Homeless times

There are different degrees of homelessness from couch surfing to living under a bridge or, in my case, behind a gas station with all my belongings in a laundry basket. 

Funny, I didn't think the word homeless at that time. It was more than 10 years later when i defined that period as being Homeless. 

It started when my father died. Mom moved us all to a much less expensive home, from the Sagemont area to the Beverly Hills area of Houston.  It was still a nice, safe area to grow up. 

Mom and my oldest brother Mike had always had issues and not long after the move she threw him out of the home. This was extremely painful and frightening for my brother Herbert and me. We now knew we were expendable. 

Maybe we already knew that. Not long after the move Mom came into Herbert's room where the three of us were gathered with Dad's gun pointed at us. She said she was there to shoot all of us and then herself. I just froze. Herbert started talking to her softly, I have No Memory what he said, but while he talked Mike maneuvered behind Mom and grabbed the gun. Later he climbed to the little attic door in the garage and threw the gun into a dark corner. It's probably still there.

I was 10 and the boys were 13 and 16 when Daddy died. Obviously our mother was severely depressed but she had other things besides just being widowed. She had severe PTSD from WWII. My father met and married her during The Occupation and brought her to the US. After Daddy died her first instinct was to take us and go back to Japan. We said NOOO and begged her not to do that. Looking back, I don't know why she didn't.  Was our protest the only reason she didn't?? One of a thousand questions I wish I would have asked her. It would have been a cultural shock to us kids as we feared but would it have been better for all of us? Plan B, to kill all of us, was definitely worse. And then 2 years later Plan C happened. 

Mom decided to remarry but thought her chances were better without the baggage of teenagers. The 2 years after our father died she kept food in the house and provided clothing but she mostly stayed locked in her bedroom. She wasn't totally heartless, especially to me. She let me get a kitten right after Daddy died. He didn't allow pets and she did it to help me. She also used some of his death benefits to buy me a piano,  something I had dreamed of for years. I had been taking lessons for 2 years before Daddy died and was quite good but I only had a 22 key organ at home to practice on. I drew piano keys on strips of paper and put them along the edge of the kitchen table to practice songs that needed more than 22 keys. The new problem was that she stopped my lessons. I did try to go on at it alone but was soon discouraged. To this day I Love playing a piano but feel deep regret I didn't have instruction and incentive to reach my potential. 

We weren't easy kids to raise. Being keenly aware you are unwanted is hard to deal with! and we were teenagers in the 70's with no parental guidance.  Herb started partying, smoking marijuana,  having a lot of people over on weekends and when Mom started dating on the weekends Mike would often come,  too. 

In many ways we were terrible. We didn't keep the house clean and there was often a terrible mess after a party that Mom came home to. We would clean those up and, except for the kitchen, the house was decent most of the time. Mom bought Joy dish soap which we were allergic to, out hands and feet swelled and itched horrifically after washing dishes. I'm not saying we would have kept a spotless kitchen if she would change dish soap but it sure would have helped.

Mom had Rages at times. She would keep it all bottled up and then explode. During a Big explosion she took my cat and said she was getting rid of him because I was Bad. Mike was there,  he jumped on the hood of her car begging her through the windshield not to do it. She took off and took the first turn so fast that Mike flew at least 25 feet. The next day I came home and my piano was gone. 

Mike had already experienced being homeless.  Fortunately a family of friends, Brian and Mark Sweeny, pretty much took him in as one of their own. I don't know his life before or after that. He tried to help us but he was just a kid, too. 

When Mom finally found her next husband she was done with us. He had been a lifelong bachelor,  I don't think he really wanted to marry at all. But, one night he was at the house and I was about to go to a place called The Eighth Day where Mike's band was playing. David Holman offered me a ride. On the way there he pulled over and tries to rape me. I fought and made sure I left deep scratches on him to prove the attack. I got out and ran. That night I told my mother. She showed no reaction so I went to my room, next to hers, where I could hear through the wall between us. She called him, and threatened to turn him in if he didn't marry her. 

