies were actually fertilized into embryos the same time our almost 3 year-old son, Marshall.  These were our “frozen babies” which also have to be paid for yearly to be kept on ice.  I’m also knocking on 40 years-old so, we really needed to get on the ball despite what all has been going on.




We transferred two embryos just like we did with Marshall in the hopes that only one would take.  However, unlike when we conceived Marshall and lost the other embryo, both of these took.  That is a chance that we as a gay couple have and had to be willing to take each time.  We could have transferred only one and taken the chance of not conceiving and running out of time.  As life would have it, Mel was offered a different job with the same company and we now have the same benefits. When you don’t know for certain what life might hand you, you have to be willing to take risks and live with the outcome.   We transferred two frozen embryos a couple of years and neither of them took.  And then it seemed that life had once again hit the gas pedal.


 I have personally always taken risks. Some decisions were good and some were not.  Mel and I have, for the most part, had to deal with this alone in the beginning because our “lifestyle” was not accepted.  We have proven that we can be parents and make it happen on our own if need be.  Is this a decision that I regret? Absolutely not!  I wouldn’t change our trials of not being accepted as a family by both society and certain family members for the gift that we have both been given as a couple and as a family.  Life has taught us many things through the gift of our son.  He makes everything seem ok among the chaos.  Has it been easy? No, but nothing ever has been for either of us even before we met.




So, sometimes when you think you have everything planned the way you want it, the universe has a good chuckle and says, “oh yea, watch this!”  We do now and will continue to embrace our roles as spouses and parents.  But, make no mistake; we are finished with baby making after this go round.  And no we don’t have to worry about having tubes tied or accidental pregnancies.  Just a bonus, I thought I might add.  We are going to embrace these babies and continue to live our life as a normal family with sometimes abnormal circumstances.


I have a total of four reasons for both living and to attack my very puzzled past and present with a vengeance.  Painful as hell is what this recovery has been and will continue to be for a while.  Mel and I are both warriors that face life like this……”Tell us we can’t accomplish something, and we can assure you that you will be proven wrong.”  This isn’t a spiteful stance just one of the signs of a strong couple who loves each other dearly. And a family that perseveres no matter how it might look; what people think; or what it takes to have a minority family and keep it together.  We struggle just like every other family ours is just made up of two mommies, a little boy, two yolk sacs and a lot of love.


I would totally go through all of the abuse of 14 years from my previous heterosexual marriage again to know that in the end I would eventually hit the jackpot!


#Thispuzzledlife

	




			
				


	
			
					
	

	

		

			 darnold1975 		


		
Illusions of Halloween
	


	

		
Illusions of Halloween


10.21.14


“The moment of betrayal is the worst, the moment that you know beyond any doubt that you’ve been betrayed:  that some other human being has wished you that much evil.”


—-Margaret Atwood,  The Empathy Trap book page


These last several months has left me both mentally and physically drained to a low that I have never experienced.  Sometimes I have wondered if the universe is trying to point out something that I just can’t seem to see or understand.  The stress alone has left me 40 lbs lighter.  No complaints from me about that.  I think both me and my wife have felt every emotion possible at its highest intensity.  Have I allowed myself to do too much at times? Undeniably, yes.  Have I neglected my own needs psychologically, physically, mentally and emotionally?  Indeed I have.  Do I regret it? Not one minute of it.  I don’t feel compelled or obligated.  I am who I am. And I do what I do out of love for other people.


I’ve been told over the last few months, “No one ever said you had to do it or you weren’t asked to do it.”  My response has always been, “Why should I have to be asked to do something for someone that’s just the right thing to do?”  I don’t feel that I deserve any pats-on-the-back or high fives for simply taking some time to comfort someone in need.  Should I do this more in moderation?  Yes of course.  But, I know only one way to be a friend…..110% at all times when possible.


I’ve tried to figure this entire struggle lately with very few satisfying answers.  The only things I have become “one” with are my own tears.  I think that whatever emotional block that I had been struggling with prior to going back south for a visit has certainly been remedied.  I have emerged someone different and even more confused.  How do I deal with my own trauma like I need to while continuing to be supportive to those in need?  Well, right now, I don’t have those answers.  I just know that promises were made to both friends and family that I would stand by and support them in any way possible.  And since I don’t know how to turn my back on people, I’ll continue to be there for them while also trying to find my balance.




This time of year has many unpleasant anniversaries and memories associated with it.  I have always loved the fall and Halloween.  This year the familiar smells in the air are enough to turn my stomach.  I normally would be hunting for the best haunted house, haunted barn, haunted corn maze or anything that I was hopefully to get a good scare from in the region.  However, at this point in my life, there are very few days that are fun and enjoyable.  All I can seem to attribute this lack of contentment to is just where I am on my path of healing.  The word “trust” is one that has become again a word that is attached to the word “fear.”


Just this past weekend, our family went to McCall’s Pumpkin Patch in Moriarty, NM that we have been going to since before Marshall was born.  It has always been a place where my “inner child” comes alive and enjoys having fun.  Since Marshall was born, we always take this time to have fun taking fall pictures of him.  This year was different.  I was very apprehensive about all the people that would be there and just the thought of going scared the absolute shit out of me.  I didn’t totally understand but I think back to the sacrifices that my parents always made to attend all of my many softball/basketball games.  Instantly, I put on a smile and thought, “I, too, must do this for our son.”


Mel had all medications ready just in case.  And I will also add that I was medicated before we even left the house.  Secretly, my goal was to get through this as quickly as possible and get back home to my place of “safety.”  I must admit that seeing our son having such a good time brought joy to my heart.  The fear that I had from just being there was beginning to make me nauseous.  I sipped on my medical marijuana shooter to try and help combat all of the anxiety and nausea that was beginning from somewhere deep in my soul.  Something was beginning but what and why?  I knew that part of it had to do with being around so many people that was for sure.  I knew, though, that there was something more painful attached to this reaction, but what?  Halloween had always been something fun for me or had it?  I tried to ignore everything as best I could for the sake of Marshall and Mel to have an enjoyable day.


The last thing we always do before leaving is the hay ride.  However, after being around what seemed like ½ of the total population of New Mexico, I was done.  I told them to go ahead  and I would just wait under a covered area where a lot of families were eating and taking a break from the activities.  Never going anywhere in public without my IPod, I sit at a table and try to do some deep breathing and try and enjoy some music until they got finished.  Apparently, I was seen as an easy target to squeeze out because a rather large family decided that they would occupy the rest of the space at the table.  So, I politely got my shit and left them with the damn table.  I would like to interject that there is not a whole lot that I miss about where I was raised.  The common courtesy of simply asking if it was ok to sit there was something that I truly missed at that exact moment.  I would’ve gotten up anyway but, you know, the whole “principle” of the matter thing.  Anyway, I find a place on a hay bale and sit there in eager anticipation for the return of the pumpkin hunters.   I soon realize that I’m not able to keep an eye on everything but this time I’m alone.  My mind begins to panic and all I can think is, “Get me out of here NOW!”  Then the flashes of images that I can’t seem to connect with begin.  Really?  All I knew was that I was terrified.  The nausea sets in and I keep swallowing to prevent the ultimate embarrassment of vomiting in public.  I was scared and alone and that was all I could comprehend.  I felt like at any moment someone was going to do something horrible to me.  I just didn’t feel protected.  My deep breathing quickly became like a dog panting.  My eyes searched the area like a tiger looking for a meal.  And then…….I’m in the truck almost back in ABQ not remembering if something had happened.  I had a really bad headache and tried to put the pieces together and couldn’t.  Yea…..Happy Halloween.


#Thispuzzledlife

	




			
				


	
			
					
	

	

		

			 darnold1975 		


		
Winners
	


	

		
Winners


8.14.14


“It isn’t the mountains ahead to climb that wear you out; it’s the pebble in your shoe.”

-Muhammad Ali


Today is one of those days where I regret being able to open my eyes.  I rolled out of bed this morning and felt like I had been at war all night.  My body feels like I’m detoxing from a chemical that I haven’t taken.  And it’s already begun happening at 6:00am.  I feel the overwhelming sense of sadness mixed with anxiety.  The nausea is hitting like a gulf coast wave from Hurricane Katrina.  I feel that overwhelming sense of needing to vomit.  Halleluer! I must not have eaten before I went to bed last night! I didn’t see any remnants of anything.  So, I grab my cannabis wax pen and take a couple of hits off it to settle my entire system down.  This has also helped to combat a horrible headache that was beginning to hit like a thousand hammers.  Then the diarrhea hits like some kind of ‘shock and awe’ attack on Iraq.  How soon until I have another acupuncture session?


