Stepping Out in Faith

Well, I finally did it.  After days of soul searching, prayer, and intense study of the word, I finally came to the realization that I need to let go of all my bitterness and move on with my life.  One of this was I needed to face my dad with the pain that I have caused.  So, because I am afraid to address him to his face, I wrote him an email.  I didn't want to go behind his back and try to get my siblings and family all riled up and angry with me because they just haven't witnessed what he has been like throughout these last few years, they also haven't been through the serious recovery I have been through that has dug up all kinds of pain that has been brought about by his hands.  But, ladies and gentleman, I want you all to know that I forgive him for not being the father that I needed him to be and I hope and pray that he can find the kind of healing that I have found.  I don't know what the letter will do to help, but I did outline some of the abuse I remember him doing to me, in hopes, this will bring about a realization of his own weaknesses and struggles, things that he needs to work on.

As I have been speaking about obedience (the word of the past week), this feels like I have stepped out in this way.  It feels like I have once again taken an avenue towards healing.  I need to let go of trying to change my father and accept him as he is, and hopefully the bitterness in my heart will dissipate and I can pray for true healing and wholeness to come to him.  I have to admit honestly that when I was living there I witnessed lots of anger from him, which made me very upset.  Once I moved out, I couldn't stop ranting and raving against him, even though I didn't have to deal with it.  I feared for my mom but now I know that come what may with whatever is between them, she has to make her own decisions.  And really I don't think she is in any real phyiscal danger.  I need to focus on my own healing from bitterness and pain and come to accept my father for the good that he gave me, not just the bad.  He taught me to work hard and to not accept defeat, albeit with an angry tone.  And because of the love of other older men in my life (Pastor Chris, John Cole, for example), I have developed an appreciation for the love of what a healthy father would offer me.  More importantly, I know that I have a father in heaven that offers me the kind of love that I need to withstand any trial or suffering, a real unconditional love.

I shared with him some quotes I am reading that have been helpful to me in my healing towards loving unconditionally, and I hope and pray they will shed light on his own mind.  I share them with you here, dear reader.

"All of you need to heal from the same wounds.  All trespasses/violations must be made conscious and the emotions attached to them must be released.  This is the way that all wounded beings move from the experience of conditional love to the experience of love without conditions."

"In the process of healing, you learn to give yourself the unconditional love you never received from your biological parents.  And in this process you are "born again" and reparented, not by other authority figures, but by the Source of Love inside yourself."

"Awakening from abuse means rejecting the illusion that you are not lovable as you are.  You demonstrate love by giving it unconditionally to yourself.  And, as you do, you attract others into your life who are able to love you without conditions."

"Your ego dies when you no longer have use for it.  Until then, it will not be taken from you.  You can hold onto your ego almost forever, but you will not do this.  For this is hell,  and you will not want to live in hell forever.  There will come a time when the pain will be overwhelming.  There will come a time when you will call out to me "Jesus.  Please help me.  I am ready to let go."  That time comes for every being, I assure you."

I believe by writing this letter and the editions I have written in the past and the heartfelt prayers I have prayed to my savior, I have received the power to truly let go.  But, of course, I must remember that healing is a process and I may have to say over and over again, "Jesus, I am ready to let go."  But, I am for if I continue to hang onto the bitterness caused by my father's inability to be who I want him to be, the pain caused by others, the decision of others to walk away from me for whatever reason, I will someday end up like my father.  I am determined for the cycle of anger and mistreatment to end here.  I am determined that my children will grow up in a healthy home, free to express their emotions and grow into the well-adjusted, happy, and whole adults they need to be to make a difference in the world.  And, as I keep saying, I am determined that to be a servant of all, of God, my husband, my friends, my family, and yes, even my father.

"Until then, all you can do is walk through your fears.  Acknowledge every fear you have and turn each one over to me.  "Jesus, I am afraid to die...Jesus, I am afraid to love...Jesus, I am afraid God will abandon me.""

It says in the Bible that God will never leave us, nor forsake us.  So, dear friends and readers, hesitate not to turn your anxieties and your fears over to him.  You can even yell at him, in my experience, he won't turn away.  He loves you and knows what's best for you.

I leave you with a scripture that always brings a fresh understanding to how much Jesus really is the love of God:

"Love is patient and kind; love does not envy or boast; it is not arrogant or rude.  It does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable or resentful; it does not rejoice at wrongdoing, but rejoices with the truth.  Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.  Love never ends."

I know putting my name in the place of love this scripture would be a lie; I have been anything but these things.  But, God has been faithful to fulfill each of these claims. 

Dear one, I thank you for reading this.  I hope it has meant something to you and brought some kind of healing or awakening to you, as it has for me.  Please pray for my father and for my own healing.  I believe this email I have sent him may be a journey that he and I will go on, separately and I hope together.

Thank you for your support.  Remember, my heart goes out to each and everyone of you.

In God's love, until tomorrow

When we are healed, we are not healed alone.

As I have been writing in earlier entries about my recovery, my source of healing did not come on my own, in contrary, in came in part during my time at Hope Chapel Healdsburg.  As I said, I was forcing myself to sit through the services at Hope Chapel Windsor (nothing against this church) when one day I had a full blown anxiety attack on the freeway and had to get off immediately and my car led me straight over to Hope Chapel Healdsburg.  They recognized me immediately, knew a little bit about my suffering, and welcomed me as family.  I felt welcomed and warmed, and for the first time in along time, was able to truly worship the Lord and hear from God.  It was inspiring.  In this, my recovery was not set out in isolation but with the family of God I found at this church.  It was there that I met Red-Hot Renee.  She wandered into church, any church, would do for her that day and met me.  She knew she had to be in church that day and that was the one that God led her too, and led her to me.  Wherever you are, Renee, I owe my a great deal of my healing and dedication to Jesus to your presence in my life.

A woman by the name of Irene Smith, from the book "The Feminine Side of God" inspires this entry today because it talks about her own recovery through prostitution and drug abuse to finding her value, her sense of self, and ultimately her Jesus.  Her healing started out from an honest opinion of her brother who told her in my own paraphrase that she looked like crap.  She immediately looked in the mirror and made a conscious decision to change.  As she says, "I need to be totally quiet."  As in my recovery, she says that she "had my cat a a loving companion and I knew that I had to get up when the sun got up and go to bed when the sun went down, and in between I just needed to be with me and nobody else."

She had her first divine experience with Jesus when she was detoxing the chemicals out of her body through her own self made sauna "Oh, Jesus," she recalls saying aloud as she watched the spray descending over her, "I can't believe this water is so beautiful.  It is so beautiful."  She said her prayer life started then.  This is a kin to my experience of going to that Assembly of God church and coming out of there, crying out to Jesus and proclaiming my love for him, after days of telling him I hated him.

Also, like her, I went through years of suffering based on stuffing all my pain deep within myself, which was forced upon me by my dad's insistence that no emotion other than happiness ever express itself in our household.  ( I think I remember him beating us if we cried, argued, or got upset.)  Irene went through her own cathatris: "All the pain that had been stuffed down through long years of acquiescence and drug-induced denial began to surface in full force.  Kicking and screaming and beating pillows, Irene began to release a lifetime's acumulation of fear, anger, and grief.  During this process of release, she acquired the tools she would later use to help others open up the closed-off parts of themselves."

After I got in trouble for screaming at Karissa, Randy, and my students, I started screaming in my car.  Although I would cry uncomtrollably afterwards and punish myself by biting myself for even showing the emotion of anger, I believe this was one of the healthiest outlet for me to do.  No one heard me.  It was a free time to just let it all out and looking back I thank God for those moments I had to freely express myself, and thank my friend with the name of the elite university for always pushing me to "feel my feelings".

One of the ways Irene felt healing was by truly feeling heard.  Although we, humans, can try our best to learn skills to actively listen, in my opinion the only person who really heard me was God.  Also, my good friends, Tony Fleisher and Will Richey were helpful in stirring me along the right path.  Irene's step towards awakening came when she admitted aloud: "I'm a prostitute and I'm going to be a counselor."

She then went onto be a masseusse for those afflicted with the AIDS virus, the ones that we normally are afraid to touch.  Last night at my healing and prayer night, the leader of the group was listening to a woman share about her pain.  I noticed that he touched her shoulder when he was sharing what he had heard from her.