When she finally spoke to me about it she explained that it was my fault. I loved to dance, was very good at dance, and I had been dancing around the living room when DH had come over that night. My dancing was inappropriate and misleading to an older man. He couldn't help himself.  

I also had a couple of families who took me in when I needed shelter. Primarily the Brady family who lived across the street there on Foredale Street. They had moved out of town before Mom got engaged but would still play a large part in the rest of my life. 

We had some small hope that Mom might leave us the house on Foredale. The house payments were only around a hundred a month, which we later found we could have easily paid with the Social Security she would still receive for Herbert and me, but we didn't yet understand that and she did not. 

Mike came and the three of us discussed how to survive and stay together. 

The man who lived next door, west of us, I don't remember his name any more, Jack Something, was a Bad Man. He had once lured me to his home and molested me and then that New Years Eve he had invited Mom for a cocktail. He brought her home several hours later, carried her really, because she was throwing up drunk and in total disarray.  Knowing the man I felt sure my mother had likely been raped by him but we Never discussed that night. I never mentioned it to anyone until just now.  But I did tell Mike about what the man had done to me. 

Jack was a real estate salesman who did quite well and Mike believed he could blackmail him into helping us threatening to turn him in for molesting me. Back then I likely wouldn't have been believed and little would have been done if I was but it would still stain his reputation.  Mike paid him a visit and came home with the keys to a house! It was a modest 3 bedroom about 3 miles away. 

We were about 14, 17 and 20 years old and didn't have the maturity for the responsibility of being on our own. 

All our lives we would refer to this place as The House. It was never Home to any of us. It became what I've heard called a Flop House. 

Rob

Children give parents a lot of shocking moments. My oldest daughter, Jami, gave me many and so did my youngest, Jessi, before I got one of the most surprising shocks from my middle daughter. My Jeanette was always the easy one to raise. She was, if anything, too compliant, always trying to please everyone. She never had to be told to do her homework, never threw a tantrum even in her terrible twos, she was too easy to raie. Her sisters seemed to always be getting in some kind of trouble and I was always grateful taht I didn't have to worry about Jeanette like I did them but I also always felt like I was somehow neglecting her. She was given rewards for her good behavior that the others were not and I know I somehow hoped that in some way made up for some of the neglect. But it also caused more problems for her. Her sisters were, and actually, now that they should be grown, they still are, jealous of the priviledges Jeanette received when they were in their teens.
Of course it was her sisters who told me when Jeanette went through her secret rebellion.
Jeanette had made a new friend when she was 14, Brandy, and began spending a lot of time at her home and also spending the night. I dropped Nett off there many times myself. Right about when I started teasing Nett that she was making up her friend Brandy because I had never actually never seen her, Jami told me that jeanette actually had a boyfriend living at the hosuse she was spending so much time with. His name was Rob, the local high school pothead living in the basement of his drug addict mother's house. I was shocked and felt like a really dumb deer caught in the headlights. I talked to Jeanette who of course didn't deny a story so easy to check now that I was looking directly at it. I spoke to the mother, Linda.
I was terrified. It had gone on so long that I was terrified of losing Jeanette completely if I tried to brutally separate her and Rob at this point. So I had to play it cool, show my dissatisfaction and just make new rules for Jeantte that would put a little distance between them, like no more overnights, but Jeanette thought she was in love. It looked much worse than love to the rest of us. She thought the sun rose and set on Rob and somehow thought he knew more than she did and turned to him before making any decisions. Jami started calling her a Robalite and it was a good description and the term would last for the next fourteen years as we watched this relationship continue.
I tried to get to know Rob but over the next fourteen years I never saw him straight and sober or not being Eddie Haskel, my own name for him. You remember Eddie. He was the smarmy friend of Wally on Leave It To Beaver who always acted extra polite in front of Wally's parents while he was a complete jerk and trouble maker when he was off with other kids.
Keep your friends close and your enemies close. When I couldn't get them apart I let Rob move in with our family. At least they were out of the crazy woman's home and maybe I could try to teach Jeanette some of the things she would need to know, continue raising her, and keep her in school.
Rob thought he was a great musician and his only goal in life besides staying stoned was to be a rock star drummer. He had a ragtag band and I started letting them practice in my basement which would go on for the next four years or so. I had to shelve the hope of the relationship ending any time soon, she really was a Robalite, so I jumped on the band wagon so to speak to try to make Rob's dream come true. I never liked any of the music his band played but I started trying to promote them and even bought Rob band equipment when he needed it. I once even went so far as to try to finance him a whole new set of drums but I couldn't because my credit ws too far extended at that point.
After a couple of years I knew Jeanette, being a female, was pining for some kind of symbol of Rob's love for her so I talked to him abut getting her a ring or something. I ended up financing a platinum diamond ring for him to give her that he was supposed to pay me back for $10.00 a month. I never got a dime on that ring and have no clue what ever happened to it, I assume it ended up in a pawn shop for a drumstick or something.
Things went on like this for years until I started having trouble with my own marriage and hosuehold. My husband lost his job, he and Rob had a lot in common especially when it came to work ethics, and I started a home day care to earn money. by now we were living in a $200,000 home in Keystone and our payments were $1500 a month. I tried to get any of my girls to help me with the day care but none of them would so a friend who I'd helped out helped me. We were open 24/7 and the workload for two women was unbelievable. I began to resent the expense of supporting Rob and his band who still came every Sunday to practice leaving me a sink of dirty glasses and a short supply of drinks in the house. top this off, I am trying to run a day care and Rob is growing marijuanna in my basement and the smell became so overpowering it smelt like I was breeding skunks. I decided it was time to talk to Rob and Jeanette about my situation and their lack of contribution and the added stresses I didn't need at this time. They refused to talk to me and I tried an ultimatum, talk to me or get out, and they moved back to his mother's basement. Rob never got over how horrible I was because he had to destry his pot plants to make the move and he started his campaign at this time telling everyone that I was the crazy one. What I always knew would happen was happening, he was working to cut me off from Jeanette now that I wasn't kissing his skinny ass.
Their drug use went way beyond pot even before this. I don't know what all it included but I know they had started tripping on mushrooms and likely a lot of other things.