I’m actually catching a break from these symptoms right now.  The medical marijuana is just like any other medication, it too has its limits.  However, the combination between both mmj and acupuncture and a drastic slow down in therapy seems to be slowing everything but my mind.  What was started about a month ago and was exacerbated when we traveled home has continued to plague every inch of my mind.  This blog, no doubt, is an exit for both frustration and education on certain topics.  But, for now, certain things must be kept hidden to ensure safety on several different levels.


Am I just trying to have a “poor, pitful me” moment today? Hell no! You’re just getting a ‘firsthand’ look at what some people’s days are like.   Like I’ve said before, “writing about these topics on my own abuse has had numerous effects on me both mentally and physically.”  Yes, I realize that I had an awesome life up next to others who have had some horrific things happen in their own lives.  I’m not going to compare stories because this blog is not about minimizing anyone’s personal traumas.  Have I cried about feeling so guilty about being upset over seemingly insignificant things? Absolutely!  But, the fact is that things did happen.  I’ve held that shame and guilt so long that my mind and body feels like I’m melting.  And I’ve stuffed and stuffed feelings for so long that I’m not only nervous….I’m terrified to work with them.


The “special” people helping to guide me through this process must either be angels from God or “gluttons for punishment.”  LMAO!!!  I feel like I’m really just beginning this treatment even though, I’ve been in therapy for a few years now.  I just don’t have the ability to keep my defenses up like I use to.




As an athlete, “YOU NEVER GIVE UP!” You play until you hear the whistle blow.  This drive is not one that can be taught. You must be born with a love for the game and the athletic ability to become the best ballplayer you can become.  I got my softball playing nickname ‘Charlie Hustle’ from one of my earliest and dearest coaches assigned to me by Nick Kolinksy.  He always told me that I played a lot like Pete Rose and never gave up.  I smile every time I remember as a kid playing ball for him and always feeling a sense of ‘safety’ around him.  He would tell me sometimes, “Dana, that was a $100 catch and a .10 throw.”  He made his point very clear but didn’t crush my self esteem as a ballplayer or as a person in the process. He and other coaches are on my list of ‘special’ people that had a dramatic and positive impact on my life from a very early age.  I never complained about going to practice or games.  That was a way out for me.  Playing ball was my life.  Pete Rose said it the best way that I know how to describe the love that I had for the game.  


“I’d walk through hell in a gasoline suit to play baseball.”


—Pete Rose


Occasionally, that old, washed up athlete comes alive in me again with reminders about how “putting one foot in front of the other is still considered progress.” I get caught up a lot on what the definition of ‘progress’ or ‘winning’ is about in regards to therapy.  Sometimes, the best I can do for that day is just get out of the bed.  Even doing that means that I made progress because one foot had to be put in front of another foot for that to be accomplished.


Sometimes people ask me what it’s like to process trauma.  To me it’s all about going to war, except this time, I know what I’ll be faced with.  I have survived it once so, it can be done. Do I have the strength? That remains to be seen.  I relive everything all day everyday anyway. What makes this situation different?  I have actively made a choice to volunteer to go through it again.  The fear can make me angry, frustrated and paralyze me at times.  I must admit that it’s very unfair to be almost 40 years old and still paralyzed in many ways by what others have done.  I can hear some of the old, southern biddies saying, “She made her bed, now, she can lie in it.” And that’s fine, if that’s your reality.  My reality is this….”I don’t care what the circumstances were…No one deserves to be abused in any way….EVER!  My ex-husband, teacher, baby sitters and birth mom didn’t deserve the abuse that they suffered at the hands of their family and people they trusted.  When the effects of the abuse begin affecting them then, the new generation of abuse is born and is taken out on other people who become their victims just like I did.”


This time….”I WILL NOT ONLY SURVIVE, I WILL WIN!”


#thispuzzledlife


 


#Thispuzzledlife

	




			
				


	
			
					
	

	

		

			 darnold1975 		


		
Who Am I?
	


	

		
Who am I?


9.8.14


“Don’t underestimate me.  I know more than I say,


Think more than I speak,


 & notice more than you realize.” 


–Anonymous


Behind the smiles you don’t see the frowns.  Behind the laughs you don’t see the cries.  Behind the eyes you don’t see the tears.  And behind the contentment that you see in the pictures of me and our son, you don’t see the fears that I hide.  You see what I allow you to see.  I let you see what is socially acceptable.  But, you DON’T see the real me.  What if you did? Would you even recognize me? Could you even pronounce my name?  Or would I be that same person, to you that you’ve grown-up with and known the majority of your life?


I resemble the same person you knew in middle school and high school.  I have a wife instead of a husband.  We have a 2.5 year old son.  We live in the time zone known as “Marshall Standard Time.” I wear shorts and t-shirts instead of cleats and uniforms.  I’m still the same ‘clown’ that you’ve always known me to be.  I still laugh at inappropriate shit. My humor about things has never disappeared.  I’m just not as “happy-go-lucky” as I use to be.


 There wasn’t one event that caused a change in me over time.  It was abuse that occurred over many years that has changed me.  If I met you 20 years now since high school, you would see that same person that you were in the halls with but attached to my leg is a little boy. And attached to my heart is my wife, Melody Landrum-Arnold.


No one ever knows someone else’s true “secrets.”  You saw a seemingly happy wife walking by her husband’s side and holding his hand.  You saw parents supporting their child in every way possible. You saw an athlete very passionate and dedicated to the sports she loved.  And you saw a fun loving and respectful person when our paths crossed.  There were scars and open wounds that you never knew.




What you didn’t know or see were all of the “secrets” of a lifetime of abuse.  What if you knew all of my thoughts? What if you knew the things I was made to do? Would you look at my scars and be disgusted? Could you look me in the eye because I couldn’t you? Would you stand there speechless because of the lies you were told and believed? Or would you say, “Gee, I’m sorry” and avoid all eye contact.  Why? SHAME.  Those of us who were once victims carried the shame of our abusers who were “shameless.”


I wish people who have and continue to judge me could spend one day in my brain with all the chaos as a result of the abuse.  You wouldn’t survive one minute!  No one taught me how to survive all of that.  I figured it out on my own.  Some behaviors are maladaptive, I’ll agree.  I did what I had to do to SURVIVE in any way possible!


I’ve been very strong for many years but I’m tired.  Mornings like now seem like the movie Groundhog Day.  The abuse replays every moment I’m alive.  Every morning, the abuse starts all over again.  I feel like, I’m stuck in survival mode all the time.  Sometimes I feel like a victim and sometimes I feel like a survivor.  I try and live life “one minute at a time” because “one day at a time” seems entirely too long, right now.


I’m very much a realist.  I see things for the way they are, instead of the way they can be.  The whole analogy of the duck is how I view even the simplest of events, ideas, comments, etc.  So, basically I get in my own way.  Part of this process is going to be to retrain how the brain perceives things, I think.


I also repeat things sometimes at different times.  So, if some of the abuse stories seem to overlap, just ignore and keep reading.  I’ll explain why this happens later.


Please try and understand that this is just where I’m at in my healing journey.


#Thispuzzledlife

	




			
				


	
	

		

			 darnold1975 		


		
I’m Not Alone
	


	

		
I’m Not Alone


8.23.14


“A bird doesn’t sing because it has the answers, it sings because it has a song.”


—Maya Angelou


I don’t normally blog on Saturday mornings at 5:30am.  This morning I was awaken to what felt like my insides twisting.  I felt nauseous but lay still to make sure it was real and not a dream.  I decided very quickly, “Nope, that wasn’t a dream.”  I also noticed that my whole body was hurting with what seemed like “growing pains” as my pediatrician use to call it.


I go through my morning routine of turning on my vaporizer and the coffee pot.  But, this morning, I decided against coffee and would have a diet coke.  Since, everyone else was asleep, now was the perfect time to read some of my library books.  I started vaping but at a higher rate because the pain in my body was becoming ever more painful by the second.  I once again felt like I was in full detox from some chemical.  I also have these symptoms randomly attack me at different times of the day.  I’m starting to get a headache but get busy trying to keep it at bay.