When someone touches you, you can feel the  meaning behind it.  When my own father touches me because of the years of physical and emotional abuse he has caused, I tense up and do not welcome it.  But, when loving friends and my husband touch me, if I feel any pain, whether it be a back pain or a heart pain, a little bit of me unfolds.  Touch can be the most powerful gift that we can give one another, within one's boundaries.  From my own experience, its not necessarily a good thing to just go up and hug anyone you see on the street, but use discernment.  People who refuse touch, especially when they are in immense pain, suffer the most.

Irene explains: "I had a deep need to do service and surrender myself to Jesus for my own healing and I also needed to prove to others, as well as myself, that I was good and kind.  And I had a very deep need for love and affection that was not in any way connected with sex.  I could go and sit down with these people who were terribly sick and hold and stroke them.  Sometimes I would cry, I was very open and responsive.  It's hard for most people to touch and hold those who are dying but I had learned to sit with others in pain during Elizabeth's workshops.  I think the personal clearing I went through at that time gave overs the permission to expose their pain with me.  Being touched in a loving way says "I care" and I so much wanted to feel the caring."

In my daily reading today, I read "For God gave us a spirit not of fear but of power and love and self control."  During my time in recovery, I decided to do some work in a Senior living home.  I was afraid but saw past my fear to the need for those to receive the love and care that they may not otherwise receive.  My experience was one of true blessing; I went in with this notion that I would somehow reach out to them with the gospel with words but maybe I did so with my heart and my actions; in any event, they did so with me.  To put it all honestly, I relied on the Lord to give me the power to withstand my fear and to learn and love these individuals who so desparately needed it.

Bonhoeffer writes: "What Jesus really wants me to have is faith.  But my faith is not necessarily tied up with riches or poverty or anything of that kind.  We may be both poor and rich in the spirit.  It is not important that I should have no possessions, but if I do I must keep them as though I had them not, in other words I must cultivate a spirit of inward detachment, so that my heart is not in my possessions.  Jesus may have said: Sell thy goods, but he meant, "Do not let it be a matter of consequence to you that you have outward prosperity; rather keep your goods quietly, having them as if you had them not.  Let not your heart be in your goods."

Well, dear readers, my challenge for myself today and for the rest of the week, is to reach out to someone and to truly touch them, whether physically or emotionally.  In my profile, I say that my favorite thing is to "give gifts to my friends and family" and I truly do.  I am sorry if this entry seems like a lecture of books and scriptures but I am merely inspired by these books and wish to share what I am learning from these texts...Use what you learn here, or forget all about it....But my heart wants to reach out, to touch, to serve, to pray, to change the world in my own quiet, gentle, and profound way...the way Jesus calls us to, I believe.

So, whatever you believe, whatever religion or belief structure you hold onto, I encourage you to "fan into flame the gift of God" given to you.  Remember, reaching out maybe scary but we were not given a spirit of fear but of power and love and of self control.

God speed, dear friends and readers, and may the Holy Spirit rest upon you this evening.

Only those who obey can believe

To start out, I don't want to sound to preachy or to Christian with this edition of my blog.  I am just reading these amazing books.  I have been busy with interviews and auditions and such; so I took extra time to read three spiritual books I have been reading, plus the bible, plus worshipping through song, and plus a time in my prayer journal.  So, in this entry, I will attempt to impart the jewels that I am gleaning from each of these books.  For starters, two of these books are not, shall we say, necessarily Christian books, one of them is, and, of course, the Bible is what it is.

In an earlier blog, I wrote about standing up for what is right and fighting in my own quiet way for a better America.  To further this point, I read in 1 Timothy this morning, "I urge that supplications, prayers, intercessions, and thanksgivings be made for all people, for kings and all who are in high positions, that we lead a peaceful and quiet life"...before I start to ramble about the various conspiracy theories, that I believe in fact are true about our government, I hope that I can drop to my knees in prayer for those in authority above us, that they will change their ways and commit themselves to the mighty hand of God, and come what may accept what he (or she) doles out to them.  Next, it goes on to say that living in this quiet, prayerful way is "good, and it is pleasing in the sight of God our Savior, who desires all people to be saved and to come to the knowledge of the truth".  Before you get your panties in a bunch you nonChristians, I must share what I read in "Love without Conditions" (not necessarily of a Christian background but simply professing to be of Christ's origin) about truth: "Truth is a door that remains open.  You cannot close this door.  You can choose not to enter.  You can walk in the opposite direction.  But you can never say, "I tried to enter, but the door was closed."  The door is never closed to you or anyone else."

My desire for my family, friends, and dear readers is that all may seek after something beyond this world and find that what is true to them.  In my own searchings through scripture and spiritual practice, I have prayed that I will be a servant to all and I pray that as I recount to you, merely what these texts are teaching me, that I will in turn remain a servant to you.  In my heart, I desire to "pursue righteousness, godliness, faith, love, steadfastness, gentleness.  Fight the good fight of faith" to whatever capacity that I can attain while on this earth.  One of which is to fall to my knees, to bow my head, and to strive to be better in my prayer life.  Also, to be humble in my own understanding and discernment of others suffering; to use it as an opportunity to pray.  After all, Jesus told us not to do our good works before men, but in secret.

One thing I have learned today from the book "The Feminine face of God" is that we must often leave what is comfortable to seek out deeper meaning and spiritual growth.  This happened when I was forced to leave Calvary Chapel Healdsburg behind and set out to find some other way to fulfill my longing for God.  As I said earlier, I was without church.  I had to learn that my faith should be deeper than what I learn in a building or with others, its more than warming a spot on a pew, or memorizing a scriptures.  Its when you get alone with God and realizes that deep down He is all you need.  As I said before, because of the shattered pieces of my broken mind, I was like a child...but it is Christ that welcomes those to him as little children.  The Feminine Face of God ends the 2nd chapter with this: "it is the need for honoring the purity and openness of a child's mind.  Perhaps someday, as the Swiss psychoanalyst Alice Miller writes, we will come to "regard our children as not as creatures to manipulate or to change but rather as messengers from a world we once deeply knew but which we have long since forgotten who can reveal to us more about the true secrets of life, and also our own lives, than our parents were ever able to."  It is my desire whereever I end up teaching that I see children more as teachers for my own wellbeing than my own imparting what I need to give them.  That in fact, it can possibly be an open mindedness give in take between child and myself.

In closing I want to share something that speaks mostly to me, which might turn readers away from this blog, for all intense and purposes I mean not for that to happen.  This writing today is only to share what spoke to me in the various books I spent almost four hours reading and studying and praying over.  About a month ago, I wandered into a local bookstore and found this book with a simple cover that read "The Cost of Discipleship".  Because of its simplicity, it spoke to me and also because it was 6 bucks I bought it.  What I put here is merely for my benefit as I develop in my faith and I apologize if it does in fact convict you.  I am truly deeply engrossed in this book and there is so much insight there that it is hard to pick and choose what to share.

First, I must insist that it is a book about following and obeying Christ; that obeying is the essense of true faith.  As Bonhoeffer writes, "this situation is therefore not the consequence of our obedience, but the gift of him who commands obedience.  Unless we are prepared to enter into that situation, our faith will be unreal, and we shall deceive ourselves.  We cannot avoid that situation for our supreme concern is with a right faith in Jesus Christ and our objective is, and always will be faith, and faith alone."  Furthermore, "Only those who believe obey" is what we say to that part of a believer's soul which obeys, and "only those who obey believe" is what we say to the part of the obedient which believes."

What I want to share that is for my own personal development as a believer in Christ that goes beyond that of cheap, superficial faith is something that is so convicting that it may turn away all readers, I hope not.  Give me the benefit of the doubt, this is is more for me, than for you and yet it may speak to you, that is not my intention.  But, at the risk of losing your friendship and support, I include:

"You are disobedient, you are trying to keep some part of your life under your own control.  That is what is preventing you from listening to Christ and believing in his grace.  You cannot bear Christ because you are wilfully disobedient.  Somewhere in your heart you are refusing to listen to his call.  Your difficulty is your sins."

In other words, as it says in Love without Conditions, ""You are all masters at taking the truth and inverting it.  You have the creative ability to make anything mean what you want it to mean.  You can take yes and make it no, wrong and make it right.  That is how strong your beliefs are."