Christmas 2020

 This story doesn't start or end on that Christmas. Only just this past Christmas did I piece together what happened the Christmas before. Jeanette held the missing piece and didn't even know it but God bless her for being the Only One who listened to My story so we could figure out what went wrong.

Where does this sad story start?

I suppose it begins with a death bed promise. My mom was dying. This would be her last fully aware night on earth. She had been stressed about dying and leaving me alone in the world. All of my "family" had totally abandoned me and she showed me a plan in my brother's hand writing to have me put away forever. 

Mom believed that her heir would get a 2 million dollar settlement owed to her over leaking breast implants (that ultimately killed her) and she thought Mike's plans were about the money until I told her an old story.

When we were in our twenties my brother developed a bad meth addiction. It was so bad that he was disappearing for days at a time while we formed search parties to hunt him down. His wife came to see me alone, crying, asking what would I do?? I told her that I would take the children and leave, give him an ultimatum to clean up if he wanted them back.

Mike was beyond furious when he confronted me on this. "YOU TOLD MY WIFE TO LEAVE ME?!!"

I tried to explain that was what I said that I WOULD DO, and that it came from what little I knew of Addiction Tough Love. He said that he would Never forgive me.

When Mom heard that she panicked. She said that Mike really would NEVER forgive me and believed I would always be in danger near him. We looked over my life with Mike. How he spoke of me to my own children. Jami was 12 the first time Mike told her I was insane. How his wife and I were beat friends before she was brain damaged in an accident and had to relearn everything. Since then she has treated me like a lower form of life.

Then Mom met Jeremy and fell in love with him for me. As she lay dying she grabbed our hands and put them together and said, "Promise. Stay with him. You choose bad, I get to choose this one!!" She did it over and over and I swore I would honor her choice.