I think I finally begin to feel my medication beginning to work after a few minutes.  My nausea begins to subside somewhat, my headache is doing ok for the moment but my muscles and tissues of the rest of my body seem very angry at me.  I pick up my book and begin reading.  Due to the types of abuse, I endured both as a child and adult, I’m constantly looking for answers for why things happened the way they did.  The book I’m currently reading is Wife Rape. It’s an older book but I need answers.  This was the same book that had me reliving a scene from my former marriage the other night. So, I kept that in mind and agreed with myself that I started feeling anything familiar in my mind or body; I would put the book down. Deal!




I’m instantly sucked into that book again. These women had stories like mine.  Some were much different, but the “acts” were about control.  This I already knew. But, seeing things in black and white can sometimes be the one thing that makes things “click.” I kept reading some of the sentences and paragraphs over and over.  I thought, “How do they know how I felt in that moments or those surround those types of events?” I just had to read more. The book not only describes the actual accounts of abuse from the survivors. But attempts to explain why this “secretive, abuse happens and how the abuser also views this as both their “biblical and societal RIGHT as a man.”


I want to make perfectly clear that I am sensitive and also understand that this can and do happen in ALL kinds of relationships.  Since this book is older, I’m not distracted by the fact that they use information from heterosexual relationships.  But, since I’m discussing my previous heterosexual relationship, I won’t make a big deal about what types of samples they used regarding gender.


These women describe, in detail, how they felt, hurt and emotionally survived their abuse.  It was like looking in the mirror again.  My instant thought was, “How do they know this much? I’ve told only a couple of people some of what happened?  Who betrayed my confidence?”  I very quickly realized was how much I identified with all of these survivors.  Not only what they did but what they thought.  They also seemed to “lose time” with some of the attacks on their body. Their worth as a human being has been severely damaged.  They also spoke about how much easier it was to just “go along” instead of fight.  That fighting back always seemed to make everything worse in every way.  I knew and felt that too.


I had ignored my body but soon realized that I now feel like someone is trying to tie my body in a knot.  EVERYWHERE was and is still hurting like I’m being hit with a bat.  The nausea is back. My stomach is cussing me repeatedly and my head is pounding.  My upper back feels like I was just shot and just breathing almost brings me to tears because of the anxiety.  I prefer to think that my body is ‘bleeding’ many years of emotions that I never felt ‘safe’ enough to release.  I feel like every day I don’t write, that my body is filling up with toxins.  But, I’m physically miserable too.  My body feels very conflicted.  Do I have that much “stuff” to process that I haven’t started getting better physically yet?  From somewhere deep inside me, I hear…”Someone please stop this NIGHTMARE! I can’t handle reliving it again!


Most people would say, “Just put the book down and it will get better.” I really wish it was that easy. My body and mind are remembering every single vivid detail of everything that has happened.  It’s not just the book.  But, the book is really helping me understand what exactly happened to me the 14 years I was in a relationship with my ex-husband.  I relate to so many of those women though which makes me feel like I’m in a group therapy session in my own little way.  Sometimes you do stuff knowing that it’s going to hurt because you seem to understand and long for more understanding.  Do the benefits outweigh the risk?   I don’t know what the right answer is right now.  Maybe I’ll take what I have read and read it more at a later date.


#Thispuzzledlife

	




			
				


	
			
					
	

	

		

			 darnold1975 		


		
Wake Me Up When September Ends
	


	

		
Wake Me Up When September Ends…..


11.5.14


“The conflict between the will to deny horrible events and the will to proclaim them aloud is the central dialectic of psychological trauma.” 

― Judith Lewis Herman, Trauma and Recovery


I’ve always been told the saying, ‘when it rains it pours.’  Right now, my life feels like a hundred year flood.  And for those who read this blog, yes, I did manage to make it through Halloween.  It wasn’t easy and I was medicated, but I wasn’t going to miss our son’s trick or treating for anything no matter how painful it was for me.


You may or may not view this as a “pity party” session and well that’s on you.  I view this as being able to freely voice my agony which tends to be very cathartic. I’d like to think that this string of painful losses was just for the month of September.  There are several events that seemed to congregate in that month.  The psychological trauma began many years ago so, I’m not a ‘newbie’ to bad shit happening.  Matter of fact, I can usually handle that much better than “normal” life. Why?  For many years, that has been my normal.


This year has been one, thus far, that I’ll never forget.  The spring brought two suicides. The summer brought the most intense internal and external psychological battle that I think has ever been waged against me.  September…..well….it doesn’t have a season because what started then hasn’t stopped even now.  There is nothing that could’ve prepared me for when my brother’s wreck that happened and yet he still survived and is doing very well.  Less than a week later another suicide that I was directly associated with occurred.   Another suicide only a couple of weeks ago happened yet again.  And now some concerning news that I must just chew on for the moment.


Have I learned some difficult lessons this summer? You bet I have!  September just seems to keep feeding me and my family all kinds of stuff that just makes you shake your head.  And it’s not over yet.  In the meantime, I start deep work on my molestation as a child very soon.  Sometimes you wonder what your limits are and then voices from the past namely Nick Kolinsky and Randy King among other coaches remind me that “A Winner Never Gives Up!”  We were never allowed as players to give a half ass effort.  So, even now, with tears streaming down my face, what was instilled in me as a ballplayer keeps me going.  You just enjoy the good times and prepare for the bad.  Things have happened so quickly that life hasn’t afforded me time to catch my breath.


And now I get ready to embark on a deeper more painful part of the journey of trauma recovery that I have yet to experience.  I have asked many questions about why I have to pay both mentally and physically for the evil that was done by others.  The only solace I can find, at this juncture, is so that I can finally have my voice heard.  Oh, there have been people that have said along the years that they were listening to me.  Actually hearing what I have to say from a humanistic standpoint, I’ve been stranded.  I must admit that some of that is my fault because I kept so many secrets and protected my abusers both out of fear and intimidation.




 


Dear Perpetrators


Those days of fear and intimidation are gone.  I survived without your help.  People are now going to hear what you did to me.  I was once your victim.  Now, I’m the warrior about to face you again and again for as long as it takes for me to have freedom.


Sincerely,


YOUR worst nightmare


Our Thanksgiving plans consist of going to Arkansas to spend with my brother and sister-in-law and our new ‘chosen’ family.  He is then riding back with us to Albuquerque to spend a month with us.  Does the universe know that I’m going to need some extra support in the coming months?   I would have to say undeniably YES!  Big things are going to happen in the next couple of months that are going to be both good and bad.  I see nothing wrong with two people wanting to promote healing together.  Sometimes all I need is my big brother as comfort.  And sometimes all he needs is his equally crazy sister to tell him that things will get better.  Nothing but good can come from this.  I will not only have my dear son and wife here as comfort.  But, my big brother is going to be here to push me in a way that no other person on this earth can do.  We also have over 20 years of jokes and laughter to catch up on.  So, my dear brother, thank you in advance for the comfort and support that only you can give in the next couple of months.


What people don’t understand about mine and Levi’s relationship is that just being around each other for less than an hour, we already begin healing.  So, having a man that I’ve always trusted when I was always told that he was “bad news” is something that I can still laugh about today.  He saved my life many years ago and I can only hope to repay the debt one day. The boys/men that I was told I could trust raped and molested me physically and emotionally.


Since, my only sibling has been AWOL  since I ‘came out’ as being gay, she made a choice and I made mine.  I have two brothers named Levi Pierce and Chris Pierce that I can depend on no matter what.  My sibling’s name, unfortunately, has slowly been forgotten.  I have a beautiful family and extended family with absolutely no blood relations, no matter what her choices are.


Levi and Chris Pierce and all of our ‘chosen’ family in Arkansas, thank you for loving me and my family unconditionally.   Charlene Pierce, thank you for loving my brother and being patient enough to be his wife. LOL. Levi, thank you for staying off the damn motorcycles for this long!  I love you and can’t wait to see you soon!


#Thispuzzledlife

	




			
				


	
			
					
	

	

		

			 darnold1975 		


		
Tears Of A Clown 3
	


	

		
Tears of a Clown 3


9.8.14


“Anyone who has a continuous smile on his face conceals a toughness that is almost frightening.” 

― Greta Garbo


When Levi got back to his room, I was so relieved!  Now, I could see for myself that he had made it through surgery safely.  Not without battle wounds, but he was alive.  I told him, “Bro, I’m still here.”  I could tell that between the anesthesia and pain meds that he didn’t know whether to ‘scratch his watch or wind his butt.”  I left him in the caring hands of his wife, brother and mother.  I could now breathe another sigh of relief.  Mel and Marshall came by and picked me up from the hospital to go something to eat.  To me, it had been a long day that was well worth the stress.


