Living On The Borderline
This blog is funny. I promise. No heavy stuff. But it does come out of the pain of growing up in a confusing, contradictory and conflicted childhood. A childhood where God was always watching, even when we went to the bathroom. A childhood where we were told of demons, demon possession, the end times, even the devil living within ourselves if we forgot to fold the clothes or gave some normal teenage lip. A time of cult followings, bathtub births, communal living and "followers" with covenant oaths - all in the name of Jesus. (poor Jesus) Endless hours at meetings, "church" revivals and unnerving deliverance sessions even in our own home.
That's why this blog was named Exorcism and Pound Cake because when my mom baked pound cake I knew it was Bible study night and Satan was coming to visit.I stayed in my room as the thrashing, moaning and screaming went on and on downstairs. I was nine and this was a little confusing. Thanks God for Nancy Drew. She saved my life from "The Clock Tower" to "The Hidden Key." Thanks Nanc.
Watching my parents raise their hands in "church" praising God, later being hit and thrown against your bedroom wall for a small indiscretion was utter confusion. Their affairs, drinking, beer bottles lined up next to the sofa on weekends, church, Jesus, screaming, hitting, whipping with belts, doors kicked open - words that tore at a five-year-old's soul. Sonny and Cher, Karen Carpenter and Neil Diamond. To this day I cannot stand to hear..
The last time my father hit me was in 2003, I was 38, married with three kids. So we left the state.That was almost a decade ago and I haven't looked back once. They never tried to reach me, my emails to them bounced back as "blocked" - they also blew off 3 beautiful grandchildren.
It took me 47 years, thousands of dollars in copays and 6 years of therapy to understand that I was raised by two damaged parents afflicted with Borderline Personality Disorder.
Then I married one. But that's another blog.
The worst kind of lonely, is the loneliness you can have in a relationship with those who are supposed to love you unconditionally, and know you best. If your parents cannot love you, who can? As an adult It has you feeling a deep sense of betrayal from which it's nearly impossible to recover.However -I'm alI about the spin- ask anyone who knows me.
So I wanted to take my boo-hoo tales and turn them on their head. I have dozens of true events thanks to growing up with crazy BPD inflicted Jesus parents in the 70's.Despite the past, this blog is a humorous light blog with a look at my life now, learning what real love is with my late life relationship, hot and brilliant Mancandy. It's about my amazing grown kids, an unexpected 7 year-old stepson, healing while finding my own identity (I'm a proud democrat now...I know you are but what am I?) and of course the past childhood memories that now, looking back, were positively ridiculous. (Yes my mother prayed over broken appliances to cast out the demons (then called Sears) yes, we really were hid in the basement on Halloween. I wasn't allowed to watch I Dream Of Jeannie because spirits would come through the TV, I had to read the entire Bible to get a clock radio for Christmas. My parents told us we may not be ruptured if we were bad kids and would be left behind staring at their shoes in the kitchen. They went positively crazy with the pending Y2k event and bought a generator and stockpiled rice from Sam's Club.
Where were camera phones when you needed them?
This blog is funny. I promise. No heavy stuff. But it does come out of the pain of growing up in a confusing, contradictory and conflicted childhood. A childhood where God was always watching, even when we went to the bathroom. A childhood where we were told of demons, demon possession, the end times, even the devil living within ourselves if we forgot to fold the clothes or gave some normal teenage lip. A time of cult followings, bathtub births, communal living and "followers" with covenant oaths - all in the name of Jesus. (poor Jesus) Endless hours at meetings, "church" revivals and unnerving deliverance sessions even in our own home.
That's why this blog was named Exorcism and Pound Cake because when my mom baked pound cake I knew it was Bible study night and Satan was coming to visit.I stayed in my room as the thrashing, moaning and screaming went on and on downstairs. I was nine and this was a little confusing. Thanks God for Nancy Drew. She saved my life from "The Clock Tower" to "The Hidden Key." Thanks Nanc.
Watching my parents raise their hands in "church" praising God, later being hit and thrown against your bedroom wall for a small indiscretion was utter confusion. Their affairs, drinking, beer bottles lined up next to the sofa on weekends, church, Jesus, screaming, hitting, whipping with belts, doors kicked open - words that tore at a five-year-old's soul. Sonny and Cher, Karen Carpenter and Neil Diamond. To this day I cannot stand to hear..
The last time my father hit me was in 2003, I was 38, married with three kids. So we left the state.That was almost a decade ago and I haven't looked back once. They never tried to reach me, my emails to them bounced back as "blocked" - they also blew off 3 beautiful grandchildren.
It took me 47 years, thousands of dollars in copays and 6 years of therapy to understand that I was raised by two damaged parents afflicted with Borderline Personality Disorder.
Then I married one. But that's another blog.
The worst kind of lonely, is the loneliness you can have in a relationship with those who are supposed to love you unconditionally, and know you best. If your parents cannot love you, who can? As an adult It has you feeling a deep sense of betrayal from which it's nearly impossible to recover.However -I'm alI about the spin- ask anyone who knows me.
So I wanted to take my boo-hoo tales and turn them on their head. I have dozens of true events thanks to growing up with crazy BPD inflicted Jesus parents in the 70's.Despite the past, this blog is a humorous light blog with a look at my life now, learning what real love is with my late life relationship, hot and brilliant Mancandy. It's about my amazing grown kids, an unexpected 7 year-old stepson, healing while finding my own identity (I'm a proud democrat now...I know you are but what am I?) and of course the past childhood memories that now, looking back, were positively ridiculous. (Yes my mother prayed over broken appliances to cast out the demons (then called Sears) yes, we really were hid in the basement on Halloween. I wasn't allowed to watch I Dream Of Jeannie because spirits would come through the TV, I had to read the entire Bible to get a clock radio for Christmas. My parents told us we may not be ruptured if we were bad kids and would be left behind staring at their shoes in the kitchen. They went positively crazy with the pending Y2k event and bought a generator and stockpiled rice from Sam's Club.
Where were camera phones when you needed them?
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