Ok now, I've had some thoughts since then like her oxygen level was in the 80's. Who can think clearly with stats like that?? Then again, the death bed scene wasn't her first time demanding this. She was saying it for weeks before she went in the hospital...

Jeremy became and is still part of my life. I have often had to defend this decision even to myself. We are Not an Ideal Couple. We made sense to a lot of people at first. We needed each other. What one was missing the other had. He is uneducated and has some mental deficiencies. I am physically disabled but started out with a fairly sharp mind. I am also 20 years older. That puts a lot of people off!! But that hasn't been the main issue within The Family. 

I'll start with me. I am a proud matriarch after realizing I did Not have to live in a patriarchal world after Steve and I divorced. Sorry, Jeremy. I am set in my new ways and not sorry about it. Historically the world has been a better place during matriarchal times.

Why can't I save and continue ...

Oh The Horror

 I will be writing my story, from which I always seem to digress,  and come to a part that I leave out or write and delete. It is sometimes just not the focus of what I'm writing right then. It is also sometimes just needing to back away from writing something that will evoke too much pain to write.  

In my mind I think of these as avoiding The Horror. 

But I've seen horror stories. Mine aren't those. Maybe. Maybe? they are just horrific to me?

I Remember back when I was going through a lot of therapy often having to see different therapists that sometimes I would almost be offended that they were looking at me with pity, like I had lived a miserable life. Sometimes I'd stop and say "Wait, yes that happened, but my life was still full of joy."

Why did that matter?

The Horrors:

I was molested as far back as I remember and then raped when i was 8. Raped several times through my teens. Molested countless times. 

I was discriminated against all through my youth for being Japanese although not everyone realized that's what I was. I'm mixed, that confused people,  very dark as a child i was called a nigger. But, growing up after WWII most people got it right. I was the Dirty Jap. As many adults as children were prejudiced. Maybe more.

My brothers and I were whipped with a belt,  usually at 5:30 when our father got home from work and Mom read him the list of our sins that day.

Daddy died of a heart attack when I was 10. Mom mover us to a less expensive neighborhood and got a job. She was grieving and just couldn't believe she had been widowed in a strange country with 3 children to raise alone.

Not long after, Mom came into Herbert's room where the three of us were hanging out with a gun. She said she was going to shoot all of us and then herself.

Pretty sure she was serious.

I cried, Herbert tried to calm her, talking soothingly, while Mike got close enough to grab the gun. 

Mike took the gun and threw it as far as he could into the corner of the attic.

I often have wondered if it is still there.

We went on like nothing happened. I dont remember us even talking about it again.

This might be my first clue that we all had a skewed view of "normal".

Aside from the Horror Story, I remember our lives up to that point as pretty amazing, too. The boys and i had friends and adventures everywhere we were. "Compartmentalization"? I don't know. 

Mike and Mom had never gotten along and after Daddy died it got worse. They never forgave each other for those years. 

I don't think Mike was yet 18 when Mom threw him out. 

Herbert and I both grieved for him terribly. 

The Cathedral for Michael

My brother had heart surgery Monday. While he was in surgery Jeremy went with ne to the Cathedral on 40th street.

No one else was there, we had the massive church to ourselves. We found a candle stand and I lit five candles, one for each of the immediate family I was born into. Jeremy lit some at the same time, the first surprise for me. 

We went to the nearest aisle and I knelt and genuflected as I was taught a hundred years ago. I knelt and prayed,  begged for Michael's life as I was forced to also cede to the Will of God. I turned and saw the most amazing and beautiful thing I have Ever seen. Jeremy was kneeling in the row behind me. Praying.  I KNEW Michael would survive. I was standing before a True Miracle.  

Alien Abduction??

It crossed my mind when I read the Russian book of aliens a few years ago. 

I cant think of any reason I would be chosen for a close encounter unless it was my father's connection to NASA.  Maybe they were looking at him and just took me for grins.

When I was 9 I started dreaming about visits from Big Sister and Little Sister. That is what I called them. I don't remember much now, I don't think i remembered much of the dreams then either.