My intention of this blog was not to step on any toes but merely to show what these books, in their own ways, have speaking to me.  Please glean from then what you will and let the rest fall by the wayside.

Here are the books I am reading:
Love Without Conditions by Paul Ferrini
The Cost of Discipleship by Dietrich Bonhoeffer
The Feminine Face of God by Sherry Ruth Anderson and Patricia Hopkins

Remember, my beloved friends and readers, you are in my heart.  If you need prayer, don't hesitate to ask.  I love you all and thank you for your support.  Whatever you decide to do, if you turn away from these words because I appear to Christian ( I cannot hide my true faith), then I hope all will work out for you in your path.  If you decide to continue to read, I can only pray that my words will continue to heal, to inspire, and to bring hope.

With endless love, I close this entry.

The dawning of a new day; yet yesterday's dreams coming true

Yesterday, I had an interview for a part time nanny job, and I thank all of you for your well wishes and prayers considering that.  I think the job went well.  The mother and I seemed to connect right away; more importantly the children and I seemed to connect right away showing me that I still got it, the gift that enables me to reach children at their level right away.  So, constantly I ask you to lift that in prayer for I think I could be of some benefit to this little boy and his family, but in the end, all of it is up to God's will.

Today, an door to an old passion reveals itself.  I have an audition.  Wow, it didn't take that long to get into the swing of things.  I am just praying that the play of theater will never be taken out of my heart, no matter what competition may come my way.  I also prayed that for myself, in general, that no matter how I age and mature that I would never lose that sense of play and adventure in my faith, my career, my writing, my acting, or my marriage.  No matter how hard life gets, I pray that I will always look to God for the expectancy of how he will work all things together for good.  As I read in James, "Count it all joy, my brothers, when you meet trials of various kinds, for you know that the testing of your faith produces steadfastness.  And let steadfastness have its full effect, that you may be perfect and complete, lacking nothing."  And truly, that idea of "steadfastness" has been my saving grace these past through days/months/weeks, that I have been through these trials of suffering before, that I know what to do and know how to do it.  I also know as I learned today that Jesus has "perfect patience" with me.  As friends and loved ones seem to give up and push away, my best friend and bridegroom will not lose his patience with me and his blood covers any sin or wrongdoing I may once again commit in my anger.

On Sunday morning, my pastor's wife, Joanne, shared that prayer, often neglectful, is what is needed to be effective in our walk with God and in life.  I have known for awhile that I have lacked in that area.  But, one thing that struck me is that my heart and mind changed in that instance when she said that, I made the decision, no matter how much longer I have to go through with my devotional, I will pray.  As I said, I have always had this uncanny ability to know exactly how to pray and in the past have seen many amazing answers to my prayers.  What else, I need to wait before jumping into a situation until I have the peace of God on that matter.  Yeah, after almost 11 years of being a Christian I no doubt have heard that before, but I guess it took that 11 years to sink in, and I hope and pray that it remains in this time.

What I want to say is: I believe that, yes, I have intuition to know exactly what one may be suffering and how they need to go about changing that.  Some may call it the gift of discernment.  When I started out in my time of suffering (right when I was diagnosed), I was discussing some of these thoughts with my friend, Luke, and he confirmed this in me.  Its taken me until this point to really understand it and be completely humble about it, and to learn how to go about it.  At first, I became a real snob about it and now I think the best thing to do is to immediately go to prayer about that person or situation.  Whatever I am doing in life, yeah set aside a time to pray, but to pray in that moment.  It doesn't take a lot to pray a quick prayer when you may be in the middle of work or something.  I guess one would call these breathe prayers, sometimes prayers of urgency.  After all, James says: the prayer of a righteous person has great power as it is working."

So, dear friends, no matter what your background or your belief or even those who don't know me from Adam (or Eve, for that matter), I ask you, don't hesitate to ask.  I give you my email once again and you can leave comments on this page if you do need prayer.  Here it is: (it is also on my profile): juliacweston33@gmail.com

But, even as I set out to be more of a devout Christian, I must admit that I am nothing but perfect and haven't been an exact honest follower, maybe, in name only.  Something I read in first timothy this morning struck me to the core; really convicted me about my rantings and ravings and my conduct as of late, that it is not, shall we say, righteous.  "the law is not laid down for the just but for the lawless and disobedient, for the ungodly and sinners, for the unholy and profane, for those who strike their fathers and mothers, for murderers"...I know because of my lack of faith, diligence to be in the word, in fellowship, in prayer has made me more disobedient to reach out to the needy and the lost, the very fact that I rant and rave about the inability of my father to be the kind of dad that I needed him to be is really striking out against him (which it says is a form of lawlessness), and as Jesus says a murderer is one who hates his brother in his heart, and yes, I have been doing that.  Who have I been doing against?  Well, so many, mostly to my friends from Refuge.  Yes, dear Refugites, I do think your faith, as I remember of it a few years ago, may be a little superficial but one finger has always pointing three back to them, which means my faith was a little superficial.  For this reason, I strive to pray for your faith to strengthen and will try to keep the slanderous remarks based on my own faults and not on others.  Because as I learned in recovery and I guess have forgotten, we can only be truly responsible for ourselves, and the rest we need to let the Lord have a handle in.

I don't know, maybe some of you relate to this lack of faith and diligence I have spoken of, and maybe some of you, most likely, are facing trials of your own.  Therefore, I will end this with a scripture that helps me as well as I hope it helps you:

"Blessed is the man who remains steadfast under trial, for when he has stood the test he will receive the crown of life, which God has promised to those who love him."

Pray that I remain diligent in my prayers, my faith, and that I will attain the endurance I need in the trials and struggles that come my way.  Please don't hesitate to leave comments about your needs or email me if you need privacy in those matters.

I love you all, dear friends and readers, and know that my heart is to be a servant, like Christ, and to reach out to all fellow human beings with the patience that I learn from my best friend, Jesus the Christ.

May you feel an overwhelming sense of God's presence as you go today.

In his name, I pray, thanks and gratitude for your support and your love.

Who am I, really

Before I continue thus forward into the continuing saga of my life, I must stop to ponder the age old question of who I am.  There are labels that can quantify my belief of who I am.

First, I call myself a Christian, albeit one that messes up frequently into indiscretions such as emotional rants and tyrades, am very devoted to my true love and spiritual husband, Jesus the Christ.  This calling me a Christian connects me with a circle of well meaning devotees that attend to my heart through prayer and supplication, regardless of our current standing, I have too many friends of the faith to count on my hand.  However, calling myself a Christian isn't because I attend a certain church no more than driving into a garage makes you a car.  I am a Christian because of my faith in Christ; in so many words, because I follow the one I call Savior.

Next, I call myself a teacher, which is not merely because I spent a year and a half toiling through countless amounts of textbooks and articles spelling out what it means to teach, writing papers on the meaning of child development which didn't really prepare me for the reality of teaching.  But, I am a teacher for the heart I have to distill whatever wisdom or knowledge I have on the students and friends that circle my life.  In fact, my primary teaching experience came from my years as a preschool teacher, not only at the wonderful, inspired preschool "Lil Rascals", but even at the crazy experiences at the unorganized La Petite Academy and others.  I learned to think on my feet, as one says, and adapt quickly and thoughtfully to the changing tides of life's course.  Mostly, I seem to have the most influence on young children and even still they have a much larger influence on me.  Their readiness to learn and appreciate the wonders of God's good earth never ceases to amaze and mystify me.  And, it was Jesus that says we are to enter the kingdom as a little child.