The next couple of days were spent making small talk and getting to know his family.  Marshall continued to play with Boudreaux, Levi’s new grandson.  Chris, Charlene and his mom all seemed to be competing for the “Caregiver of the Year Award.”  They were amazing at how they were attending to him.  I’m not sure what the exact situation was, but I was introduced by his family as his “sister.”  Now, between him and me we’ve always called each other brother and sister.  His own family seeing, accepting and seemingly understanding our relationship also was the ray of sunshine that my heart seemed to need to feel.


I had just recently been wrapped up in some of my own darkness.  This whole trip was beginning to feel like the ray of light that I had been searching for.  I’ve looked back and have been able to recall this exact feeling.  I’ve wondered why this has made such a big difference mentally for me.  What I’ve deduced from this situation is this:


    

  1.  My brother needed me and I was able to get there.  I might’ve been a mess, but I got there like we had always promised each other.
    2. 

  2.  My ‘security blanket’ was finally back in my life….him.
    3. 

  3.   I had just been ACCEPTED, by his friends and family, for who I was even at my weakest moment.  I wasn’t able to keep the mask on because I had been weakened by my own fear.  And they still accepted me and all of me.
    4. 



I must admit that it was pretty eerie at first.  Everything for me has always come with conditions except for a few very close friends, close family and my parents.  Even my ex-husband told me that he didn’t understand how my dad accepted my mother for who she is without conditions. He told me that loving someone like that wasn’t even possible.   So, this situation with Levi’s friends and family and their acceptance and total disregard for the fact that I was gay, legally married and have a 2.5 year old kid didn’t even seem to phase them.  They knew that I loved their friend and family member and that was all that counted.


I’ve listened to stories from almost everyone there about what a big part he has played in their lives.  I can honestly say that I wasn’t surprised by what I was hearing.  Another thing that he and I have in common is the fact that if someone’s in need of help, we will always be there for them.  You can say that it has something to do with the way we were raised; the expectations of being from the south; or our own childhood trauma that’s had influence.  What I can say is this…”Fighting the battles of abuse and life on your own is not easy nor is it fair.”  Therefore, and I can only speak for myself, when I say that after my 8th grade school year that I have always vowed that no one that I knew and/or loved would EVER have to fight a battle on their own again.  I will admit that he and I both don’t know when to keep our mouths shut at times.   I would take that flaw rather than having any of my friends and family fight a senseless battle on their own.




When he was finally discharged and sent home, he wanted to ride in our vehicle because it was higher.  We got back to his and Charlene’s house and the cooking began.  He was in excruciating pain.  So, I helped to make sure he was comfortable.  I knew these last few hours would be my last for a little while.  We were heading back to Albuquerque early in the morning.  We sat, laughed and told stories with as many people that would sit and listen.  As the time passed, we began to try and play, “Let’s Make a Deal” with our wives just so we could have those last remaining moments together.  We honestly sounded like two kids who wanted candy at the store.


Finally, it was time and I must say goodbye to one of my closest friends.  He and I didn’t shed tears in front of everyone.  I hugged him and told him I loved him.  I reminded him that I was just a text, phone call or instant message away.  He told me, “I still can’t believe you and your family came all this way to see me.”  I simply told him, “You were not the one that was on the other end of that phone line when I was talking to Charlene.  Don’t ever doubt what I will do for you no matter what you may consider as insignificant. You are my BROTHER.”


I was fine going back to the motel because for the past few days that was our routine.  When we got the car loaded in the morning and pulled out of the parking lot of the motel, I  began to see and feel the tears begin to fall.  All I felt was the pull and the hurt of the separation between us on my heart.  He was in great hands and I knew that.  Emotionally, I just left my brother.  That was a feeling that no word could magically soothe.  I cried most of the 13 hours it took to drive back home.  And yes, the night I left him, he did the same thing.  He is a man with feelings and I have never shamed him for that.


I look back on this trip and can do nothing but shed tears.  They are tears of what could have happened. They are tears of what happened.  And they are tears of joy for my family being completely embraced by some people who had only heard my name until we met.  I now have the peace of knowing that I have several more “chosen” family members living in Arkansas.


I have heard their stories about our beloved “Spunky.”  I’ve laughed a lot and cried with them.  They have also laughed at the beautiful memories that we have of us as rebellious children.  Also, things that were shared with me by individuals, is how very big his heart is even now.  How he has taken people in and helped “clean” them up.  We both seem to lean towards the people that need help.  I guess maybe that’s why I enjoy working with populations that make a lot of people cringe.  We both have a very strong line of STUPID/HARDHEADEDNESS that comes out in us at times.  But, the one thing Levi and I still have that never changed is our love and respect for each other as human beings.


We’ve made mistakes and lots of them.  We have had little victories that maybe he and I will only understand.  But, my dear and very precious brother, I must say that through all the mistakes, to me you are not only a success as a human.  YOU ARE A SUCCESS AS A MAN!


And once again…..the “Tears of a Clown” are falling.


#Thispuzzledlife

	




			
				


	
			
					
	

	

		

			 darnold1975 		


		
Fight, Flight or Freeze
	


	

		


Fight, Flight or Freeze


August 6, 2014


“People who fly into a rage always make a bad landing.”


 —Will Rogers


After a good “wake n’ bake” morning, and a nice phone call from my brother Levi Pierce, I think he and I realize that we’re more alike than different in a lot of ways.  That’s actually more of a scary thing than funny.  He and I have discussed since we reunited about whether or not the “karma bus” is plowing us over for being such smartasses when we were younger.  I haven’t stopped being a smartass and neither has he.  So, I’m guessing that the “karma bus” is following ever so closely behind us waiting to stomp the gas pedal…LMAO!


I have to admit that we are very “hot-headed” individuals that would give you the shirts off our backs. We are both very loyal people which would explain the closeness of our relationship even after not being in contact for 20+ years.  However, I will warn you of two things……(1) Don’t ask either of us a question unless you know and accept that you will receive our honest  “opinion” and, more than likely, a smartass answer to go with it. (2)And don’t expect either one of us to sit by and watch injustices being done especially to our closest friends and family.


When a perceived threat or an actual threat for one’s safety occurs there will be one of three responses:  fight, flight or freeze.  I will speak for myself on this one, when I say that when my trauma was occurring, I was a fighter.  Anger seemed to be the only emotion that people would respond in a way that felt “safe.”  For me, the safety was that people would back away from me and leave me alone.  This soon became a very useful tool for me for a means of survival. Tears have always been considered a weakness for me. My tears were always used as a way to belittle me or lead to further abuse.  Anger became my greatest motivator.  But then anger progressed into rage….




I would go into blind rages where I would have no recollection of the events.  Actually, the level at which my anger and rage can get, scares me.  I have no idea where this rage comes from. I do know where it began….age 13. I was forced to hold all emotions because I couldn’t win no matter what I did.  Columbine had not happened yet and I’m glad the seed wasn’t planted.  Because, you had two teen age kids who were mad at the world and were tired of being bullied by adults.  Instead of Klebold and Harris, it would’ve been Kendrick and Pierce.  We had also realized that other teachers and staff knew how we were being treated and did nothing about it. We had no ‘ill will’ towards any other students, just the adults.  I felt as though I had no voice.  I would complain about how mean she was and no one ever heard what I was saying. I already had the first of many “labels” I would have throughout my life. I was labeled as a ‘troublemaker’ and ‘behavior problem.’ Once the label was in place, there was no wiping it off even when they were the ones in the wrong.  I vowed from that day forward that “no one that I knew would ever have to fight on their own as long as I was around.”


At the point in my life when this was occurring, I remember having my first thoughts of both suicide and homicide.  I became very intrigued with death.  Like I said before, horror movies always provided relief from all of the rage that was building inside me. The movies provided for me what I wasn’t able to do…”a release for the rage on my perpetrators.”  Finally, in my own fantasy world, they were getting what they deserved. The drugs, cutting and alcohol were all just to make living tolerable.  Was it maladaptive? Well, of course. All I knew, was that adults were unsafe to me then.  Because, all I saw was the abuse of power that was coming from them.  So, being raised that “adults were always right” was very confusing .