I would be on a metal table like an examination table. BS and LS would be next to the table.  I wasn't really afraid of them but I was afraid of a tool they would use. It looked like long tweezers.

That is all. I remember I felt comfortable with them except when one picked up the tweezers. 

I had the dream a few times and they stopped, forgotten, until the Russian book and then forgotten again until today.

That's all.

Unless you count a lifetime of being fascinated with UFO'S. 

Mental

I know I am not "normal". Maybe never have been. There are hereditary mental illnesses in the family but I also have the childhood abuse issues that likely caused some mental issues. I'm pretty sure that the problems I had very young were mostly environmental. 

There is also some probable psychic abilities that influenced my life. Things I knew and felt very young have no logical explanation. My first strong precognition happened when I was 8 years old playing in the garden in Santa Maria.  A very dark feeling came over me,  full of dread yet I had never been through anything to cause such a feeling. I would remember that experience many times through my life when I did face things that caused such dread and darkness. Then when I was 11, the first time I was in a courtroom. Mom had been in a car accident and had to go to court. When we walked in I almost fainted and was sick the rest of the day. Years later I would be in a courtroom being sentenced to "No less than 3 No more than 20" years in prison and I knew I had already seen this. 10 years ago I was at Jess's house and heard an ambulance and told Jess I had to go, that Jami was dying. I drove to Jami's house a mile away and the house was full of paramedics and Jami was being pronounced. I pushed my way through to her and she started breathing again.

Those are the Big 3 but my life was full of incidents like these. They have slowed down, I think whatever channel that let these things through is closing as I age. No, this is not part of any mental illness or delusion.  Mariam Skaw was not at all a believer in such things,  she was a hard core Bible thumper, but she said she knew I had something unexplainable. She said it had to be a gift of prophecy because she saw the world through the Bible.  Maybe it was, maybe it's not age but my loss of Faith that has silenced these things. My daughters all have the same thing in different degrees yet none of them are "religious". 

Ok, aside from those things. I have met several doctors and psychiatrists when I was younger who thought I might be bipolar. Manic Depressive.  I was never officially diagnosed but I know I had Something Not Right through early adulthood into middle age. It faded and pretty much disappeared by the time I was 50. 

I don't know how to describe it. And when you mix it with PTSD from childhood abuse and severe trauma and stir in some psychic abilities you have a MESS. I learned that I couldn't trust my interpretation of the Sight for several years. Many years. 

Oh, also consider that I battled Graves Disease from 1984 to 1990. That makes everyone crazy! I developed a flash temper that was terrifying to me and everyone around me. The temper lasted longer than the Graves Disease,  it went away about around when I turned 50 also. 

I also went through the trauma of finding out my daughters were being abused in the early 90s. I can hardly believe that I didn't end up in prison for murder during those years! I did try to kill Oran Skaw once. I saw him driving towards me on a lonely country high way and floored it and got in his lane to run him off the edge of the road. I swerved back into my lane at the last second but relished the terror I got to see in his face when he realized what I was doing. 

I did many worse things during these years that cause deep shame in me to look back at. I also started working out every day for over a year until I was solid muscle and probably a deadly enemy. 

I had a crazy wildness in me that started in my middle teens. I was pretty much fearless but hung onto little shreds of survival instincts that likely saved me. Or it was just luck or fate or whatever you call such things. 

I went through years of creating fantasy worlds that I loved more than the life I was leading. I always knew they weren't real but they still effected my every day life. I created the worlds when everyone went to bed. I sometimes could hardly wait for the real day to end so I could make a new one. Most of my fantasy worlds were Feel Good stories but many of them were about violence like torturing and murdering my enemies. I killed Oran and other members of the church hundreds of times but people didn't have to deserve death as much as they did to get killed by me. Anyone who slighted me or mine in any way was a candidate for being in a world where I attacked them. 

I have wondered if serial killers emerge from people like I was. That's part of the fascination I have with serial killers. During these years I plotted the deaths of dozens of people in great detail. 