Next, I would consider myself an actress.  Now, this is a term that has newly emerged back into my vocabulary of self description.  I left acting behind in 2001 when I ran from the SOU theater department into the light hearted structure of the Communication department.  But, if any of my dear friends can testify, I never truly lost my sense of dramatic.  I never lost my desire for the stage or screen.  In my current profile, I call myself a "wannabe actress" because I have yet to trespass across the boards yet again.  One of the reason I left the title behind is I could never find myself on the stages of SOU and felt like a failure at that title.  But, since learning of my illness and now my anxiety level, I have learned that failing an audition should not be taken as a personal affront but as a learning lesson.  If at first one doesn't succeed, try, try again.  And yet, as I said I never left the theater world, because I was one of the stars of a local Christian film during my stint at Calvary Chapel Healdsburg and continued to write for theater.  From an early age, I caught the bug and all these years subsequently masquerading as a "professional teacher" (or trying to be), I have always come away with a mystified look on my face when I attend a good play.  Also, if any of these drama teachers could see me in the acting classes I took, where I played the likes of Lady Macbeth (oops, will my blog be cursed now?), Nina from the Seagull, and a scene from Angels in America, they would not be so hesitant to cast me in one of their productions.  So, as I put together my scant and old resume for my new foray into the acting world, I am amazed at just how many performance opportunities I did have back in the old days; from short movie roles to radio performances to the Vagina Monologues.  Yes, ladies and gents, if it comes to no surprise to you, I have a flair for the dramatic and yes, I do have talent.  For this reason, I am determined to one day change the title of "wannabe actress" to merely "actress".  Still, I hope will never take the play out of the theater even if I never walk the carpet and hold the golden statue and utter words, "I'd like to thank the academy and all the little people I stepped on to get here."

Next, a writer.  Ever since I could hold a pencil, I have been writing.  Not many have seen the likes of my earlier writing, except for my dear little friend, Malaenuh, who laughed at the pictures I drew to coincide with the writing.  My first real story was that of a little bear named Ropololo and his adventures with his horse, LongGone, and his friend the slide, Sliderella.  As I grew the stories turned into angst ridden poems and prose.  Since the years of battling bipolar, the writing as yet again emerged.  Since the wild and thrilling experience at the cafe in Oregon, I have been working steadfastly on a play of that nature, to the intense humor of my friends.  I never could even understand why I felt the urge to write such a travail; but yet I did and I finished it months before my darling husband came sauntering back into my life through a facebook post.  You know, not only is it a tale of a coffee shop, but it is the haphazard love story loosely based on the one of mine.  (In some other writing, I will give a testimony of how the writing of that play kept me sane and became part of the history of my journey through recovery and transformation.)  Also, new stories have cropped up and even an attempt at an autobiography or memior or whatever wording you prefer.  Then, starting and faithfully attempting to write this blog daily has become an exerpt in my new beginnings as a dare I say professional writer.  A side note: for those of you who thought I would also pursue a career as a therapist, I have decided against that because of the amount of time it would take away from my writing.

For the last stressful and yet exciting my profession has been that of recovery, although due to my father's pressure I have been trying to continue my pursuit as a teacher.  And, as we say in NAMI, I am not my illness, hence, I am not Bipolar.  I am a person who struggles with Bipolar.  But, in every sense of the word, I am mentally ill and no matter how I grow and change and become more, shall we say, sane, I will always connect myself to that world.  However much, I would love to leave behind the years of suffering and pain and woe, those years are apart of me.  I have learned greatly why I was the way I was all my life, why I failed or struggled at acting, why my mind seemed to always play tricks at me, and have become a whole and complete person because of these discoveries.  And all of you potential employers who think bipolars are not capable of handling any kind of work, strike that from your minds completely.  I can assure you that the same determination and heart that got me through the years before the diagnosis, albeit the hidden suffering, I still have after the years of my recovery, even more so.

Because of my diagnosis, my next "label" is that of an advocate, not only for my friends suffering with mental illness, but that of any of my friends in dire straits.  Although at times of my suffering, I wanted to celebrate when another suffered, I have since changed my tone and have turned to one with a heart of compassionate for the lost and the sick, hopefully, someday attaining the heart of Christ truly and completely.

Lastly, my latest label is that of loving wife and lover.  For years before the marriage, I was a intense and faithful lover of this man and yet didn't know it.  In my daily prayers and talks with God, I would implore him to bring Bill to me and exclaim "I love him, please, I want to marry him."  In the back of my mind, he would follow me everywhere.  It wasn't until November of 2009, when I was randomly searching through a friend's facebook page that I saw a picture of him.  It was then that I realized he was the only man that I had truly loved.  I am truly sorry to all of those boyfriends that I dated and swore to love for all eternity but this fact is true.  On the spring equinoz of 2003, I looked into the eyes of my love and saw something, what I can't really explain, and it never truly left me.  A year before the finding of the picture on facebook, I had given up on writing the play, saying its cheesy, I give up.  Shortly after that time period, I had realized that, in fact, I am a writer, even if it never goes behind friends or families faithful eyes.  So, I gave my writing to the Lord and asked him to hold the pen or type the words.  As soon as I saw Bill's picture, the words of the play came back to me.  I turned back to the play and began doing major surgery and had a lot of fun doing it.  Suddenly after years of toiling and struggling with just the right wording, I knew exactly what I wanted to say.  The lines were cut quickly and without mercy leaving me with a few monologues and a line here or two and from that I birthed the true creation.  Then, I started having the dreams and the intuition.  Bill was in trouble: He was dying.  I had to find him.  I looked wherever I could go but all came up empty.  My heart cried out to him, even if he never returned my love, I had to tell him, I had to let him know that I loved him.  A few days after I hopelessly gave up the search, he found me on facebook and the story goes from there.  The title of wife fits for the legal reasons but truly he is my lover and best friend, happily, along with our kitty, Z.

To all of you friends, I am also your lover.  I have been thinking of each of you, not knowing your thoughts on my words, but thinking of your faithfulness and steadfastness to me these last few years and my heart beats ever more for you.  I hope in return that you two can call me friend, that I can return the favor as faithful and true.

So, do all these labels as such define who I am?  Mostly, I would define myself as a child at heart, in fact, my name means youthful one.  In my teen years, I had my favorite teacher tell me I was magical and through my own doing and those of my friends I have definitely been blessed with that of the magic.  At the age of 30, despairing of the loss of my youth, I walked into a coffee shop that I hardly went to, and told the barista that I had just turned 30 and was bemoaning the loss of the good times.  In fact one example I used was the fact that I could never ride on the swings in Lithia Park at midnight again, to which she replied that in fact I could.  She assured me that the 30s were not the end of the world of youth but merely the dawning of a new age.  That age doesn't mean the end of childhood.  Recently I have had several friends (and you know who you are), almost in fact turn against me because I am not serious enough for our yes, old age of the mighty 30s, thinking that now is the time to buckle down and act serious.  They are also of the mindset in some regards, what have I accomplished by this time.  A few years before I hit the big day, I thought in these terms too.  But, because of this magical moment with this barista, the thirties have brought lightness of heart and childlike wonder.  I wish never to return to the craziness of the rambling twenties, although it appears at times I act that way.  Yes, I have become more determined and seriousness, but I wish never to lose the joy and sense of enjoyment of life that I have carried through me all of my life.  In fact, this magical joy has intensified in these latter days.  So, to my friends who see the thirties as a death null or a time of despair, fear not...from my experience, the thirties have become the happiest time of my life, the most free, the most joyful, the most celebratory.  I implore you, dear friends (you know who you are), don't look back at what you haven't accomplished or what you want to accomplish, treasure each moment that life has to offer, take it one day at a time, and never,never, lose that childlike wonder and joy.  Never lose the sense of self, the core of your being, because that is who we are, despite the labels that are thrust upon us.  A wise person once said, "Life is what happens when we are busy making other plans."

No Matter Where I Go, There I am

"Get the fuck away from me! I want nothing to do with you!  Go away! Go away!"

Those are the words I screamed at God those ending months of the year 2007.  I felt alone and wanted it that way.  I didn't want to feel the pain or remorse anymore.  Sleep wasn't coming so well.  I would lie awake with my skin crawling like that song "I just want to feel safe in my own skin" by Dido.

Randy and I played the cat and mouse game.  One of us, usually him, would call wanting sex, seduce the other, and then get really guilty and say never to call again.  I know what most of you have heard if you around then, that I was the one doing the calling.  But, in actually it was Randy!  Randy is insecure and wants to appear super spiritual so he told everyone, "look, she's crazy and obsessed with me, she won't stop calling me and trying to get me to have sex with her."  When actually, he would call me all horny and depressed and me being as depressed and heartsick and lonely would go along with it, well, then he would say, "oh i got to get off the phone, call me back in twenty minutes."  So, I would call him back in twenty minutes, and since he told everyone I was the obsessed one, his sister or someone would answer and tell me never to call again.  I would get depressed for this and just as a week was going by when I was starting to feel better, I'd get another call from Randy and the whole thing would start all over again.  In the end, Randy went to the Pastor at our church and friends and told them how manipulative and seductive I was being and how he was the victim.  Well,  now, the truth comes out, Randy, you are a victimizer as much as a victim...and definitely not a perfect Christian saint.