These thoughts have continued since then.  I’m constantly trying to keep the “rage” maintained.  My approach doesn’t work all the time. Therapy has helped me to feel that rage on a different level. Now, I’m at least at times able to feel the anguish, fear and sadness behind all of the rage.  However, I can still have a hard time crying even with people I trust. Where parents aren’t given a guidebook on “How to Raise a Child,” neither are children given a book on “The Healthiest Ways to Survive Trauma.” So, on both sides of the scenarios, individuals are often given only split seconds to make a decision.  Sometimes the decisions turn out to be good and some bad.  But, whatever decision you make about the situation, if it works for someone then that person will continue to use those same behaviors as a viable option.  If it doesn’t work for you, then you look for solutions until something does work.


There are definite commonalities among children and adults in responses to trauma.  However, each reaction will be individual to the person.  Up to the point at which the trauma occurs, no one has the same experiences. So, trauma affects people differently.  Some experiences even could and can appear to have almost no impact on one person. But, then causes major life disrupting behaviors for others.


#Thispuzzledlife

	




			
				


	
			
					
	

	

		

			 darnold1975 		


		
Memories That Come To Life
	


	

		
Memories That Come To Life


8.21.14


“I feel no emotional connection to these outwardly human gestures.

I am not there, because I never left Afghanistan.”

― Jake Wood, Among You: The Extraordinary True Story of a Soldier Broken By War


We recently went to the “small, southern town” thinking that I could do some ‘special’ therapy there.  This is a ‘trial and effort’ type of situation for us in dealing with my disorder.  We soon realized that doing therapy and even being in the state was causing more harm than good.  I couldn’t relax enough mentally or physically to be able to do the therapy.  There are just too many harmful emotions and people that are associated with that area.  When we do visit, I’m constantly watching EVERYTHING and EVERYONE.  Saying that someone is ‘safe’ doesn’t mean shit to me!  I luckily don’t remember what all of what was said and done.   I do remember how the feeling was like having my skin peeled off.


It’s a very conflicted feeling of wanting to be there but not wanting to step foot near that area.  Most of my high school teammates, my parents, our really close friends, people who support us, the fields that I put my body on the line to be a good athlete, the great memories of the terms “team” and “family, and the house I grew up in.  But also, are the memories of the all the abuse.  I always make a point to go by and visit both my friends, former classmates and my grandmother’s grave at their respective cemeteries.   I sit late at night next to the leftfield line where I experienced what the term ‘love’ was all about for the first time.  I think many times about how much fun we had as players and the things we got away with because we were high school athletes.  But, those thoughts always become overshadowed by what was going on, seemingly in another life.


I ride around that city and all I see and think is the horror that no one claims to know about but me.  There are those that I know recall what happened to me with the teacher.  They knew about it, knew it was wrong, and did nothing about it.  Everywhere, I seem to go in that city is a very bad reminder of what happened.  Some people have tried to say, “Just let the past go!”  Tell me how and I’ll do it.  That’s usually where the conversation about that ends.  I usually feel like I can’t escape the ‘nightmare’ that I had already lived.  I just wanted to go to my NEW home, Albuquerque.  Petal will always be the town where I was raised, taught manners, good food and respect.   But a lot of healing has to take place for me to be able to consider it anything other than a ‘nightmare.’  I have a lot of people there that I’m very close too.  However, I can’t even enjoy a visit with them because I’m so on edge about everything.




I was told by my ex-husband about the molestation that, “that happened a long time ago, what in the hell can you do about it now?” I have never forgotten that statement. I instantly felt like I had been emotionally raped because it wasn’t a big deal to him.  He told me later, “I have spoken with your parents about the molestation incident and they told me that they don’t believe that it happened because you would’ve told them about it.”  I didn’t know it then, but they still had no idea what had actually happened. I had made sure of that for a very long time.  I was devastated from what he told me.  I figured that with him being my husband that surely he would be empathetic that it happened.  I don’t know if he ever believed me or not.  But, I do know that there was never any empathy shown towards me about that subject in any way.  “Dana, it’s a &@*# play with it!” is not the way to help that person heal.  It actually re-traumatizes them. I now know what he told me was a lie. All I’ll say about that topic is that I rarely talk about it because of the shame of the abuse.


I’m actually reading a book that is explaining exactly what ‘wife rape’ is.  The book actually explains a lot to me.  I find myself reading the same paragraph over and over at times. So, reading a book is usually a feat.  I start seeing the canvas of words slowly form a picture of what looked like me.  I read further and could so identify with some of the other survivors.  I thought, “Now, I have an explanation for part of the 14 year ‘mind fuck.’” However, what I noticed is that slowly a repeat of an incident began to unfold.  I couldn’t stop it. I was silenced.  I saw his mouth and lips move.  I saw the redness of his face.  Some saw me as being lucky to be married to such a well known guy.


Unfortunately, his abuse was reserved for the party of 1…..me.  He was different around other people.   I knew him for who he was.  He was the product of the abuse from his father.  I was told, “There are no marks on you! No one will believe you anyway!  You’re the one with the mental history!”   Then the feelings began to rush to my heart, stomach and brain where the nausea and migraine ensued.  I looked around and realized that I was sitting in my chair. For a split second, though, everything was very real but from a different time.  I looked down and the book was still opened to the page I had been reading.  I vaped a little mmj (medical marijuana) and then went and tried to relax in the bed while my body thought that I had just been on a run from a dog.  Everyone else was already fast asleep.


Both my days and nights are like this at times.  The visions and memories are so real, in fact, that vomiting often follows.  It seems like it never ends.  I hope for better days sometimes.  Right now, it feels like I’m feeling it all over again.  All I know to do it hit it, whatever it is, ‘head on each time.’ Even if you are scared, you NEVER dodge an opponent!  You always step on the court or up to the plate ready to play ball!


#Thispuzzledlife

	




			
				


	
			
					
	

	

		

			 darnold1975 		


		
A Little More Travel
	


	

		
A Little More Travel


8.20.14


“Punishments include such things as flashbacks, flooding of unbearable emotions, painful body memories, flooding of memories in which the survivor perpetrated against others, self-harm, and suicide attempts.” 

― Alison Miller, Healing the Unimaginable: Treating Ritual Abuse and Mind Control


We recently went to the “small, southern town” thinking that I could do some ‘special’ therapy there.  This is a ‘trial and effort’ type of situation for us in dealing with my disorder.  We soon realized that doing therapy and even being in the state was causing more harm than good.  I couldn’t relax enough mentally or physically to be able to do the therapy.  There are just too many harmful emotions and people that are associated with that area.  When we do visit, I’m constantly watching EVERYTHING and EVERYONE.  Saying that someone is ‘safe’ doesn’t mean shit to me!  I luckily don’t remember what all was said and done.  But, I do remember how the feeling was like having my skin peeled off.


It’s a very conflicted feeling of wanting to be there but not wanting to step foot near that area.  Most of my high school teammates, my parents, our really close friends, people who support us, the fields that I put my body on the line to be a good athlete, the great memories of the terms “team” and “family, and the house I grew up in.  Also, are the memories of the all the abuse.  I always make a point to go by and visit both my friends, former classmates and my grandmother’s grave at their respective cemeteries.   I sit late at night next to the left field line where I experienced what the term ‘love’ was all about for the first time.  I think many times about how much fun we had as players and the things we got away with because we were high school athletes.  But, those thoughts always become overshadowed by what was going on, seemingly in another life.




I ride around that city and all I see and think is the horror that no one claims to know about but me.  There are those that I know recall what happened to me with the teacher.  They knew about it, knew it was wrong, and did nothing about it.  Everywhere, I seem to go in that city is a very bad reminder of what happened.  Some people have tried to say, “Just let the past go!”  Tell me how and I’ll do it.  That’s usually where the conversation about that ends.


I was told by my ex-husband about the molestation that, “that happened a long time ago, what in the hell can you do about it now?” I have never forgotten that statement. I instantly felt like I had been emotionally raped because it wasn’t a big deal to him.  He told me later, “I have spoken with your parents about the molestation incident and they told me that they don’t believe that it happened because you would’ve told them about it.”  I didn’t know it then, but they still had no idea what had actually happened. I had made sure of that for a very long time.  I was devastated from what he told me.  I figured that with him being my husband, at the time that surely he would be empathetic that it happened.  I don’t know if he ever believed me or not.  But, I do know that there was never any empathy shown towards me in talking or other things.  I now know what he told me was a lie.