But I digress.

I wonder sometimes about my resistance to the bipolar tag. I can see I used to have very classic symptoms. I think I resist partly because i didn't want to be just That. Pigeon holed. And if I embraced it the thing that was Me inside the manic depressive wouldn't matter. Sometimes I would like to be able to use it to excuse myself from direct blame for the people that i have been. 

People not Person.  I feel like I have in my life acted in ways that couldn't be the decisions of just one person. 

I will say that in this life I have been a Mother and a Grandmother.  That is my focus now and has been since I gave birth to Jami. No, before that, I was trying to mother others. I love feeling like i am taking care of people. I am proud of that person. I have fought to save girls and women who were in trouble. Taken many into my home and heart and fought for them with all my might. 

I have also been an unbelievably terrible person. I have done and said things that I cannot stand to remember. 

When I look this evil part of me I am looking at a person I hate. I am deeply ashamed of everything she has done.  In retrospect I feel a common thread through all of her actions like she is a separate person that has stepped out of me like a demon sent to destroy. She rages to life when I feel cornered, mistreated, or hurt. I think she is dead and then she jumps out again. Less and less as i age but she is Here still but now i can at least recognize her and why she returns. She raised her ugly head the night I threw Jessalynn out. Jlynn hurt me worse than I have been hurt in years. When I look at that night I see ME curled up and dying and HER stepping out in front of me, to protect me? But she always actually hurts me more. She lashes out, tried to hurt Jlymn as much as she was hurting me and drove her away. Forever. 

I didn't at all want that.

Without her I think I would have laid there bleeding for a long time but I would not only have recovered but I could still have Jessalynn in my life. Because of her I lost Jessalynn. Yes, Jessalynn thinks i am disgusting as she told me but Jlynn loved me. 

No I can't go through what my relationship with Jessalynn Was here again. But I can so plainly see and tell what this Shield of mine did more clearly than the times she has ripped my life apart in the past because these wounds are still fresh.

Jessalynn was literally the center of my world. I hadn't seen the Evil entity I house for so long I thought she was gone. 

I think what happened is about who I believed I had become, who I believed I was to my family, and who I believed Jessalynn saw in me. 

It was about Jessalynn's flaws, too. She is extremely opinionated and judgemental of others but hasn't yet had to turn her magnifying glass on herself to see her own hypocrisy. I Know something will happen to make her have to do that eventually like most of us do. I thought I would be there to help her when it happened, I never imagined tha that I would  become one of her targets and I definitely didn't ever think I would be incapacitated by her and resurrect my dysfunctional Defence System. 

I should give this person in me a name to make it easier to write about. Ooooh, but does that make the delusion a reality?? Just kidding. Maybe.

I'm not trying to say I have a multiple personality disorder.  And yes, I know that people who have been traumatized,  especially as children, develop Coping Skills to protect themselves. I have some classic ones like the ability to compartmentalize my life. To be able to be molested and then run outside and play with the other kids like nothing happened, literally having No Memory of it the minute it stopped until it happened again and then years later in retrospect.  

Mulitipersonality Disorders can start the same way.

I am in there somewhere.  

I watched a show last year that talked about looking at yourself as a child and Loving that child. That show, that Idea, has haunted me since I saw it. 

I can barely stand to look at the people I have been and definitely wouldn't know how to love them. I could write a whole novel about Self Loathing.  

So here i am now. I really Never expected to end up such a Small Person. Yes,  I had some Delusions of Grandeur in my life but I always believed that the Real Me really had some significance.  THAT feels like my delusion now. 

I am dying from COPD and shortening the time I have left by smoking and cant make myself care enough to extend my life. I do Nothing. Have no friends. Have very little family that I as a person matter to. Maybe none. My importance is only helping the people in my home survive. I make sure the bills are paid and that there is food to eat. I protect my household from the world and often from each other. No One needs Rhoda Kiser Laughary. No one knows or cares Who I Am. 

Insignificant. 