Finally, that died down and I started dragging myself to churches again.  But, I had new found sleep disorder.  I would take my med, which supposedly would cause sleep, and not be able to sleep for two hours or at all.  So, I tried there prescription meds but still nothing, just wide awake staring at the wall for two hours...so I gave up and started drugging myself with over the counter sleeping pills...All I really wanted to do was sleep and not feel.

My psychiatrist took me off a med at the time that had made me feel fat and lethargic.  I was very hesitant about this because well, I had had such a breakdown so recently I was afraid it would happen again.  But, she explained that the drug itself might cause heart failure, diabetes, etc, oh, and prolactin, which is women who aren't pregnant producing breastmilk, so I decided why not go off of it?  When I was on it, I had gained a substantial amount of weight.  Okay, I was 134 but I had never weighed that much.  And that really isn't that much except my stomach just stuck way out and I had a mother that constantly told me "yeah, you need to lose weight", "looks like you have picked up some extra pounds" or whatever slanderous rude remarks she could make about my weight.  (In reality, 134 is not that fat, its not that healthy either, but its not worth ruining your self esteem over, which is just what happened to me, what my mom did.)

So, I went off this med and since I had been dieting and working out incessantly, I started losing weight.  I dropped 18 pounds in two months.  I felt great at 115.  You would think I would have stopped there but I couldn't.  The emphasis on me that I had gotten so fat freaked me out that anything that had a calorie count above 90 was considered dangerous.  I started skipping meals, eating less, counting calories...no wonder I couldn't sleep at night.

Meanwhile, the emergency med they put me on was on such a high dosage that it literally backed me up and made me nauseas when I ate.  So, why eat if it makes me sick?  Its helpful when you don't want to eat when you can't eat too.

I tried many churches during that time.  The first of which was an Assembly of God.  It was a very strange experience.  Very friendly bunch, I was definitely the youngest.  They all dressed up for church and played the organ.  But, I remember listening to the music and seeing Jesus kneel before me with his arms around me, singing to me...

In the car after church, I prayed and cried and told Jesus that I loved him and he, remember I had yelled at him, said, "I always knew you did."

I didn't really go to church that much during that time but stayed home and sulked.  The Bible was still the hardest thing to read.  I even bought a child's bible because that is where I felt my mind could understand.  I was praying desparately.  I remember lying in my bed, crying, imagining a spiritual Frank Peretti style battle going on about me...Angels and demons fighting for me and God speaking to me softly through it saying, "cast them off."  Over and over again, I'd almost succumb to the darkness of my evil mind and very Frank Peretti of me even see the little demon gently stroking my hair saying, "join us, join us" and then at the last moment, I would cast him out.  You know, God does always get the victory.

My Cradle-Catholic Grandma got me to go to church.  Its a tradition since I was a child that this set of grandparents take me to church.  Well, before my grandpa died and then I became a Christian and neither of them could drive, I would drive them.  Well, this thanksgiving my Grandma came and the two of us woke up and drove to the little Catholic church that could in Asti, California.  It was there that through the hymnals the Lord met me.  Never again will I say that Catholic churches aren't spirit-filled.  This one moved me to tears.  I cried out all my pain and realized the faithfulness of the Lord.  How desparately I needed to hear that message that the Lord is forever with me.

The next month, right before Christmas, Randy came back into my life.  And yes, we played that game again for a few months until right before President's weekend (February 2008) when he went and shall I say, blabbed to all "his" friends what I seductive crazy ex I was being and that he was the victim.  But, keep in mind, he was doing all the calling.  Even Pastor Chris believed him.  I also sent a major breakthrough email to my friend Carol, Pastor Chris, and Randy detailing how I had made the choice to go home and take care of myself.  In the email, I outlined three choices.  I was describing how suicidal I was and how I wanted to die.  The three choices were to go to Calvary Chapel Healdsburg to talk to Chris, throw myself to the mercy of the sharks off the golden gate bridge, or go home, have dinner, and go to bed.  I chose to go home and go to bed.  Anyone can see now that was a major victory.  I chose to take care of myself.  Well, Pastor Chris read what he wanted to read and called me "manipulative".  He read it and failed to see that I hadn't come to the church at all.  Here I was explaining a major breakthrough in my recovery where I took the initiative to take care of myself, and he called me manipulative.  The next day I went to therapy with him, where he and my therapist talked about how manipulative I was and he looked me in the eye and said, "I can't be your friend right now."  And, all of this over a misunderstanding.  At the moment, I had not the words to explain myself and probably wouldn't have been listened to anyway.

A few weeks later, my therapist of a year, who I had grown to love and trust, labeled me antisocial and told me to find another therapist.  Well, I couldn't afford another therapist and I was stuck going to Kaiser, because that's what my parents wanted.  See, I was on Cal-cobra with the school, when the school switched to Kaiser, I wanted to do state insurance so I could stay with my same psychiatrist but my parents advised against saying that would bring too much shame on me later on in life.  So, I miserably went to Kaiser.  Kaiser therapy sucks!  I had a therapist for a couple months on and off.  I would go to her and want to start talking about what was going on in my life and then she would just say without letting me finish my sentence..."just do this."  My psychiatrist was all right though but since have realized that she put me on a combination of meds that actually counteract each other.  She thought she did a lot of good for me and I really do appreciate the time I spent with her.  But, it was me buckling down, doing the work, fighting the fight, and keeping the faith that got me through.  (Oh yeah, I kid you not, she looked like Doctor Ruth!)

For along time at Kaiser, I had no diagnosis.  I had no idea what I was or what the fuck was wrong with me.  I talked to my psychiatrist who claimed that she didn't diagnosed.  I knew in my  heart of hearts that I wasn't antisocial and prayed to God that that wasn't it.  Antisocials are sociopaths, they have no conscience.  Everyone I was talking to told me, yeah, I believe you have a conscience.  I mean, I thought I wasn't sleeping at night because of the damage I had done to those at Calvary Chapel Healdsburg.

Also, at that time, I became homicidal.  According to my husband, he remembers me telling him that I thought about killing people back 8 years ago when we dated before.  But, this was more serious.  I actually believed that this girl friend of mine from church had stolen Randy from me and I wanted to kill her.  I had a plan.  I was going to buy a gun, sneak into the church on Wednesday night Bible study, make her strip off her clothes in front of everyone (cuz if he fucked her, why can't i?), stick the gun up her vagina, and then pull the trigger....and then if that didn't work...I would put it to her brain and kill her that way.  Pretty sick, huh? I told my psychiatrist, who called Pastor Chris, who told the girl...and yadadadada the police have me on file for crimininally insane.

I had to get out of town.  I was obsessed with Scarlett O'hara at the time and I pictured myself running into the church office exclaiming to the pastor, "i must get them back.  how can i get them back?  I know, I'll go home, home to Ashland (Tera), and I will find someway to get them back....after all, tomorrow is another day".


So, I drove to Ashland.  With the alittle bit of money I had left from teaching, I actually rented a room at the Columbia Hotel.  See, that's a big step forward.  I was so proud of myself.  I didn't sleep on a friend's couch.  I actually rented a room.  (That's ten points for me, Malaenuh!)  Of course, I ended up spending all my money in Ashland and going broke but I learned one thing...I still got my Jesus Seekers, God would forgive me and take me to heaven even if I had done these horrible things, and I found a magnet that got the recovery ball rolling:


"What would you attempt to do if you knew you would not fail?"


I read it and said, "Well, I'd get better."  So, I bought it and it hangs on my refridgerator to this day.

Driving home was painful but there was a little bit of that ol' college try that Julia always seemed to hang onto.  That Ashland magick had gotten into my blood and I knew there was nowhere to go but up from now on.  I also knew from that trip to Ashland that there was no doubt about it, I was going to move back there.

I started reading everything I could get ahold of; every recovery book, every autobiography.  I started going to church again at a foursquare church in Windsor.  Lovely people but everytime I sat through a service my mind kept racing and thinking about what was going on at Calvary Chapel Healdsburg so I missed out on the entire message and would cry to different supportive individuals all the time.  But, I started doing this Beth Moore "Step Up" bible study.  From that Bible study, I remember God writing a promise on my heart, specifically, "I will awake you every morning with love."