#Thispuzzledlife

	




			
				


	
			
					
	

	

		

			 darnold1975 		


		
More Traveling
	


	

		
More Traveling


8.19.14


“She was a stranger in her own life, a tourist in her own body.” 

― Melissa de la Cruz, The Van Alen Legacy


I always feel the need to speak about toddler events in the mornings because well…..sometimes they’re just funny.  So, I was doing the usual getting Marshall ready for school and loaded in the car.  I asked him if he would like some cheetos since that’s what we had in the car for him as a snack.  He shook his head and said, “Momma D, no cheetos…only toes!” “Ok, Marshall, mommy will only call them ‘toes’ from now on.”  Sometimes this kid makes me really laugh.


The term “traveling” has a much different definition to me than the general public seems to understand.   When “traveling, “I’m definitely anywhere I want to be.  I could be on the beach somewhere enjoying the sun or checking out the lesbian buffet.  Every place can be new or one that seems to bring much emotional comfort.  However, sometimes the memories of abuse invade and I to go elsewhere without even knowing it.  To the average person, a function such as this doesn’t seem that different from seemingly “ignoring” the spouse or a boss.  Everyone at some point wishes they were somewhere different especially when at work or just needing a vacation.  Most people don’t use this as a defense mechanism but rather just ‘daydreaming.’


As a child, throughout my molestation, I was mentally forced to be somewhere else.  I couldn’t possibly deal with things as they were.  Each time I knew of another “episode,” my mind would go elsewhere.  I had no idea that the ‘dissociation’ had occurred. I just knew that I couldn’t physically and mentally handle the situation at hand.  The specifics about the molestation are going to be left to my very brave therapists.




Over time, this natural and sometimes forced dissociation becomes second nature.  Just I like said in an earlier post about with PTSD symptoms happening when there is an actual or ‘perceived’ threat, this has now become an automatic type of coping mechanism.  Since, I have apparently been doing this since very early childhood even without my knowing, this behavior has become a daily response to anything ‘perceived’ as threatening.  To put these ‘threats’ in perspective for you, I can give you examples of ‘perceived threats.’ Things such as: loud noises, too many people in one area, too much visual, tactile and auditory stimulation, social situations, being by myself, being touched by someone, hollering, bad weather, and many more situations.  As you can imagine, I have varying reactions to therapy because I’m processing everything that happened on different levels.  So, seeing me as the person you know is completely different from what and how they see me as a person.  I’m still the same person you know and grew up with if you see me.  You probably won’t know anything has ever happened or is wrong.  After all, we are taught from a very young age to keep things in the family even if the family doesn’t know.


Dealing with the trauma on such different levels, my therapists and wife get to see very unique sides of me.  Dissociation is very natural for me especially while in therapy.   Sometimes I can stop it and sometimes I can’t.  This can and does present problems in therapy at times, but we work through it and figure out what’s happening.  The goal is to try and minimize “traveling,” while getting use to not using it at all to function daily?  Is this possible?  Really, I don’t know.  I am trusting in the people that I work with to guide me through this healing process.  I have to admit that I wish there was some kind of ‘rapid’ trauma treatment that I can do while under sedation.  Almost like processing without being conscious of what is going on.  This, unfortunately, isn’t part of the process.  The part of the process I’m currently in is one of both mental and physical chaos.  I do the best that I can because that’s what I was taught by both my parents and coaches even when it’s scary as hell.


I write because everything else scares me to the point of vomiting.  I have lost 40lbs because of the stress on both me and my family.  I’m not currently restricting in regards to eating disorder behavior.  Even though, I definitely have a lot of “eating disorder” thoughts and some behaviors especially in public or with certain people.  But, I go sometimes for days without knowing that I haven’t eaten.  I have even overdosed on medication and had no idea until a couple of days later that this had occurred.  I go for minutes, hours, day and sometimes weeks with not knowing what has transpired.  I simply understand this as “traveling.”  Sometimes I have done things in that ‘state’ that I am and will continue to be embarrassed about. Things are said and done are like a game that I think people are playing with me to make me feel bad.  I have bought things, gone places, eaten, not eaten, had conversations, had arguments and have had ‘rage’ events that I have no memory of happening.


I carry a lot of guilt and shame once I understand days later what has happened.  Does this sound like a quality of life to you? My perpetrators have left a war for me to deal with everyday.  I simply try to win one battle at a time until the war is over.  Medical marijuana just helps with a lot of the horrible physical and mental symptoms that I have from all of this. It doesn’t take back anything that happened. I have to take a lot of this medication to be able to go out in public or therapy because everything’s so painful.  For those that think that ”a drug is a drug,” you’re right it’s just like insulin being used as a medicine.  And sorry my disordered behavior has nothing to do with marijuana except to keep both the public and me safe.   I have a quality of life now that I haven’t had before.  Not everyone uses this plant as a medication or recreationally within limits.  There are actually people who no longer think about suicide because they the government has made a medication legal that can also give them a quality of life that they never saw possible. There are a lot more people that use and die from prescribed medications that the trusted doctors administer.  Please educate yourself on this, someone you know might can and could benefit from this plant one day.  It just might be you!


#Thispuzzledlife

	




			
				


	
			
					
	

	

		

			 darnold1975 		


		
Traveling
	


	

		
Traveling


8.16.14


“The trauma said, ‘Don’t write these poems.

Nobody wants to hear you cry about the grief inside your bones.” 

― Andrea Gibson, The Madness Vase: By Andrea Gibson


This morning begins as usual just stirring in our bed trying to wake my senses up.  Automatically, I look around the room to see if I should be alarmed by anything new or out of place.  I sit up on the side of the bed and soon the physical symptoms are on me like a ‘pit bull on a steak.’  The horrible headache that is becoming increasingly worse by the minute is initially unphased by my medical marijuana lying close by.  My body feels pain down to its cells.  I’m having muscle cramps making me question if all of the effort to get better is actually worth it. Why do I hurt like this? If my body is purging itself of the poisons created by the trauma on a cellular level, then I wish it would hurry the hell up.  I did notice that I started getting sick yesterday afternoon.   I  discounted it from being in public for a few minutes yesterday.   Today is different….every morning that this is happening has me feeling that I’m paying penance for something. When is my next acupuncture session? At least, I get a couple of days of almost no physical symptoms.   Alas, the marijuana is working well enough for me to get Marshall dressed and taken to school.  This morning is all about physical symptoms. The feeling is not consciously about social anxiety. But, rather…”Don’t let me puke on the way or when I pull up at the daycare.”


I think to myself…


 “I finally make it back home.  Now, I’m locked in and safe. But, now I’m alone. Anything could happen. Instant ‘shock and awe’ stomach cramps. Can I ever have a day, that for most people is just a mediocre ‘ok day?’ My body and mind is on fire!  The feel of air on my skin is like hot tar being poured on me. My back feels like I was impaled with something sharp. My muscles all over my body feel like they have begun disintegrating. My jaw and teeth feel like they could fall in my lap at any moment. My body must be detoxing, but from what? It must’ve been something I did yesterday. But what did I do and where did we go if anywhere?”


Losing time for some people is nothing more than daydreaming, missing an exit on the interstate, or getting enthralled in a good book.  However, the term “losing time” for me and my family can have very scary and unique meanings from the average family. Everyone, at one time or another, forget your keys or something that you meant to take with you to the store. You suddenly remember, that it’s the list that you have made with what you needed. You go home, find the list where it was left, get back in the car, and head off to the store. No harm, no foul. You don’t qualify for a diagnosis because of it. As a former therapist said to me, “Welcome, to the Human Race!”




My first memory of losing any type of time was in the 8th grade.  While being in that closet, I went elsewhere. It seemed somewhat familiar but ‘safe.’ I don’t remember what the scene was or where I went, it just wasn’t in that closet. I seemed to be locked in a type of paradise.  Every once in a while I would hear, “Are you listening to me?!”


By the time I got to high school, I felt like I got a new start. I was now 20 lbs lighter even though I did it unhealthy.  I was excelling in the sports I was playing. I was dropping weight seemingly every day.  No behavior problems reported by teachers.  I was pushing my body passed its limits but I was ok or so I thought.  This was the first year that I actually remember ‘losing extensive time.’  What is the difference?  Well, instead of a few moments that we all lose naturally.  I had lost an entire week.  I knew that I had ballgames that week so, how did I not remember how I played? I was doing a lot of diet pills at the time. So, that was the answer.  I remember thinking, “It’s nice to be back. But, where was I?”