All through my life I have encountered people who believed and told me that I was going to do Great Things. I had Potential.  I often believed them. I have so many creative talents. I used to have the gift of communication which made me a very talented sales person and landed me in my last occupation in Human Resources.  I loved helping people and, unlike many who work to help others, I thought I had a deeper understanding than most because I was very aware that being a savior is often selfish. We do it as much because it makes Us feel good as because it helps others. (Well, unless you are Jesus Christ. Pretty sure His intentions were always pure.) I believed that understanding set me apart, would keep me humble as I saved the world. it subtracted Ego by naming it. This may be true, yet I end up as Nothing. Don't,  can't,  won't even save myself now. 

I don't believe I would be classed now as Manic Depressive.  Jami told me that there is a saying like "stay alive to 35" about how bipolar disorder burns out as you age, that if you just survive yourself it will fade. Maybe that happened? 

I never dreamed that looking back over my life before death that I would only see wreckage. Carnage.  Disillusionment.  Grief. Failure. Pain. Misery. 

Some would say I am suffering from depression.  Give me meds to balance my serotonin levels to Fix Me. Yes, that might make it rose colored but it won't actually Change anything. I haven't Lost Touch with reality. I have been Crushed by it.

I am very proud of my daughters. I believe they are all Good People even though they are as flawed as anyone. I always told them that even if I hurt or even caused them damage that I made every decision about them, for them, with the best intentions. That is True. That doesn't negate the fact that I have damaged them. They all have a deep hatred for Me that I will never fully understand but I have to believe they are justified. If not, how could it be all three of them? I used to believe that Jeanette was my Proof that there was Good in me. She would even claim to Be that proof! My first realization that was false was when we all lived on Grand Avenue. I accidentally offended her by commenting on how she dressed for her job and she lashed out at me with a hatred that floored me.  I hoped at the time that it was just because she was in her twisted relationship with John Ways but then last year my eyes were fully, painfully, opened to her searing hatred for reasons I still don't understand. My proof that i was in any way a Good Mother or even just a Good Person disappeared completely. She hates me more than any person on earth. 

I became very small, or just realized how insignificant I am. I thought I couldn't get any smaller and then Wham! Jessalynn hit me right between the eyes, straight through the heart,  and I almost disappeared completely. 

I am barely here at all. I believe in karma,  believe we all get what we need in this life. I didn't say "deserve", everyone suffers things they don't "deserve". The Bible tells us that our lives, the people and events in our lives, all are meant to work towards our Enlightenment and Salvation.  Something like "All things work for the good of man who believes in, is with, God". I don't take the Bible literally but do believe in its message.  

When the disciples ask Jesus what sin a man committed to be blind,  Jesus explains that the man's blindness isn't from his sin or even about that man but about how others react to his blindness and that he is blind so we can see Jesus heal him. Like Jeremy. His shortcomings didn't cause his disabilities but I have judged people by how they treat him. (I often judge myself for this, too, and too often fall short. Fail.) 

(This goes into the thing with Jessalynn,  too. She judged me to be "disgusting" for how I treat Jeremy after she spent a year telling me how horrible I was for Not throwing him out. No, I haven't figured that out yet.)

I have suffered greatly in this life. I survived by clinging to the belief that I was being saved by being damaged, that if I just survived and learned from each blow that I was being purified for my own salvation and hopefully to help those around me. 

If it was a Test then I'm pretty sure I failed. I didn't grow into anything useful to anyone. I didn't grow into a soul worthy of reaping by any standard. Unless the point was to make me see that I am insignificant.  Maybe it was? Was I so full of pride that I had to be stripped naked? 

I can't see how this speck I have realized that I am could be helpful to anyone around me. Are those few I am still in contact with shaped in any way or judged by their reaction to my existence? I can't see it. That doesn't mean it isn't there. Who can see God's plan? 

I barely feel the presence of God. I barely believe the huge conviction that I used to preach. I hardly recognize the person who would look around and marvel at the beauty of the world thanking God for giving me my life. 