For the strangest reason I was stuck in the Apostle Paul's books.  I kept trying to go other places in the Bible but the more and more I got drawn back to Paul.  I kept asking God, why, Paul?  And I think it was because, in essense, I, like Paul, had persecuted Christians so whatever valuable lessons he had learned and was sharing on grace, I needed to learn.

I developed a deep appreciation for grace and mercy.  I believe grace is a land of freedom and mercy is the freedom from the places we deserve to go to.  I started admitting I had an angry problem and I started praying this prayer, as much as I could..."Lord, I bring that thought into captivity into the obedience of Jesus Christ.  Help me to give out grace."  I also started biting myself when I would scream or do something wrong.  So, between the time of prayers or biting, some good stuck.

But, one scripture of Paul's, among many, stands out and has been the emblem of many throughout these years:

"Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of mercies and God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our tribulation, that we may be able to comfort those who are in any trouble, with the comfort with which we ourselves are comforted by God."  2 Cor.  1:3-4

Throughout all the suffering, I knew that God's love, grace, and mercy would see me through; that, literally, what didn't kill me would make me stronger.  So, that's what I did, I got stronger.  I learned to stand on my own two feet.  I learned not to be afraid to be alone.  I learned more importantly how to give and give and then when to say no and step back and let the Lord do his work.

And through it all, there have been the faithful friends and family; friends that I could not even imagined I could have done it without...and yet, the story isn't over yet...I have a few years to go...but quickly, a thank you to Tony Fleisher, Scott Stanford, Malaena Taylor, Will Richey, Jim Degan, Koiwu Beyan, Lj Millick, Luke Frechette,Matthew Ledoux, Crystal Frechette, and all those Calvary Chapel Healdsburg who are no acquaintances who remain constant prayer warriors...thank you, and as the song goes, may I return the favor...

the adventures of 12 step begins tomorrow...

Too Much Coffee on a Saturday Morning or Early Afternoon

Yesterday, I told you about the start of the Bipolar experience.  Today, I continue the journey.

I started the school year well.  I had fun setting up my classroom and picking out lots of colorful pictures, posters, and teaching tools to help aid my students learning.  However, a lot of good that would come when the teacher became unable to teach due to an overload of emotional turmoil.

The Lamictal and lexapro were a perfection combination and the stressload went well.  The kids were angels.  I would give them work and they would excitedly get to work.  I'd turn on a little music and they would sing quietly as they worked.  I had a wonderful aide who helped immensely.  Everything was going well.  Even Karissa and I seemed to be picking up the pieces.  She came by once after school and we went out to the Starbucks after school.  (Yeah, I know all you Oregonites how Starbucks is the evil empire, but for some reason CC goers love their Starbucks!)  So, we went, we prayed, and we shared our hearts.  It was a really sweet time of friendship and we seemed to really connect.  About that time, I told my psychiatrist that things were going so well and her advice "time to change the med."

Looking back on it, it seemed like the craziest thing someone would think to do, I mean, why change a good thing?  But, we cannot foresee the future and I didn't think anything would come of it.  After all, doctors know best, right?

Right about that time, the school lost some of its funding and had to let go of my aide.  I pretended everything was okay but I was frantic and the loss of the antidepressant left me desparate.  I could no longer hold it together anymore.  I cried on the way to school every morning, cried during breaks to my boyfriend, would climb underneath my desk after school to hide, couldn't control my anger outbreaks in front of my students...yet, however, the students continued to love me, I have no idea why.  Maybe, its because deep down they saw that I really cared, that deep down that's what anyone that loves me sees, that although I may have the biting and quick temper, I really have a heart of compassion and really want to do what is right.

This ended up in putting me on an leave of absence from work for health related reasons.  Up to that point, I was in denial that I couldn't hold down a job.  After that, things went to hell in a hand basket with Randy when one day at church I tried to race away from church and he stopped me by standing in front of my car, of course, it looked like I tried to run over him.  He decided that he wanted to step back from the romantic part of our relationship but the problem was, he still held my hand, still bought me little gifts, still paid for meals, and even some time would tell me he loved me.  Then, when I would return the expression, he would step back and claim, "Look, we are just friends."  I wish to God in retrospect that he had broken up with me then because it confused the hell out of me and I believe made things worse in the long run.  But, to his credit, I think he was just scared that I would do something dangerous if he officially called it off.  Yeah, I guess he was just protecting me.  But, at what cost to both of our psyches?

I did the manipulative thing many a time and would tell people I was going to kill myself.  Part of me really meant it and was a cry for help but after doing it so many times, people stopped trusting me.  Also, after calling them up and screaming at them, sending angry emails, people started distancing themselves...more and more and more...until I was alone, but are we ever really alone?

In April, my sister and her new boyfriend were coming from Australia.  I looked at her life, how successful she was, and became very depressed.  When my parents went to pick them up at the airport, I took two aspirin, called my pastor, and before I knew it the firemen, police, and emt were banging down my door.  I was carted off to the hospital because of a suicide attempt but really if I had explained to anyone what harm could two pills do.  See, I got scared.  The thing about me and suicide is, I have this thing about suicide ambilivance, or had.  I have a fear of life but a fear of death.  I don't really want to live but what does death hold for the suicide victim.  I remember asking my pastor what happens to people if they commit suicide.  He had no clear answer for me.

The visit to the hospital left me with a huge ambulance bill and a ER bill.  However, my dad being a doctor got the ambulance bill knocked down to zero because hey, he's a good doctor.  If only they knew what he is like at home!

The angry writing began.  I started thinking of ways I could freak out my ex boss and sort of ex/sudo boyfriend.  Picking him up at work and driving him to the school and slitting my wrists in front of them.  I wrote over and over in my journal:

I want to die!
I want to die!
I want to die!
I want to die!
I want to die!

During that time, I turned 29 and remembered as a little girl when my friend, Michael Jean Tovani turned 8 on her 8th birthday and called that her golden birthday.  Then, recalling at such a tender age that I would celebrate my 29th birthday in that way.  29 on the 29th.  Lots of people showed up, except for Karissa, who really wanted to come but who I had emailed and specifically asked  not to come...yeah, I was a bitch.  And when my other best friend, Suzanne, was late, I called and left a mean message about how rude it was to do that to me.  She showed up right away.  Also, a manipulative bitch.  Why did these people even give me a chance?

Things went well at that party, except for the fact that I wanted to get drunk.  But, we played party games and ate cake and laughed and everyone had a good time.  Pastor Chris prayed a specific prayer for me.  How lovely!  I guess he really cared.  Go figure.

A few days after that, I called the school and told them that I would kill myself in front of my former boss.  The police were called and I ended up with my stuffed pig, Piggy, at Northridge; the emergency mental illness facility in Sonoma County.  They talked to me for awhile and let me go, seeing as I was fine.  I just would have these little breaks, I call snaps, where I lapse into poor judgment and on an impulse say or do things that get me into trouble.  This got me a restraining order.

Being the good little Christian girl, I had been taught that sex before marriage was a definite no no.  However, my elite university boyfriend and I had had sex, Bill and I had had sex, and so on and so forth.  I had always repented and moved on but never forgot the feeling of illicit sexual acts.  I remember when I thought about dating a good Christian virgin man, thought that when we got married and had sex first the time, would he even know to go down on me or would he be so experienced that he wouldn't even know how to come inside....and me, trying to be good, would I be too embarrassed to explain?  Anyway, I started having sexual fantasies about Randy, about Will (the counterpart to Bill from the Oregon cafe days, only the one I didn't love).  Yeah, I seduced Randy.  We had sex and it began this cursed romance of come a little closer, guilt, repent, guilt...until finally he broke it off two days before our second annivarsary on guess whose birthday...Bills!  I remember thinking what the irony, my supposed second love broke up with me on my first love's birthday.  But, why in the world did I remember Bill's birthday anyway?  I had gotten over him, hadn't I?