Skipping a few years, to when I was married to my now EX-husband.  There were times that I remember seeing his mouth move but not hearing or knowing what was said.  That was fine with me. I didn’t know why it was like that but I was completely ok.  There were also those times when I would hear his first loud venomous word and then I would slowly fade away.  I could see him hollering at me but not hear or feel any of it.  My cutting really took off in this relationship and I realized that the same mental and physical stuff happened then too.  I didn’t think anything about it but I knew that my thoughts that I had were very, loud and continuous. I couldn’t dare mention this to the narcissist. Everything that ever happened to me was a joke and made fun. I would just keep my comments quiet and assume all the blame which is what they want.  Feelings belonged somewhere, but on my sleeves… VERY UNSAFE.


Several years later, I meet Melody and other things begin to happen.  Why would this happen around her? I didn’t understand and she surely wouldn’t either.  I just played everything off like, “I did a lot of drugs and they fried me.”    I didn’t tell her about what seemed like separate conversations to myself in my brain.  Everyone, surely has “loud” thoughts.  Heck, I wasn’t even divorce yet.  This type of stuff sometimes happened when he hollered at me or I was cutting. Why with Melody when she was a ‘safe’ person?   I was still watching and waiting for her true colors to come out and hurt me.  In the 7 years that I’ve known and loved her, I have the opportunity to see her true colors every day and they are a beautiful rainbow.  She’s genuine and I think somehow I must’ve known that back then.  We were in graduate school together and taking the same classes. So, to be able to pay attention, I would have to play games on my phone while they were lecturing.  I explained this to my professors before hand and they completely understood.  We thought that we were dealing with a college ADD thing.  Mel still had to re- explain the lecture once we got home. Once I got it and was able to ‘feel’ the connection of the material, It’s locked away.  So, graduate school was a bit more difficult for me, but that makes me no less of a graduate.  I just had to do things a little differently for me to be able to comprehend the information.   Even back in elementary days, I remember crying because I couldn’t answer the questions about the story that we had just read. Trial and error is how we acclimated to our situation and we do the same thing now.


My physical symptoms have me very sick so I’ll continue tomorrow. NAMASTE!!


#thispuzzledlife


 


#Thispuzzledlife

	




			
				


	
			
					
	

	

		

			 darnold1975 		


		
Back Again
	


	

		
Back Again


8.17.14


“Triggers are like little psychic explosions that crash through avoidance and bring the dissociated, avoided trauma suddenly, unexpectedly, back into consciousness.” 

― Carolyn Spring


I wake up this morning sadly realizing that the nightmare every day hasn’t ended.  This morning I wake up very startled that no one was in the bed with me.  “Oh Shit! I have to get up!  What if he’s already home from work?  Did I lay out anything for dinner?  Has he already fixed his dinner and is patiently waiting to berate me for sleeping? Why had I been sleeping?” Something is telling me that things are going to be bad when I walk into the den.  I’m instantly nauseated by the heavily approaching headache. Stomach cramps have begun to let me know of their existence.  I have to face this to figure out what has happened.


I stand up and my body feels “disconnected” but has a severe pain in my chest.  This feeling is surely to lead to total annihilation of my mind and body. With my “insides” beginning to shake with fear, I make the dreaded walk down the hall.  I notice nothing but the task before me.  Everything sounds like I’m in a cave.  I notice nothing but the familiar way that my body prepares for his emotional venom.  Just get ready to disappear! I say to myself.




I walk into the den where Melody and Marshall sat watching TV.  A sigh of relief hits my body when I realized that I must’ve been in a really bad dream.  It was a bad dream that happened several years ago.  My body seemed to somewhat relax as much as it could. The build-up of tension from my scare had already activated my autonomic nervous system.  ‘Shock and awe’ hit instantly.  I can tell that everything inside of me was all out of whack.


Just another day that started off with a flashback.  What did I do? I survived to be able to tell you about it. Trauma can manifest in many different ways. This way, unfortunately, is a frequent side effect of PTSD that I experience. Sometimes, it can manifest with pictures, sounds, etc. that can trigger a painful event.  There is the also, just as disturbing, the feeling of being in the situation right at that moment.


It is nighttime as I’m finally able to write about the event this morning. Mentally and physically, I have well……been somewhat of a ‘mess.’  That doesn’t mean lying around ‘snot crying’ all day. Sometimes one can bounce back from remembered event and not having anything more than a few feelings that they feel.  However, for me, I have very little memory of anything since it happened.  Had you been right here when it happened, you would’ve had no idea that I would be as affected as I was today.  I have been fighting severe anxiety all day with no success. I have smoked weed, taken all kinds of medicine with no relief.  I haven’t been that scared in a long time. Maybe all of my ‘insides’ just got upset and haven’t had enough time to settle down.


I have a thousand different thoughts that run through my head like it’s on a marquee and never stops.  This event has rocked my world today.  All I can say to any of my perpetrators is…..”THANKS FOR THE MEMORIES!”


#Thispuzzledlife

	




			
				


	
			
					
	

	

		

			 darnold1975 		


		
Morning Monsters
	


	

		


Morning Monsters


8.15.14


“Your mind is your prison when you focus on your fear.”


—-Tim Fargo


I woke up this morning just feeling discombobulated for no reason that I can understand.  I know that my stomach hurts and I’m nervous to the point of almost being scared. I just have that deep and dark feeling that something bad is about to happen. I check the house for intruders with the toddler by my side thinking we are hunting for Scooby-Doo (doo-doo-doo toddler version). Everything seems safe but very unsettling. I found nothing in the house to signify any breach of “safety.”  Marshall, however, did find Scooby Doo in DVD format. So, I get the movie started and take my cannabis wax pen with me to the bathroom just in case I begin to vomit.  The buildup of tension has led to another early morning bout of ‘shock and awe.’


The one thing that I have begun to do is listen to what my body is saying.  This too is a relationship that includes work.  My body, seems to know, even though my mind doesn’t understand, that something feels very threatening.  I immediately, go to where my vaporizer is warming up and prepare to take my morning medicine.  Scooby-Doo, a superhero toddler and medical marijuana sounds like a good combination to settle what’s happening in my body.  After a few good vapes, I begin to feel my body and mind relax.


Ok, back to normal “mommy duties.” But, something still doesn’t feel ‘ok’ about this morning.


Anyway, said toddler grabs two “baby paws” full of fresh, cherry tomatoes from the garden bucket for a morning snack.  I’m thinking, “at least he’s going to eat something healthy for breakfast.”  I start getting dressed to take him to daycare and begin to revel in the moment of being by myself. I try to ignore the nauseating feeling creeping to a very uncomfortable level.  I switch to my wax pen which is much stronger concentration than what’s in my vaporizer. I take a couple of ‘hits’ and within a few minutes the nausea begins to subside.  In the meantime, Marshall has taken his paws full of ‘snacks’ and has begun shoving them ever so forcefully into a magnetic bottle opener on our refrigerator.  I now have seeds and tomato juice on everything. I cleaned it all up but not before he starts screaming like I just set him on fire.  Yes, what he wanted was to keep his squished cherry tomatoes, seeds and juice.  I then remember that Marshall is meeting textbook criteria for a diagnosis I call “Chronic, Intermittent Toddler Psychosis.” This disorder is often exhibited most often while out in public.  This is when everyone that is around now posts a new Facebook status about a crazed toddler. .  My first thought was, “Why didn’t we use protection?”  Next thought, “I hope like hell Comcast is working this morning and this child can watch Netflix.”  I look over to our modem and “Halleluer! The angels are singing in heaven! I have a signal!”  I find Scooby-Doo on Netflix and “Toddler Psychosis” appears to have forgotten about what activated the event.


I vape for a few more minutes just to make sure I don’t get sick while attempting to take him to school.  Something is still very unsettling from within.  I tell Marshall to come on so we can go to school. I begin turning off all the lights like I was so gently reminded, as a kid, about how ”leaving lights on costs money.”  Marshall meets me at the door with a truck in each paw along with his blanket, sippy cup and Scooby-Doo DVD case.  Telling him,” Scooby can stay here during the day was not working this morning.”  Picking my battles, we take everything he has gathered to the car.  I begin buckle him in and we head off to the daycare.