I have to struggle against the voice in me that declares that there is No God louder and louder. I get caught in the debate of how could the 95% of the world who believe there is a creator all be wrong? and looking at the fact that believing in a God makes death bearable. Gives suffering purpose. Looking through history all the way back to cave drawings man has had many beliefs about God or gods, heaven and hell that they took meaning from and created or were given a code to live by. 

On the other hand,  I have no understanding of how true atheists see life or see any reason to be Good People which many of them are. So they only have morality from inner goodness or fear of reprisal in this life? And when they die they simply don't exist any more?? Without a God how do you explain or understand psychic ability? No one has moved objects, proven telekinesis,  that I know of but other psychic abilities that have been studied defy explanation. Do atheists just see these things just as powers of the brain? Are they? What about the astounding number of people who have been studied claiming they have lived previous lives or had life after death experiences?? I study all of these things intently,  read, watch everything I can find about them and I have to conclude that there must be some sort of Truth behind them. There is always an attempt of scientific explanation like saying the chemical reaction of the dying brain creates the same illusion for everyone. That recorded experiences are faked or coincidental. This becomes more unbelievable when the subjects are children. Children who it seems couldn't have been coached to say they the things they do, who are too innocent of the world ready to believe or disbelieve them to feel a need for deception.  What about them? 

Maybe this is Why 95% of the world believe in a Higher Power.

If I am a part of a Greater Plan I feel like I am less than a speck of dust in it and/or that my purpose in this life must be over. Thst is why I am dying now. Why cling to this life? I barely do. Every day now passes like the day before most of the time. Nothingness. I spend most of my time now laying in bed, mindlessly watching TV or reading. I barely interact within my household. I am still necessary, Jasmine, Kira, Jeremy,  Jessica and Jami depend on me for their survival. I am terrified of what will become of them after I die but I Know that their lives will go on somehow.  Jeremy and Jami have and could survive on their own. I pray that someone will step in and take care of Jessica. I want to live long enough for Jazz and Kira to be able to take care of themselves but I know that is an unrealistic hope. But the family will do their best for them, the love is there even though the ability to raise them isn't.  Jeremy won't become more capable than he is. With his epilepsy and aging he grows less capable daily. i still try to teach him how to survive but i know it is useless. Hopeless. I am saying the same things repeatedly for years until it seems cruel to keep trying to teach him. I can't stop myself because I don't know who can take care of Jasmine,  Kira, and Jessica after I die and crazily keep hoping that he will,  can, become capable.

(A Note here: Jeremy doesn't believe that he is incapable so he rejects all effort to teach him how to Become capable. Like his driving, he believes he Is already a good driver so refuses to work to Become one while he wrecks car after car.)

It sounds like my Life is still significant when I talk about those dependent on me still. I suppose it Is. That is hugely why I am still alive. It should also be more than enough motivation to continue my miserable existence. 

Ok. So i will make more effort. 

Wow,  i really strayed from writing about mental illness. I'll have to divide this out if i want an entry just about that.

My father was told after his heart attack that he would die if he kept smoking. There were several cigarette butts in the toilet in the hospital room he died in. Did he not believe that it would kill him?? It appeared that he smoked those cigarettes one after the other since they weren't flushed. He wasn't suicidal.  There was a note pad by his bed where he had worked on his horoscope. It showed that he had some very bad days to get through, which included the day he died, but showed a long life after. It looked like he didn't believe he could die on these marked days because there were so many days after them. Mom stated that she thought he must not have loved us since he didn't quit smoking to live longer. He loved us. He just didn't believe he was dying.

Do I not believe that I am dying? I talk about it as a fact. Do I deny that mortality when I continue to smoke? But then we have to talk about addiction. Cigarettes are one of the most insidious addictions man has.  Jami knows for a fact that her drug addiction is killing her. WILL kill her.  Technically it has already killed her several times. She loves us. She cannot make herself Quit. 

Can I NOT make myself quit? I don't really believe that yet. I keep telling myself I will quit Tomorrow. Been telling myself that for years.