The depression deepened to an almost unbearable level.  I was looking for work and this was just at the beginning of the unemployment crisis so was getting a lot of rejections and not taking them so well.  To add insult to injury, my favorite grandpa, who taught me the value of a good joke, died of complications of alzheimers that very month.  I kept calling Randy, I kept sending out emails.  I was hallucinating.  In college during the trying times of theater major years, I would see blue feathers everywhere that meant danger on every side.  Well, now in this time of intense darkness, the feathers returned...with a vengeance.  There was this blue feathered eye, pure evil, that lived inside my heart.  It exploded and blue feathers floated all over my body.  They forced me to say and do to things that I didn't want to say.  I didn't know what to do.  I tried to tell my therapist who just explained, feathers are protective.  What the fuck?  These feathers were going to kill me.  I imagined surgeons doing heart surgery, finding this eye, contemplating it, and then putting it back in there.  Help me, help me, I am drowning.

Around labor day, I sent out this email to sabotage a bible study.  A few years before at CCH, when things were going well, I had helped start a college and career age bible study.  I knew it was going to start that night so I sent an email around telling everyone that the Pastor and his family had had a death in a family and needed time to mourn.  Crazy, but I thought it would work.

The Pastor was shocked and the next day asked me not to return or contact anyone from the church indefinitely.  The pain overwhelmed me and I decided to numb myself with three xanaxs.  I didn't want to feel.  I drove to work and on the way home, almost a sleep at the wheel, I got arrested and put in jail.  Coming home, I had been given a DUI and had my license taken away.

Things weren't going to be that bad.  A few days before the email, I had gone to see my psychiatrist and she listened as I told her about the emails of hate, the blue feathers, the immense feeling of dread, the incessant crying "please put me in a hospital" (to which my parents ignored), and she put me on a drug that is labeled "emergency only"...so after the fall, after the DUI, my head suddenly cleared...but after suffering with such agony, my brain was fried and I was like a child.  To top it off, I felt far from God.  I had no friends and felt separated from God.  I started screaming at him, telling him to leave.  He would say, "You are pushing me away too, it won't work, I can take as good as  you can give."

So, more tomorrow on the slow progress of recovery...

Home made latte and banana bread

The sun has dawned on a new day and its time for a new edition of the life of Julia Gulia Vafanculia, as they called me in Italy.

We left off I was on the move to a new yet old beginning in my former growing up state of California.  In the first few weeks of California, I was depressed.  If I could cry, I would.  I missed my friend, Crystal.  I remember going to check out a church and singing a song that reminded me of her and crying.  I cried everyday in the shower, thinking of my time with Bill, the fella from the coffee shop. 

Also, I had just given up the crazy world of the party lifestyle and had to have my parents adjust to me without drinking.  They thought it was because of my religion, as they so aptly called it.  I refer to it as faith or more closely related to relationship.  I don't believe in religion.

I started actively looking for a church.  There was a church down the road for me.  I saw this big sign along the road that screamed out "Calvary Chapel" but since I was moving to Rohnert Park, a town 45 minutes from this forementioned sign I specifically told myself that it was not worth my time.  I had chosen Calvary Chapel Santa Rosa because 6 months before I got saved, in August 2000, I saw a sign that read "Calvary Chapel" and I had made a joke "Calgary Chapel" (a town in Canada that my friend was from).  Because of this, I had called the pastor from Oregon to talk about what his church offered and to introduce myself.  But, when I got there, the church itself seemed fine except that everything was red.  Not that I have anything with red, but the ascetics didn't appeal to me.

Finally, I broke down and decided to attend a service at the Calvary Chapel with the sign that screamed out alongside the freeway.  I walked in and met the Pastor and his wife...and I kid you not there was an instant connection.  Furthermore, this Pastor knew all about Ashland Christian Fellowship and all the trials they had been through, like Andy Greene.  Crazy how small the world was!

Then, I moved into the apartments at Sonoma State. The government forked over the massive amount of loans and I didn't really think about it.  I was in school and thought I was doing God's will but I wasn't really sure.  I got to Sonoma State and said, "Okay, I am ready to learn about how to be a preschool teacher" and they replied, "Oh, we don't have that program anymore, you are now going to be an elementary teacher."  I was gravely dissappointed.

I was still contemplating whether to attend Calvary Chapel Healdsburg; it seemed so far away and I couldn't fathom forking over the gas, even though gas was far more inexpensive then it is these days.  I talked to my friend, Tony, and he told me "hey why not, its about the same distance to Applegate Christian Fellowship from Ashland."  So, that seemed a good enough reason.  I guess I didn't need a lot of convincing.

The second or third sunday, while I was worshipping, the Lord said to me, "Wouldn't you like to work with some of the middle school girls and minister to them?"  (If you want more clarification, I had been praying about doing this while living in Oregon.)  Right after worship, the youth group pastor's wife, Linsee, walked up to me and said, "Do you want to help out with the youth group?"  I felt like it was my calling...except that because of my horrible experience in middle school...the teasing, the name calling, the ostracization...I felt some animosity towards that generation.  Could I be of any use to them if I secretly loathed them? The first couple days serving in the youth group I had to fake enthusiasm.  Plus, jealousy soon set in.  I was jealous whenever the girls I was supposed to minister to went to any other of the youth group female leaders so it became about a competition.  I tried to hide it and, hey, maybe I did a good job.

During my time at SSU, I had a terrible addiction to caffeine and would get terrible coffee headaches about four in the afternoon.  I spent all my money on coffee.  I also had this in my imagination that my time at the coffee shop was really a reality show that was airing that year and that everyone around me at the school recognized me.  All of my life I have always wanted to be famous, to be known, and yet the dream has yet to be accomplished.  Right after breaking up with Bill I used to run around town as if paparazzi were following me.  Yes, definitely, I am crazy.  Why in the world would anyone want that?

I started Sonoma State's credential program in August 2004 and in December 2005 I still hadn't passed the exams that would let me graduate with my friends in June.  (It was supposed to be a year program so for me, it would take a year and a half.)  The nature of the program had us student teaching, first part time, then full time second semester.  I started my part time student teaching at a Santa Rosa school in a lower income school district.  It was there I met one of my dear kindred spirits, Karissa.  When I first met her, she was substitute teaching.  I noticed she was wearing a cross.  I judged her; I am sorry to say but I did.  I thought she was wearing the cross as an ornament and not because it meant anything to her.  However, after talking to her, I found that she had just given her life to the Lord and her faith was authentic.  We prayed outside my car after school, exchanged numbers, and soon became the best of friends.  Our friendship was a match made in heaven.  In fact, when my best friend for years decided for the umteenth time that he didn't want to be my friend anymore, I formally asked Karissa to step in to fulfill the role of best friend and she happily agreed.

I stayed at CCH through their changing churches because of a complication with the place they were at.  For Sunday Services, we were allowed to have the Seventh Day Adventist church attached to Rio Lindo, a boarding school.  For a congregation of around 60 filling a chapel of 500 would be a challenge.  But, it was a beautiful location with a view of the Fitch Mountain and the river below; ideal for spiritual seekings.

In July, we had our first kids camp at the boarding school.  I was upset because I had to be assistant counselor and yet was old enough to be a full counselor and so felt unjustly treated.  The Saturday after the camp ended I walked into the town coffee shop and met a young man who over the years had sought after my attention.  Like, bringing me my pastry and standing there staring at me.  I was  hurting over Bill and bitter and thought he looked like some skinny little dork with a broken tooth.  Then, once I walked into the coffee shop after being gone for several months and he said excitedly, "You're back!"  I told the high school girl I was hanging out with (remember I was a youth group counselor) "this guy keeps hitting on me".  Then, I laughed.  Why do guys at coffee shops keep hitting on me?

Well, this Saturday after Kids Camp, I was sitting at the counter because there was no place to sit and being the good little Christian girl, I might have been reading the Bible and this chip-toothed fella walked up to me and said, "Do you go to church?"  I got excited and thought I had found a convert.  I immediately ran to the church office across the street and grabbed him all the information I could gather...A few weeks later, we were dating.  I am sorry to say that the entire reason I got into the relationship with him was to get over Bill.  Poor Randy never had a chance, I was still communicating with Bill.  During that time, I was writing.  Trying to construct a play that realistically reproduced my time at the cafe in Oregon, where I met Bill.  What I didn't know is that I still had feelings for Bill, all I knew is that I was trying to forget him but the more I tried the harder it became.  And even more so, Bill was not admitting that he was still in love with me.  So, for all those years apart when we were still in each others lives, we played cat and mouse.