I begin backing out of my driveway, when I feel the ‘weight of the world’ hit my chest like a bullet in war. I sit there wondering if I was dying. My chest begins hurting to the point of tears.  I take a couple of vapes off my wax pen hoping for quick relief.  It takes a few minutes, but I now feel like I can get him to school. By the time, we start leaving the military base that we live on, I can feel the battle between the chest pains and mmj happening.  I start heading in the direction of his school which is only about 5 minutes away from the house.  The radio was playing some very familiar songs from my high school days and the seat heater was warm which seemed to be comforting.  OMG! I forgot that some schools have started back. The panic has started.


 ‘There are too many cars. Something is going to happen to you because you can’t keep an eye on all of the people on the road.  Everyone is looking at you.  Everyone is judging you.  You don’t know them, but they know you. If anyone steps out of line with a look or a comment…I’m ready! Be ready for any and everything! Please don’t say or do anything stupid!’


I drop Marshall off at school hoping no one notices how I feel on the inside. What would they think? Do, I look like I’m acting “normal?” So, I throw a few jokes and toddler stories out there for the employees to laugh at while I try to slide out the door without my emotions being detected.  I make it out to my vehicle where I just sit and breathe for a few seconds.  My body and mind feel like I’m on the run from a serial killer. I notice now that not only is my chest pounding. But, now my back hurts to the point that I feel as though I have been impaled with something.  My jaw hurts and the rest of my body feels like everything is cramping.


Brief insanity moment thinking: “Go to Wal-Mart and go shopping.” “Are you kidding? I just barely made it to the daycare to drop Marshall off and stayed alive!” I notice the vehicle going the opposite direction from Wal-Mart. My body feels like I have just been beaten with something.  I finally make it back home where all of the anxiety from getting out in public hits me.  I now have to have mmj and the toxins (regular medication) to attempt to gain control over my symptoms.  I realize that the symptoms from earlier are from the anticipation of going in public. You’ve just witnessed on both the inside and outside what point ‘social anxiety’ has its grasp has on me.  All of the physical and emotional symptoms are because of the trauma that I experienced from someone who made the choice not to work on their own trauma.


This is a process that has no time limit.  I have 30+ years of trauma to process.  Even while writing this, my body still has not reached its ‘normal balance’ after almost two hours since being home from taking Marshall to daycare. I got lucky that I didn’t have to really interact or be rubbed up against like being at a mall.  I don’t know about this process.  I usually have everything mapped out and I now feeling like I’m going in blind. And that scares me to my core. My childhood coach, Nick Kolinsky,  I mentioned in a previous day’s post told me about how a winner plays ball…..”Little things make big things happen!”  This is how, I’m trying to face this big challenge before me.


#Thispuzzledlife

	




			
				


	
			
					
	

	

		

			 darnold1975 		


		
Social Stigma
	


	

		


Social Stigma


8.12.14


“The loneliest people are the kindest.  The saddest people smile the brightest.  The most damaged people are the brightest.  All because they never want to see others suffer the way they do.” 


—–Anonymous


The topic of Robin Williams committing suicide really saddens me.   He was a man that has always been able to lift me up with a nice dose of humor.  I don’t know the details to this or any other celebrities suicides.  But, I do know the anguish that comes from living with a mental disorder due to circumstances beyond one’s control.  Maybe, Robin William’s bipolar disorder symptoms were purely biological?  I highly doubt it. There are probably images of things done and said to him by one or many perpetrators.  These are the types of things that can keep a person away for hours.  It’s torment on the mind and the body.  Once the physical symptoms evolve, there starts somewhat of a decline in functioning even on a seemingly minute level.  A comment I read on social media was, “He always appeared so happy.”


First of all, he’s a celebrity and is held to a higher standard. We live in a society where everything is about image not truth.  Most victims of abuse continue to protect their abusers out of fear.  Likewise, most individuals who have a mental illness, stay quiet due to social stigma.  So, the attitude seems to be more of a “let them get the help they need. Just don’t mention anything about it so no one knows.”


Society has somehow labeled everyone with a mental illness as “dangerous.”  Depending on what the particular diagnosis is seems to determine how one might react.  People already have in their minds what “bipolar” “depression” “anxiety disorders” “substance abuse disorders” and/or ”schizophrenia” “personality disorders” look like.  So, for example…..anyone who has bipolar disorder is going to be seemingly hyper one moment and depressed the next moment all while in the same conversation with you.  Not everything is as it seems.  The information most people have on specific mental illnesses is the direct contact of a family and/or friend. And, of course, the media which seldom presents things unbiased on any topic.  Very true, that there are mentally ill individuals who are dangerous. But, many walk among us quietly having never been diagnosed or been able to get or afford treatment. There are also those individuals with mental illness that are not dangerous which represents the majority.




I consider my wife and I to have a really good policy for outpatient mental health benefits.  However, due to specific needs, our insurance won’t cover trauma treatment because they don’t see the need for it.  Really? I asked that poor person on the phone, “How are you able to sleep at night?” Yea….the privilege of being able to talk to our insurance company has been permanently disabled.  Eating disorders, PTSD due to military service and substance abuse disorders are paid for with no problem. I had someone from a treatment center that asked me, “Have you ever been in a war?”  My response was, “Ma’am, I didn’t serve our country. But, I’ve been in a war the majority of my life. Doesn’t that count for something? I did nothing to deserve what was done to me.”  “Yea, I’m sure it’s tough to live like that but you don’t meet criteria for our program.”  This is the typical answer we receive.  Diagnoses are great for insurance billing but somewhat useless in society. All it seems to do has been to cause a nationwide panic to keep mental illness a secret.


If you have a question about a particular disorder, look it up or ask someone with the disorder.  Not your moody neighbor that waves and cusses you out in the same breath. Then, you have decided that in all your education and classes on diagnosing that you have never taken, lead you to the diagnosis of bipolar disorder.  Don’t just depend on any type of media to educate you about mental illness. Look up scholarly journals not Wikipedia, and look at the studies that have been done with individuals with particular disorders.  Hollywood’s movies are designed to be dramatic and make money.  Those of us with mental illness just want to learn how to live a comfortable life.


I would imagine that even though, Robin Williams, had more money then I’ll ever see in my lifetime. None of it was bigger than his disorder or his trauma.  Everything you do and/or say affects someone either positively or negatively.  Be especially sensitive around children because, what you do and how you make them feel will last forever. Everyone has a breaking point and Robin Williams found his.


#Thispuzzledlife

	




			
				


	
			
					
	

	

		

			 darnold1975 		


		
Hello world!
	


	

		
I initially started blogging about 5 years ago.  I’m originally from the deep south in Petal, MS.  It’s exactly half way between Gulfport, MS and Jackson, MS and just across the bridge from Hattiesburg, MS.  Petal has a population around 11,000 now but growing up as a small child and teenager there were significantly less people.  Small town USA complete with the noisiness, conservative politics, religion, strong beliefs, great food, respect taught through the generations, southern hospitality, friendly neighbors who are loyal as family, resilient, head strong and loyalties within a “good ole’ boy network.”  No more loyalties than any other small town I’m sure.  But this “loyalty” hurt me and changed the course of my life forever.


Me and my wife completed Master’s degree in Couseling and then moved to Albuquerque, NM to begin our careers and start a family.  But as life would have it, Mental Illness began to effect our hopes and dreams one day at a time. A few years later I would be diagnosed correctly….finally…with Dissociaitve Identity Disorder.  We would eventually have two little boys that we adore and make you want to keep going with things get difficult.


puzzlepieces2


My writing is about the struggles of living as an individual and LGBT family with a parent with severe mental illness. The sometimes the humor of it all and the often heartbreaking reality of the effects of abuse and mental illness on the indivial and family unit as a whole will keep those that struggle from feeling that you live on an island.  And the families will see that you can love someone with a mental illness without becoming a prisoner to their behaviors.  And maybe you will also see that the struggle for us as your family memeber have more struggles then what we let on at times.


Anyway, enjoy the laughs and tears with our family as they support me while I search for the puzzle pieces of an abusive life.  I will say this…I don’t sugar coat anything.  Sometimes my blogs can be graphic but abuse isn’t pretty.  I’m in the process of healing so topics are frequently repeated and attitudes change from positive to dark.  Either way, this is MY life and MY therapeutic journey towards healing.  Hold on because this ride is bumpy.


Hit the “Follow” button and watch us grow. I don’t write every day because my functionality can change on a dime.  I cover many different topics related to abuse and mental illness.  This blog builds so read from the beginning and see Where we were. Where we are now. And where we are going.  Happy Reading!


#thispuzzledlife