In December 2005, I graduated from Sonoma State.  I was secretly scared of getting my own classroom and entering the professional world.  I have to admit the idea of success and professionalism is my father's idea; an idea stemming from his pride and false perceptions of what it means to be of importance in this world.  He pushed me into this career.

In March 2006, I accepted a position at a Christian school as a second grade teacher.  I threw myself into the work but the stress overwhelmed me and I soon became a psychotic bitch; in every sense of the word.  I screamed at my best friends, my boyfriend, my students.  I cried incessantly.  I couldn't get out of bed in the morning.  I tried so hard to hide it from my parents due to my dad always pushing me to work; to pull yourself up by your own bootstraps.

Well, somehow I managed to get through that year but it wasn't without a damage to my very psyche and soul.  I no longer had the joy and hope. I felt run down, exhausted, afraid of taking steps forward.  To please my father, I took the job as full time teacher for the coming year even though I wanted to run and run and run.

In the beginning of June with the blinds drawn and the lights out, I woke up with the feeling that I couldn't sink as deep as possible into my bed.  I started calling my friends and saying good bye...the door was locked to my room.  My boyfriend called, my parents were at the door, and then before I knew it I was in the doctor's office, talking about how I wanted to end it all and how I couldn't take life anymore.  The doctor handed me a prescription for topomax and xanax and called a psychiatrist.

A few weeks later, I walked into Dr. Tess Lusher's office, gave her my history (including the crazed coffee shop experience in Oregon), and left with a diagnosis of Bipolar.  I don't remember if this made me feel hopeful.  Sometimes when people receive diagnosis, they feel as if they finally have something that they can call the madness that has always circulated through their brains.  I think I felt scared.  Now what?  I wanted the pain to go away.  I wanted the madness to stop circulating through my brain.  I wanted to stop screaming swear words and death threats at my friends.  I wanted so much to feel normal.  But at what price?

To top it all off, I couldn't focus on anything.  I would try to read.  I would try to write and nothing came out.  I felt dead inside.  I felt alone.  I honestly and completely felt like no one loved me.  I was isolating.  I kept to myself.  Karissa kept inviting me to come out and hang out with her new almost boyfriend, Gera, but I kept refusing.

The one solace was my cat, Calvin, who became faithful to wake me up with purrs and love every morning and whenever I cried, he was by my side.

However, the summer went well.  I was able to relax.  Dr. Lusher prescribed a combination of lamictal and lexapro; which got me up in the morning.  I started running every day.  The school was paying me money all year round so the first time in my life I didn't have to work to earn a living.  Randy and I were doing well.  Karissa and I were rebuilding our friendship.  But, always in the back of my head was the impending dread, the school year was going to start and with it, again, the stress.

Sometime in the years after I left Oregon, I think it was when I got sick, I had a dream about my two loves from the Oregon coffee shop.  A dream about them coming to see me and going for a ride in the canoe.  I know this may seem absurd but I believe that they were visiting me in my dream.  That it was a way for them to be with me in my pain; to let me know that however the distance and change of life separated us, we were still together in spirit.  The dream faded into the recesses of my memory.  I knew it could only be a dream but I never knew just how real it was...but now I for certain it was a dream of comfort.  Not only was Bill my true love, but both of them were on my side through thick and thin, no matter how life's course led us apart.

The continuing saga of the Bipolar Grrrl tomorrow...

A cup of coffee and a bowl of oatmeal..

Well, here's my first attempt at blogging.  Actually, maybe, like the third attempt since there are a few random entries out there where I try to assert myself as some self-righteous Christian who knows more about God than the average churchgoer.

However, those days are gone.  Things have changed.  My life has turned completely upside down and yet come completely full circle, back where I should have been all along, and yet all the pitfalls and potholes of travels I have been on these last ten years have made me more or less the "sane" individual I am today.

Ten years ago last January 2nd, 2011, I became a born-again Christian.  Now, it wasn't in the ordinary revival meeting way, it was at my home with my stoner boyfriend, where he started talking about peace and hope.  He said the name "Jesus" and I saw the peace that I had been searching for all my life.

But, becoming a Christian didn't immediately afford me lasting peace, happiness, and joy.  I still struggled with an immense amount of doubt, fear, depression, and anxiety.  Sometimes, a daily struggle to get out of bed in the morning.

A year after I became a Christian, I graduated college from Southern Oregon University.  More jaded and bitter than when I entered.  I entered with dreams of stardom and success as a comedienne/actress/model, and ended up with a BS in Human Communication.  (There is a joke there, I swear.)  However, this career opened up for me a stint in Jefferson Public Radio, an NPR affialiate.  This lasted one quarter when I left thinking newsbroadcasting wasn't for me.

After graduation, I turned my attention to living out of school and trying to eke away at a living.  I broke up with the stoner/abusive boyfriend only to jump right away into a relationship with someone with the name of an elite University.  This lasted all of three weeks but turned out to be one of the greatest friendships I could have ever asked for.  However, this left me heartbroken and shattered.  Furthermore, the drug-addicted boyfriend came back into town and swore that we were really meant to be.  I was confused, hurt, and just wanted the pain to go away.  Also, ashamed of myself for letting myself fall in love to fast into an illicit relationship and thought God would never forgive me.  One evening before bible study, I found myself kneeling before the cross, praying for forgiveness, where I once again received the kind of peace that can only be afforded fron on high.  However, once again, this was only a temporary fix.

During this time, I was also looking for work but what do you do with a Communication degree and a theater minor?  The answer came in the babysitting job I had held during my Senior year in college: teach.  I started applying for jobs at local preschools and immediately got hired at a preschool that kept me for about, I don't know, 6 months, when unexpectedly I went in one morning to find my timecard missing and no job to speak off.  But, as I was driving all across the valley to all the preschools I could think of, my former boss was calling ahead of me, telling them how wonderful I was.  God was in control even in the moments of despair.  I ended up walking into the littlest preschool that could, "Lil' Rascals" and was hired on the spot.  I worked there for a year and a half and count it as one of the most enjoyable teaching experiences I have have had.

Also, during the year of 2002-2003, I wandered into a coffee shop to escape the lecherous outpourings of the crazed ex-boyfriends.  I had always loved coffee shops ever since my time of study in Florence, Italy.  It was there that I fell first in lust and then in love, with men of the same name.  Both of these men were not Christian but something about their free thinking, openmindedness appealed to my less than evangelical mind.  Plus, the taste of coffee mingled with cigarettes on my tongue has always been a turn on.

I spent a year and a half there flying about in my first real hypermanic phase and chasing after my now husband.  It was a crazy time of lattes (and yes, multiple lattes) by day and long island ice teas by night.  I was in and out of men's beds but never fully committed, and yes, had some sexual imagings about women too.  Yes, I'm a good Christian.

The fella to be finally gave in and we dated, for well, about a month before going separate ways.  But, hey, yes, he broke my heart into a million pieces.  Mysteriously, as every morning I would wake up crying, the song "Arms that won't let go" played on the radio.  The chorus goes something like this:

G                                    G/F#
If you need a pillow for your sorrow, If you need a blanket for your soul
If you need a place your broken heart can be made whole

He’ll be your strength to face tomorrow,

And when the night seems dark and cold

Fall into the arms that won’t let go,

Fall into the arms that won’t let go
Fall into the arms that won’t let go 

From that time forward, I did not go back to that coffee shop.  I avoided all places where 

that man would be.  Meanwhile, plans were underway for me to go back to school to get some

kind of a teaching credential.  Nothing really that I wanted to do, it just seemed like a good thing to do.

Heck, school is interesting, even if life isn't.  These plans were pushing me out of Oregon and back to the

dreaded state of Insanity: California.  Which also meant, away from him.

A couple weeks before I left, in late June 2004, I went back to the coffee shop.  This wonderful man

who captured my heart at first glance and I stood on the front porch of the cafe with our hands over 

each others hearts.  But, we both stupidly didn't get back together.

Well wishes from my work, a prayer over me at church, parents packing up my scant belongings into the back of their

1990 Ford pickup truck....and then I drove away from the only place I have ever truly called home...as the car drove down I5, the continuous

miles separated me from not just the town; my friends, my children, and, yes, my true love...

The California Dreamin' continues tomorrow...